When I heard that, I knew I was right in the thought that he had set a
trap for himself. It was so, and he had walked into it, you see. I seemed
to feel encouraged, and wondered if mayhap I might get him into one; but
upon reflection my heart went down, for this was not my gift.



Chapter 3 All Aflame with Love of France

SPEAKING of this matter reminds me of many incidents, many things that I
could tell, but I think I will not try to do it now. It will be more to
my present humor to call back a little glimpse of the simple and
colorless good times we used to have in our village homes in those
peaceful days--especially in the winter. In the summer we children were
out on the breezy uplands with the flocks from dawn till night, and then
there was noisy frolicking and all that; but winter was the cozy time,
winter was the snug time. Often we gathered in old Jacques d'Arc's big
dirt-floored apartment, with a great fire going, and played games, and
sang songs, and told fortunes, and listened to the old villagers tell
tales and histories and lies and one thing and another till twelve
o'clock at night.

One winter's night we were gathered there--it was the winter that for
years afterward they called the hard winter--and that particular night
was a sharp one. It blew a gale outside, and the screaming of the wind
was a stirring sound, and I think I may say it was beautiful, for I think
it is great and fine and beautiful to hear the wind rage and storm and
blow its clarions like that, when you are inside and comfortable. And we
were. We had a roaring fire, and the pleasant spit-spit of the snow and