orest?"

And as he drank his wine, this tawny giant, who was the terror of
the poachers throughout the country, looked about the room with that
restless glance acquired in his nightly watchings in the forest, and
answered timidly,--

"That I will, Madame d'Argenton."

This name of D'Argenton, thus given to his mother, mystified our little
friend. But as he had no very accurate idea of either the duties or
dignities of life, he soon ceased to take any notice of his mother's
new title, and became absorbed in a rough game of play with the two dogs
under the table. The old couple had just gone, when a carriage was heard
at the door.

"Is it you, doctor?" cried Ida from within, in joyous greeting,

"Yes, madame; I come to learn something about your sick son, of whose
arrival I have heard."

Jack looked inquisitively at the large, kindly face crowned by snowy
locks. The doctor wore a coat down to his heels, and had a rolling walk,
the result of twenty years of sea-life as a surgeon.

"Your boy is all right, madame. I was afraid, from what I heard through
my servant, that he and you might require my services."

What good people these all were, and bow thankful little Jack felt that
he had forever left that detestable school!

When the doctor left, the house was bolted and barred, and the mother
and child went tranquilly to their bedroom.

There, while Jack slept, Ida wrote to D'Argenton a long letter, telling
him of her son's arrival, and seeking to arouse his sympathy for the
little lonely fellow, whose gentle, regular breathing she heard at her
side. She was more at her ease when two days later came a reply from her
poet.

Although full of reproaches and of allusions to her maternal weakness,
and to the undisciplined nature of her child, the letter was less
terrible than she had anticipated. In fact, D'Argenton concluded that
it was well to be relieved of the enormous expenses at the academy, and
while disapproving of the escapade, he thought it no great misfortune,
as the Institution was rapidly running down. "Had he not left it?" As to
the child's fixture, it should be his care, and when he returned a week
later, they would consult together as to what plan to adopt.

Never did Jack, in his whole life, as child or man, pass such a week of
utter happiness. His mother belonged to him alone. He had the dogs
and the goat, the forest and the rabbits, and yet he did not leave his
mother for many minutes at a time.