ers who were going to
their work.

"No, he was not far from Etiolles; he had but to follow the road
straight on through the wood."

The wood was all astir now, resounding with the chirping of birds and
the rustling of squirrels. The refrain of the birds in the hedge of
wild roses was repeated from the topmost branches of the century-old
oak-trees; the branches shook and bent under the sudden rush of winged
creatures; and while the last of the shadows faded away, and the
night-birds with silent, heavy flight hurried to their mysterious
shelters, a lark suddenly rises from the field with its wings
wide-spread, and flies higher and higher until it is lost in the sky
above. The child no longer walks, he crawls; an old woman meets him,
leading a goat; mechanically he asks if it is far to Etiolles.

The ragged creature looks at him ferociously, and then points out a
little stony path. The sunshine warms the little fellow, who stumbles
over the pebbles, for he has no strength to lift his feet. At last he
sees a steeple and a cluster of houses; one more effort, and he will
reach them. But he is dizzy and falls; through his half-shut eyes he
sees close at hand a little house covered with vines and roses. Over the
door, between the wavering shadows of a lilac-tree already in flower, he
saw an inscription in gold letters:--

PARVA DOMUS, MAGNA QUIES.

How pretty the house was, bathed in the fresh morning light! All the
blinds are still closed, although the dwellers in the cottages are
awake, for he hears a woman's voice singing,--singing, too, his own
cradle-song, in a fresh, gay voice. Was he dreaming? The blinds were
thrown open, and a woman appeared in a white negligee, with her hair
lightly twisted in a simple knot.

"Mamma, mamma!" cried Jack, in a weak voice.

The lady turned quickly, shaded her eyes from the sun, and saw the poor
little worn and travel-stained lad.

She screamed "Jack!" and in a moment more was beside him, warming him in
her arms, caressing and soothing the little fellow, who sobbed out the
anguish of that terrible night on her shoulder.

CHAPTER IX.~~PARVA DOMUS, MAGNA QUIES.

"No, no, Jack; no, dear child; do not be alarmed, you shall never go
back to that school. Did they dare to strike you? Cheer up, dear. I tell
you that you shall never go there again, but shall always be with me. I
will arrange a little room for you to-day, and you will see how nice it
is to be in the country.