lined, his mouth decidedly aslant on account of some lost teeth,
and his eyes set deep under gray, shaggy brows. Looking at him
when his features were in repose a first impression might not have
been favorable; but seeing him smile or hearing him speak changed
everything. His voice was sweetness itself and his smile won you
on the instant. Something like a pervading sorrow always seemed to
be close behind his eyes and under his speech; yet he was a
genial, sometimes almost jolly, man, very prone to join in the
lighter amusements of his people.

"Children, children, my children," he called out as he approached
along a little pathway leading up from the direction of the
church, "what are you doing now? Bah there, Alice, will you pull
Jean's leg off?"

At first they did not hear him, they were so nearly deafened by
their own vocal discords.

"Why are you standing on your head with your feet so high in air,
Jean?" he added. "It's not a polite attitude in the presence of a
young lady. Are you a pig, that you poke your nose in the dirt?"

Alice now turned her bright head and gave Pere Beret a look of
frank welcome, which at the same time shot a beam of willful self-
assertion.

"My daughter, are you trying to help Jean up the tree feet
foremost?" the priest added, standing where he had halted just
outside of the straggling yard fence.