mighty
Canon Lucien, the all-powerful Nurse Saveria, nor the masterful little
Napoleon.

In fact, Napoleon stood more in awe of Panoria than she did of him. For
the boy was, as boys and girls say today, "sweet on" the little Panoria,
to whom he gave the pet name "La Giacommetta." Many a battle royal he
had fought because of her with the fun-loving boys of Ajaccio, who
found that it enraged Napoleon to tease him about the little girl, and
therefore never let the opportunity slip to tease and torment him.

"Ah, Napoleon, it is you!" cried Panoria, as the boy approached her.
"And what great stories have you been telling yourself today in your
grotto?"

"I tell no great stories to myself, little one," Napoleon replied with
rather a lordly air. "I do but talk truth with myself."

"Then should you talk truth with me, boy," the little lady replied, a
trifle haughty also. "I am not to be called 'little one' by such a mite
as you. See! I am taller than you!"

"Yes; when one stands on a gate, one is taller than he who stands on the
ground," Napoleon admitted. "But when we stand back to back, who then is
the taller? See! Call Pauline! She shall tell us!"

"That shall she not, then," said the little girl, who loved to tease
quite as well as most girls. "It would be better to go and make yourself
look fine, than to stand here saying how big you are. Go look in the
glass. Your stockings are tumbling over your shoes, and your jacket is
all awry. How will your Mamma Letitia like that? Run, then! I hear the
carriage wheels! In with you, little Down-at-the-heel!"

Smarting under the girl's teasing, and all the more because it came from
her, Napoleon sulked into the house.

But Panoria still swung on the gate. When the carriage stopped before
the house, she ran to welcome her friend Eliza, and, with the returned
family, entered the house.

In the doorway the fat little canon, Uncle Lucien, received them.

"Back again, uncle!" cried Mamma Letitia in welcome. "And how do you
all? Where is Napoleon? Where is Pauline?" The woman who spoke was
Madame Letitia Bonaparte, the mother of Napoleon. She was a remarkable
woman--remarkable for beauty, for ability, and for position. Born a
peasant, she became the mother of kings and queens; reared in poverty,
she became the mistress of millions. In her Corsican home she was
house-mother and care-taker; and when, made great by her great son, she
had every comfort and every luxury, she still