scions. The south and his unusual physical strength
were forcing their will on his anxious body —he
was coming to an early maturity with all that that
holds of diffidence,, of despondency, and of intro-
spection. There were days now when the sadness
he had grown to resent would refuse to give way
before his resentment, when he could not go forth,
as he had in the past, intent on some mischievous
adventure, but must work at the bench in his
father's shop even after there was no further need for
working, until Jouse observing his scowling face,
would scowl in his turn and might even speak
sharply:
'I have told you stop for today and be off—my
timber and I like a cheerful apprentice!'
Then Christophe would drop his tool with a bang,
avoiding the brown, doglike eyes of Anfos that
followed him about with anxiety; and perhaps he
would wander across to Eusebe and find him squat-
ting among his hides, intent upon stitching a pair of
new sandals.
Eusebe would look up: 'Ho, ho, my cabbage, so
you visit the scandalous Eusebe who prefers his
vineyards to Holy Mass, and his rolls of hide to a
hide-bound Cure! Eh bien, you are welcome as you
were in the days when I told you of the terrible
Recatadou di Rato-Penado, and of other true things
which no doubt you have now grown too wise to
credit. Sit down. Pecaire, how enormous you are!
One would think you were several years older than
your age—-ah, yes, you are much too big now for my
legends.3
But one evening Christophe said: 'Tell me your
legends;5 for he longed to be once again just a small
child sitting there in the dusk with le tout petit Loup
and Jan, while Eusebe made them all tremble.
So Eusebe laid a sandal aside, and he turned first
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