with his load of branches.

Further on, beyond the village, half-way up the hills, stood the
great ever-so-old lime tree, the Tel, as we used to call it, whose
sides, hollowed out by the ages, were the favorite hiding places of
us children at play. On fair days, its immense, spreading foliage
cast a wide shadow over the herds of oxen and sheep. Those solemn
days, which only came once a year, brought me a few ideas from
without: I learnt that the world did not end with my amphitheater
of hills. I saw the inn keeper's wine arrive on mule back and in
goat skin bottles. I hung about the market place and watched the
opening of jars full of stewed pears, the setting out of baskets of
grapes, an almost unknown fruit, the object of eager covetousness.
I stood and gazed in admiration at the roulette board on which, for
a sou, according to the spot at which its needle stopped on a
circular row of nails, you won a pink poodle made of barley sugar,
or a round jar of aniseed sweets, or, much oftener, nothing at all.
On a piece of canvas on the ground, rolls of printed calico with
red flowers, were displayed to tempt the girls. Close by rose a
pile of beechwood clogs, tops and boxwood flutes. Here the
shepherds chose their instruments, trying them by blowing a note or
two. How new it all was to me! What a lot of things there were to
see in this world! Alas, that wonderful time was of but short
duration! At night, after a little brawling at the inn, it was all
over; and the village returned to silence for a year.

But I must not linger over these memories of the dawn of life. We
were speaking of the memorable picture brought from town. Where
shall I keep it, to make the best use of it? Why, of course, it
must be pasted on the embrasure of my window. The recess, with its