in his pocket and
marched off with angry strides, followed at a distance by the astonished
chimney-sweeps and scullions.

The good M. Chanterelle was left sitting alone on his post with the
Princess of Savoy, and thinking how he was risking the eternal pains of
hell fire for giving a doll to Mademoiselle de Doucine, his niece, he
fell to pondering the unfathomable mysteries of Religion.

His legs, which had been tottery for several months, refused to carry
him, and he felt as unhappy as ever a well-meaning man possibly can in
this world.

He had been sitting stranded in this distressful mood on his post for
some minutes when a Capuchin friar stepped up and addressed him:

"Sir, will you not give New Year's presents to the Little Brethren who
are poor, for the love of God?"

"Why! what! good Father," M. Chan-terelle burst out, "you are a man of
religion, and you ask me for New Year's gifts?"

"Sir," replied the Capuchin, "the good St. Francis bade his sons make
merry with all simplicity. Give the Capuchins wherewith to make a good
meal this day, that they may endure with cheerfulness the abstinence and
fasting they must observe all the rest of the year,--barring, of course,
Sundays and Feast Days."

M. Chanterelle gazed at the holy man with wonder:

"Are you not afraid, Father, that this custom of New Year's gifts is
baneful to the soul?"

"No, I am not afraid."

"The custom comes to us from the Pagans."

"The Pagans sometimes followed good customs. God was pleased to suffer
some faint rays of his light to pierce the darkness of the Gentiles.
Sir, if you refuse to give _us_ presents, never refuse a boon to our
poor little ones. We have a home for foundlings. With this poor crown I
shall buy each child a little paper windmill and a cake. They will owe
you the only pleasure perhaps of all their life; for they are not fated
to have much joy in the world. Their laughter will go up to heaven; when
children laugh, they praise the Lord."

M. Chanterelle laid his well-filled purse in the poor friar's palm and
got him down from his post, saying over softly to himself the word he
had just heard:

"When children laugh, they praise the Lord."

Then his soul was comforted and he marched off with a firmer step to
carry the Princess of Savoy to Mademoiselle de Doucine, his niece.

MADEMOISELLE ROXANE

[Illustration: 136]

MY good master, M. l'Abbe Coignard, had taken me with him to sup
with one of his old f