Cogez by taking the portrait of Alois in the meadow; and when the child who loved him would to him and nestle her hand in his, he would smile at her very sadly, and say with a tender concern for her before himself,—
"Nay, Alois, do not anger your father. He thinks that I make you idle, dear, and he is not pleased that you should be with me. He is a good man and loves you well: we will not anger him, Alois."
But it was with a sad heart that he said it, and the earth did not look so bright to him as it used to do when he went out at sunrise under the poplars down the straight roads with Patrasche.
The old red mill had been a landmark to him, and he had been used to pause by it, going and coming, for a cheery greeting with its people as her little flaxen head had risen above the low mill-wicket, and her little rosy hands had held out a bone or a crust to Patrasche.
Now the dog looked wistfully at a closed door, and the boy went on without pausing, with a pang at his heart, and the child sat within with tears dropping slowly on the knitting to which she was set on her little stool by the stove; and Baas Cogez; working among his sacks and his mill-gear, would harden his will, and say to himself, "It
