ing
out the dogs, and set them upon this animal. Hurry!--see him scampering
off!"

In fact Ourson, more dead than alive at this cruel treatment,
precipitately withdrew from the presence of these wicked and inhuman
men. This second attempt had failed utterly but he would not allow
himself to be discouraged.

"It is still three or four hours before sunset so I have time to
continue my search for work."

He directed his steps towards a forge which was some distance from
Woodland Farm. The master of the forge employed a great many workmen. He
gave work to those who asked it, not in charity, but in view of his own
interest. He was feared but he was not loved. He developed the riches of
the country but no one thanked him for it because he alone profited by
it. By his avidity and his opulence he ground down the poor workmen who
could only find employment with this new Marquis of Carabas.

Poor Ourson arrived at the forge. The master was at the door, scolding
some, threatening others and terrifying all.

"Sir," said Ourson, drawing near, "have you any work to give me?"

"Certainly. What kind of work----?"

He raised his head at these words for he had replied without looking at
Ourson. When his eye fell upon him he did not finish his phrase; his
eyes flashed with rage and he stammered out:--

"What foolery is this? Are we in the midst of the Carnival, that a
workman ventures upon such a ridiculous masquerade? Throw off your ugly
bear's skin instantly or I will crisp your bristles for you in my fire."

"This, sir, is no masquerade," replied Ourson, sadly; "it is, alas! my
natural skin but if you will be humane enough to employ me you will see
that my strength is equal to my goodwill."

"I give work to you, you vile animal!" cried the master of the forge,
foaming with rage: "I will put you into a sack and send you to a
menagerie or I will throw you into a den with your brother bears. You
will have work enough to defend yourself from their claws. Be off!"

And brandishing his club he would have dealt Ourson a heavy blow if the
poor boy had not made a hasty retreat.

THE SACRIFICE

Ourson turned his steps homeward, discouraged and exhausted. He walked
slowly and arrived at the farm late. Violette ran to meet him, took him
by the hand, and without saying a word led him to his mother. There she
fell on her knees and said:--

"My mother, I know what our well-beloved Ourson has suffered to-day.
During his absen