the toy ones of our childhood,
are brightened with cones of snowy sugar in blue paper jackets. The
wooden drawers filled with spices. Here, too, one can get an excellent
light wine for eight sous the bottle.

As the day begins, the early morning cries drift up from the street. At
six the fishwomen with their push-carts go their rounds, each singing
the beauties of her wares. "Voila les beaux maquereaux!" chants the
sturdy vendor, her sabots clacking over the cobbles as she pushes the
cart or stops and weighs a few sous' worth of fish to a passing
purchaser.

The goat-boy, piping his oboe-like air, passes, the goats scrambling
ahead alert to steal a carrot or a bite of cabbage from the nearest
cart. And when these have passed, the little orgue de Barbarie plays its
repertoire of quadrilles and waltzes under your window. It is a very
sweet-toned organ, this little orgue de Barbarie, with a plaintive,
apologetic tone, and a flute obbligato that would do credit to many a
small orchestra. I know this small organ well--an old friend on dreary
mornings, putting the laziest riser in a good humor for the day. The
tunes are never changed, but they are all inoffensive and many of them
pretty, and to the shrunken old man who grinds them out daily they are
no doubt by this time all alike.

[Illustration: (cat on counter)]

It is growing late and time for one's coffee. The little tobacco-shop
and cafe around the corner I find an excellent place for cafe au lait.
The coffee is delicious and made when one chooses to arrive, not stewed
like soup, iridescent in color, and bitter with chicory, as one finds it
in many of the small French hotels. Two crescents, flaky and hot from
the bakery next door, and three generous pats of unsalted butter,
complete this morning repast, and all for the modest sum of twelve sous,
with three sous to the garcon who serves you, with which he is well
pleased.

I have forgotten a companionable cat who each morning takes her seat on
the long leather settee beside me and shares my crescents. The cats are
considered important members of nearly every family in the Quarter. Big
yellow and gray Angoras, small, alert tortoise-shell ones, tiger-like
and of plainer breed and more intelligence, bask in the doorways or
sleep on the marble-topped tables of the cafes.

[Illustration: (woman carrying shopping box)]

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux, ma pauvre Mimi?" condoles Celeste, as she
approaches the family feline.