Oh, don't suppose that we are the only creatures who love a summer
shower! The dear little birds, how delighted they are! How they shake
their feathers, whilst they warble so joyously; not more joyously,
though, than your children,--your children as free, and gay, and
light-hearted as they! And then, look! as the day declines the youngest
children run across the wood to meet the elder, who brings back the two
heifers from pasture, for they have heard the tinkling of the bell in
the distance!"

"Yes, Goualeuse, and I think I see the smallest and boldest, whom his
brother has put astride on the back of one of the cows."

"And one would say that the poor animal knows what burden she bears, she
steps so carefully. But it is supper-time; your eldest child, whilst he
has been tending the cows at pasture, has amused himself with gathering
for you a basket of beautiful strawberries, which he has brought quite
fresh under a thick covering of wild violets."

"Strawberries and violets,--ah, what a lovely smell they have! But where
the deuce did you find all these ideas, La Goualeuse?"

"In the woods, where the strawberries ripen and the violets blow, you
have only to look and gather them--But let us go on with our
housekeeping. It is night, and you must milk your heifers, prepare your
supper under the shelter of the vine, for you hear your husband's dogs
bark, and then their master's voice, who, tired as he is, comes home
singing,--and who could not sing when on a fine summer's eve with
cheerful heart you return to the house where a good wife and five
children are waiting for you?--eh, Madame Martial?"

"True, true; one could not but sing," replied La Louve, becoming more
and more thoughtful.

"Unless one weeps for joy," continued Fleur-de-Marie, herself much
touched, "and such tears are as sweet as songs. And then, when night has
completely come, what a pleasure to sit in the arbour and enjoy the
calmness of a fine evening, to breathe the sweet odour of the forest,
to hear the prattle of the children, to look at the stars, then the
heart is so full,--so full that it must pour out its prayer; it must
thank him to whom we are indebted for the freshness of the evening, the
sweet scent of the woods, the gentle brightness of the starry sky! After
this thanksgiving or this prayer, we go to sleep tranquilly till the
next day, and then again thank our Creator. And this poor, hard-working,
but calm and honest life, is the same each