ollowed,
carrying some dry sticks gathered along the road. Arrived at the tree,
the man took off the strap by which he was harnessed, threw his hat on
the ground, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and sat down with
his back resting against the tree. Though much altered, we cannot but
recognise Florian and his family.

[Illustration: Florian and his family.]

The dog had lain down beside him, resting his head on his fore-paws.
The boy caressed him.

"Leave Schlunkel alone now, Freddie," said Florian. "Go and help your
mother."

The boy obeyed quickly: he knew that his father was out of humor by his
calling the dog "Schlunkel,"--for whenever Florian was ill at ease he
tortured himself by giving to the sharer of his burden the name of the
man who had first made him unhappy.

Crescence, meantime, had taken the stand and the kettle from the cart,
had made a fire and placed the kettle filled with water upon it.

"Go and got us some potatoes," said she to Freddie. He took a pot and
went up to a house which looked down upon their resting-place. The
beams of the framework in the walls--visible, as is always the case in
that part of the country--were painted a bright red. An elderly man was
looking out of the window.

"Won't you be so kind," asked Freddie, "as to give us some potatoes?
God reward you!"

"Where are you from?" asked the man, who looked as if he had eaten a
good dinner.

"My father always says, 'From the place where people are hungry too.'"

"Is that your father down there?"

"Yes: but don't be too long about it if you want to give us any thing,
for our wood's all burning away."

The man came down and opened the door: the neighbors wondered how Peter
Mike came to open his house to a beggar.

Freddie soon came out again with a potfull of potatoes and a little
lard in a bowl. Soon the boiled potatoes became a porridge, and after
all the family had dined the dog received permission to lick the
plates.

Florian arose, and passed through the village, crying, "Scissor-grinder
from Paris!" Freddie went from house to house to get work, promising
the best of Parisian edge. And, without doubt, Florian was perfectly
master of his new trade.

Peter Mike spent the afternoon in following the scissor-grinder from
place to place. It gave him pleasure to follow his agile motions and
hear the pretty tunes he whistled. He also chatted a little with the
woman and the children. At dark he even tendered them