ing a secret whispered to him. In presence of this prodigy
my youngsters could no longer restrain themselves, and would exchange
among themselves those keen, simple, timid, mocking looks, which must
have been seen to be understood. They advanced this time in earnest, and
if I offered to let the boldest listen, by holding out my watch to him,
he would draw back alarmed, although smiling, while the band would break
into an outburst of joy; the ducklings flapping their wings, the white
geese cackling, and the chickens going chk, chk. The game was won.

How many times have I not played this little farce, seated under a willow
on the banks of my little stream, which ripples over the white stones,
while the reeds bend tremblingly. The children would crowd round me to
hear the watch, and soon questions broke forth in chorus to an
accompaniment of laughter. They inspected my gaiters, rummaged in my
pockets and leant against my knees. The ducklings glided under my feet,
and the big geese tickled my back.

How enjoyable it is not to alarm creatures that tremble at everything. I
would not move for fear of interrupting their joy, and was like a child
who is building a house of cards and who has got to the third story. But
I marked all these happy little faces standing out against the blue sky;
I watched the rays of the sun stealing into the tangles of their fair
hair, or spreading in a patch of gold on their little brown necks; I
followed their gestures full of awkwardness and grace; I sat down on the
grass to be the nearer to them; and if an unfortunate chicken came to
grief, between two daisies, I quickly stretched out my arm and replaced
it on its legs.

I assure you that they were all grateful. If one loves these little
people at all, there is one thing that strikes you when you watch them
closely. Ducklings dabbling along the edge of the water or turning head
over heels in their feeding trough, young shoots thrusting forth their
tender little leaves above ground, little chickens running along before
their mother hen, or little men staggering among the grass-all these
little creatures resemble one another. They are the babies of the great
mother Nature; they have common laws, a common physiognomy; they have
something inexplicable about them which is at once comic and graceful,
awkward and tender, and which makes them loved at once; they are
relations, friends, comrades, under the same flag. This pink and white
flag, let us sa