and.

"Good-evening, mother," said he, as he came to kiss Frances immediately.

Then, with a friendly nod, he added, "Good-evening, Mother Bunch."

"You are very late, my child," said Frances, approaching the little
stove on which her son's simple meal was simmering; "I was getting very
anxious."

"Anxious about me, or about my supper, dear mother?" said Agricola,
gayly. "The deuce! you won't excuse me for keeping the nice little
supper waiting that you get ready for me, for fear it should be spoilt,
eh?"

So saying, the blacksmith tried to kiss his mother again.

"Have done, you naughty boy; you'll make me upset the pan."

"That would be a pity, mother; for it smells delightfully. Let's see
what it is."

"Wait half a moment."

"I'll swear, now, you have some of the fried potatoes and bacon I'm so
fond of."

"Being Saturday, of course!" said Frances, in a tone of mild reproach.

"True," rejoined Agricola, exchanging a smile of innocent cunning with
Mother Bunch; "but, talking of Saturday, mother, here are my wages."

"Thank ye, child; put the money in the cupboard."

"Yes, mother!"

"Oh, dear!" cried the young sempstress, just as Agricola was about
to put away the money, "what a handsome flower you have in your hand,
Agricola. I never saw a finer. In winter, too! Do look at it, Mrs.
Baudoin."

"See there, mother," said Agricola, taking the flower to her; "look
at it, admire it, and especially smell it. You can't have a sweeter
perfume; a blending of vanilla and orange blossom."

"Indeed, it does smell nice, child. Goodness! how handsome!" said
Frances, admiringly; "where did you find it?"

"Find it, my good mother!" repeated Agricola, smilingly: "do you think
folks pick up such things between the Barriere du Maine and the Rue
Brise-Miche?"

"How did you get it then?" inquired the sewing girl, sharing in
Frances's curiosity.

"Oh! you would like to know? Well, I'll satisfy you, and explain why
I came home so late; for something else detained me. It has been an
evening of adventures, I promise you. I was hurrying home, when I heard
a low, gentle barking at the corner of the Rue de Babylone; it was just
about dusk, and I could see a very pretty little dog, scarce bigger than
my fist, black and tan, with long, silky hair, and ears that covered its
paws."

"Lost, poor thing, I warrant," said Frances.

"You've hit it. I took up the poor thing, and it began to lick my hands.
Round its neck was a re