"Yes, that's a knack that children who tend sheep have; but I've been an
ox-driver ever since I knew how to walk."

"That's how you came to be stronger in your arms than clever with your
hands. There's your fire all built; now you'll see if it won't burn!
Give me the fire and a few dry ferns. Good! now blow; you're not
weak-lunged, are you?"

"Not that I know of," said Germain, blowing like a forge-bellows. In a
moment, the flame shot up, cast a red light at first, and finally rose
in bluish flashes under the branches of the oaks, struggling with the
mist, and gradually drying the atmosphere for ten feet around.

"Now, I'll sit down beside the little one and see that no sparks fall on
him," said the girl. "You must throw on wood and keep the fire bright,
Germain! we shall not catch cold or the fever here, I promise you."

"Faith, you're a smart girl," said Germain, "and you can make a fire
like a little witch. I feel like a new man, and my courage is coming
back to me; for, with my legs wet to the knees, and the prospect of
staying here till daybreak in that condition, I was in a very bad humor
just now."

"And when one is in a bad humor, one never thinks of anything," rejoined
little Marie.

"And are you never in a bad humor, pray?"

"Oh! no, never! What's the use?"