at are poor or unhappy or shy
that they take some invisible cakes or sandwiches made of dominos.

[Illustration]

Catherine will one day be a hostess in whose drawing room no doubt
politeness of the real old-fashioned kind will flourish.

THE LITTLE SEA DOGS

[Illustration]

They are little sailors, real little sea dogs, every one. Look how they
pull their caps down low on their necks so that the sea wind, misty and
whistling, shall not split their ears with its terrible groanings. They
wear suits of heavy wool, for protection against the cold and damp.
Their made-over pea jackets and breeches were their elder brothers'
before them. Their garments in turn were made out of their fathers' old
suits. Their hearts too are of the same stuff as their father's--simple,
patient and full of courage. Since they came into the world they have
been simple and big of heart. Who has made them so? After God and their
fathers and mothers it is the ocean. The ocean teaches sailors courage
through danger--a rude benefactor.

[Illustration: THEY LOOK FOR THE BOATS THAT SAILED FOR THE FISHING
GROUNDS, AND THAT MUST NOW SOON APPEAR ON THE HORIZON LOADED TO THE
GUNWALES, AND BRINGING BACK UNCLES AND OLDER BROTHERS AND FATHERS.

_Printed in France_]

That is why the little sailors, in their childish hearts, bear such
brave thoughts. Stooping over the parapet of the stockade they look
off over the sea. They see more than the thin blue line of boundary
between the sky and sea. The ocean does not interest them for its fine
changing colors, nor the sky for the huge grotesque shapes of its
clouds. What they see off there in space is something more real to them
than the tint of waters and the face of the clouds: something that they
love. They look for the boats that sailed for the fishing grounds, and
that must now soon appear on the horizon bringing back besides their
full cargoes of shrimps, uncles and older brothers and fathers. The
little fleet will soon show its white or weather-stained sails down
there, between the ocean and God's good sky. To-day the sky is clear,
the ocean still: the tide brings the fishers gently to the shore. But
the ocean is a changeable old veteran, who takes many forms and sings in
many tones. To-day he smiles: to-morrow he will scold beneath his foamy
beard. He will capsize the ablest ships, ships that have been blest by
the priest with songs and Te Deums: he will drown his sturdiest patrons.
It is hi