w delighted she was when she had a pail
three-quarters full of beautiful frothy milk.

There was another burst of delight when she saw the things on the table
ready for pancakes, which I told her we were dying to have.

"You must have known that Barberin was in Paris, then?" she said. I
explained to her how I had learned so.

"I will tell you why he has gone," she said, looking at me
significantly.

"Let's have the pancakes first," I said; "don't let's talk about him. I
have not forgotten how he sold me for forty francs, and it was my fear
of him, the fear that he would sell me again, that kept me from writing
to tell you news of myself."

"Oh, boy, I thought that was why," she said, "but you mustn't speak
unkindly of Barberin."

"Well, let's have the pancakes now," I said, hugging her.

We all set briskly to prepare the ingredients and before long Mattia and
I were cramming pancakes down our throats. Mattia declared that he had
never tasted anything so fine. As soon as we had finished one we held
out our plates for another, and Capi came in for his share. Mother
Barberin was scandalized that we should give a dog pancakes, but we
explained to her that he was the chief actor in our company and a
genius, and that he was treated by us with every consideration. Later,
while Mattia was out getting some wood ready for the next morning, she
told me why Barberin had gone to Paris.

"Your family is looking for you," she said, almost in a whisper. "That's
what Barberin has gone up to Paris about. He's looking for you."

"My family," I exclaimed. "Oh, have I a family of my own? Speak, tell
all, Mother Barberin, dear Mother Barberin!"

Then I got frightened. I did not believe that my family was looking for
me. Barberin was trying to find me so that he could sell me again. I
would not be sold! I told my fears to Mother Barberin, but she said no,
my family was looking for me. Then she told me that a gentleman came to
the house who spoke with a foreign accent, and he asked Barberin what
had become of the little baby that he had found many years ago in Paris.
Barberin asked him what business that was of his. This answer was just
like Barberin would give.

"You know from the bakehouse one can hear everything that is said in the
kitchen," said Mother Barberin, "and when I knew that they were talking
about you, I naturally listened. I got nearer and then I trod on a twig
of wood that broke."

"'Oh, we're not alone,' said th