mothers every year, and that a special shepherdess was needed to look
after them. He also told me that the name of the farm was
Villevieille, and that everybody was happy there because Master[1]
Silvain the farmer, and Pauline, his wife, were kind people.

When he had seen to all the animals the cowherd made me sit down next
to him in the chestnut avenue. Sitting there we could see the bend in
the lane which went up towards the high-road, and the whole of the
farm. The farm buildings formed a square and the huge dunghill in the
middle of the yard gave off a warm smell, which mixed with the smell of
the half-dried hay. The farm was wrapped in silence. I sat and looked
all round me. I could see nothing but pine trees and corn fields. I
felt as though I had suddenly been dropped into a faraway country,
where I should always remain, along with the cowherd, and the animals
which I could hear moving in their stables. It was very hot and I was
numb with a heavy longing to go to sleep, but fear of all the new
things which were round me prevented me from letting myself drop off.
Flies of all possible colours whizzed round me with a little snoring
noise. The cowherd was making a basket of rushes, and the dogs lay at
our feet fast asleep.

Just as the sun was setting, the farmer's cart turned slowly round the
bend in the lane. There were five people in it, two men and three
women. As they passed us, the farmer's wife smiled down at me, and the
others leaned forward to see me. Soon afterwards the farm filled with
noise, and as it was too late to make soup for supper we all supped off
a piece of bread and a bowl of milk.

[1] On a French farm the farmer is always called "Master."

Next day the farmer's wife gave me a cloak, and I went out with old
Bibiche to learn how to look after the lambs. Old Bibiche and her dog
Castille were so like one another that I always thought they must
belong to the same family. They looked about the same age, and their
eyes were about the same colour. Whenever the lambs ran off the path
Bibiche would say, "Bark, Castille, bark." She said it very quickly,
almost in one word, and even when Castille did not bark the lambs got
back into line again. The old woman's voice was so like that of her
dog.

When harvesting began it seemed to me as though I were taking part in
something full of mystery. Men went up to the corn and laid it on the
ground with regular sweeping strokes, w