eat by the brook
side. On the alder trees I catch the Hoplia, the splendid scarab who
pales the azure of the heavens. I pick the narcissus and learn to
gather, with the tip of my tongue, the tiny drop of honey that lies
right at the bottom of the cleft corolla. I also learn that too long
indulgence in this feast brings a headache; but this discomfort in no
way impairs my admiration for the glorious white flower, which wears a
narrow red collar at the throat of its funnel.

When we go to beat the walnut trees, the barren grass plots provide me
with locusts spreading their wings, some into a blue fan, others into a
red. And thus the rustic school, even in the heart of winter, furnished
continuous food for my interest in things. There was no need for precept
and example: my passion for animals and plants made progress of itself.

What did not make progress was my acquaintance with my letters, greatly
neglected in favor of the pigeon. I was still at the same stage,
hopelessly behindhand with the intractable alphabet, when my father, by
a chance inspiration, brought me home from the town what was destined to
give me a start along the road of reading. Despite the not insignificant
part which it played in my intellectual awakening, the purchase was
by no means a ruinous one. It was a large print, price six farthings,
colored and divided into compartments in which animals of all sorts
taught the A B C by means of the first letters of their names.

Where should I keep the precious picture? As it happened, in the room
set apart for the children at home, there was a little window like the
one in the school, opening in the same way out of a sort of recess and
in the same way overlooking most of the village. One was on the right,
the other on the left of the castle with the pigeon house towers; both
afforded an equally good view of the heights of the slanting valley.
I was able to enjoy the school window only at rare intervals, when the
master left his little table; the other was at my disposal as often as I
liked. I spent long hours there, sitting on a little fixed window seat.

The view was magnificent. I could see the ends of the earth, that is
to say, the hills that blocked the horizon, all but a misty gap through
which the brook with the crayfish flowed under the alders and willows.
High up on the skyline, a few wind-battered oaks bristled on the ridges;
and beyond there lay nothing but the unknown, laden with mystery.

At