"Upon the 15th of September it was necessary for us to leave the
village. Pierre had made a collection of shells, sea-weeds, star-fish
and pebbles; he was insatiable and wished to carry all of them away with
him, and with Veronica's aid he packed a great many into his boxes.

"One morning a large carriage arrived at St. Pierre to take us away. The
peace of the village was broken by the noise of the little bells and the
cracking of the driver's whip. Pierre with the greatest care placed his
own packets into the carriage and then we three quickly took our places.
With eyes full of sadness Pierre gazed out of the carriage window
towards the sandy path that led down to the beach--and at his little
friend who stood there weeping."

In conclusion I will copy word for word the reflection found at the end
of the faded book which was written down by my sister during that same
summer.

"Then, and not for the first time, I fell into an uneasy reverie that
had to do with Pierre, and I asked myself: 'What will become of the
little boy? And what will become of his little friend whose figure we
could still see outlined at the now far distant end of the road. How
much despair does that little heart feel; how much anguish at being thus
abandoned?'"

"What will become of that boy?" Alas! what indeed! His whole life was to
be similar to that summer of his childhood. To know the sorrow of
many farewells; to desire to take with me a thousand trifles of no
appreciable value, to hunger to have about me a world of beloved
souvenirs,--but especially to say good bye to wild little creatures
(loved perhaps just because they were ingenuous children of