brother sprawling at her feet, she was dancing a baby sister on her knee, chanting the while this extraordinary refrain:—
"Zanimaux caquéne so manié galoupé;—bourigue,—tiguiti, tiguiti, tiguiti; milet,—tocoto, tocoto, tocoto; çouval,—tacata, tacata, tacata."
And with the regular crescendo of the three onomatopes, the baby went higher and higher. . . . My steps had made no sound upon the soft grass; the singer's back, inundated with chestnut hair, was turned toward me; but the baby had observed my approach, and its blue stare of wonder caused the girl to look round. At once she laid the child upon the floor, arose, and descended the wooden step to meet me with the question,—"Want to see papa? "
She might perhaps have been twelve, not older,—slight, with one of those sensitive, oval faces that reveal a Latin origin, and the pinkness of rich health bursting through its olive skin;—the eyes that questioned my face were brown and beautiful as a wild deer's.
"I want to get some stamped envelopes," I responded;—"is this the post-office? "
"Yes, sir; I can give them to you," she an-
