marry you. So they wouldn't imagine that I--that you--"

"Look, ploughman! here's your son waking up," said little Marie.




IX

THE EVENING PRAYER


Petit-Pierre had sat up, and was looking all about with a thoughtful
expression.

"Ah! the rascal never does anything else when he hears anybody eating!"
said Germain; "a cannon-shot wouldn't wake him, but move your jaws in
his neighborhood, and he opens his eyes at once."

"You must have been like that at his age," said little Marie, with a
mischievous smile. "Well, my little Pierre, are you looking for the top
of your cradle? It's made of green leaves to-night, my child; but your
father's having his supper, all the same. Do you want to sup with him? I
haven't eaten your share; I thought you would probably claim it!"

"Marie, I insist on your eating," cried the ploughman; "I shan't eat any
more. I am a glutton, a boor; you go without on our account, and it's
not right; I'm ashamed of myself. It takes away my appetite, I tell
you; I won't let my son have any supper unless you take some."