blocks like the bones of our earth with their red veins. On my way through the forest, I am afraid I helped some old oaks to sink into their final repose; an illegal act perhaps, but one would not get far in this world if one only did what the law allows. The wood belonged to the town, and therefore to me, in part at least, and of course I should not have dreamed of taking more than my just share; but the thing was, how to get it home? And here the neighbors came to my assistance. One lent me his cart, another his oxen, and a third his tools, or rather his hands, which cost nothing. A man will lend anything in these parts, except his wife or his money, and I feel that way myself, for money means the future; it is hope, all that we have, the rest is only the present, which scarcely belongs to us.
At last Robinet and I began to put up the first scaffolding, but by that time it was cold weather, and every one thought I was out of my mind. I was urged to wait at least until spring, while my children made such a pother that my life was a burden to me.
In spite of all this I persisted in going on with my work, partly because I like to rub people up the wrong way, and then, though of course I knew that I could not build a house all by myself in the
