bushels a day of all grains, rye, barley, wheat, all good to grind.

The two cows, led to the roadside by the youngest girl, always managed
to stray into the meadows of Les Aigues; but as, if it ever chanced
that some too flagrant trespass compelled the keepers to take notice
of it, the children were either whipped or deprived of a coveted
dainty, they had acquired such extraordinary aptitude in hearing the
enemy's footfall that the bailiff or the park-keeper of Les Aigues was
very seldom able to detect them. Besides, the relations of those
estimable functionaries with Tonsard and his wife tied a bandage over
their eyes. The cows, held by long ropes, obeyed a mere twitch or a
special low call back to the roadside, knowing very well that, the
danger once past, they could finish their browsing in the next field.
Old mother Tonsard, who was getting more and more infirm, succeeded
Mouche in his duties, after Fourchon, under pretence of caring for his
natural grandson's education, kept him to himself; while Marie and
Catherine made hay in the woods. These girls knew the exact spots
where the fine forest-grass abounded, and there they cut and spread
and cocked and garnered it, supplying two thirds, at least, of the
winter fodder, and leading the cows on all fine days to sheltered
nooks where they could still find pasture. In certain parts of the
valley of Les Aigues, as in all places protected by a chain of
mountains, in Piedmont and in Lombardy for instance, there are spots
where the grass keeps green all the year. Such fields, called in Italy
"marciti," are of great value; though in France they are often in
danger of being injured by snow and ice. This phenomenon is due, no
doubt, to some favorable exposure, and to the infiltration of water
which keeps the ground at a warmer temperature.

The calves were sold for about eighty francs. The milk, deducting the