advantage of being seen from a distance, and of not
breaking.

But under these patched clothes you can make out a sturdy little
figure; and, besides, what matters the clothes? Country babies are not
coquettish; and when the coach comes down the hill with jingling bells
and they rush after it, stumbling over their neighbors, tumbling with
them in the dust, and rolling into the ditches, what would all these
dear little gamins do in silk stockings?

I love them thus because they are wild, taking alarm, and fleeing away
at your approach like the young rabbits you surprise in the morning
playing among the wild thyme. You must have recourse to a thousand
subterfuges in order to triumph over their alarm and gain their
confidence. But if at length, thanks to your prudence, you find yourself
in their company, at the outset play ceases, shouts and noise die away;
the little group remain motionless, scratching their heads, and all
their uneasy eyes look fixedly at you. This is the difficult moment.

A sharp word, a stern gesture, may cause an eternal misunderstanding
with them, just as a kind remark, a smile, a caress will soon accomplish
their conquest. And this conquest is worth the trouble, believe me.

One of my chief methods of winning them was as follows: I used to take
my watch out of my pocket and look at it attentively. Then I would see
my little people stretch their necks, open their eyes, and come a step
nearer; and it would often happen that the chickens, ducklings, and
geese, which were loitering close by in the grass, imitated their
comrades and drew near too. I then would put my watch to my ear and
smile like a man having a secret whispered to him. In presence of this
prodigy my youngsters could no longer restrain themselves, and would
exchange among themselves those keen, simple, timid, mocking looks,
which must have been seen to be understood. They advanced this time in
earnest, and if I offered to let the boldest listen, by holding out my
watch to him, he would draw back alarmed, although smiling, while the
band would break into an outburst of joy; the ducklings flapping their
wings, the white geese cackling, and the chickens going chk, chk. The
game was won.

How many times have I not played this little farce, seated under a
willow on the banks of my little stream, which ripples over the white
stones, while the reeds bend tremblingly. The children would crowd round
me to hear the watch, and soon questions b