"Oh, mother Annemie, look here! Beautiful red and white currants, and a roll; I saved them for you.

They are the first currants we have seen this year.

Me?
oh, for me, I have eaten more than are good! You know I pick fruit like a sparrow, always.
Dear mother Annemie, are you better?
Are you quite sure you are better to-day ?" The little old withered woman, brown as a walnut and meagre as a rush, took the currants, and smiled with a childish glee, and began to eat them, blessing the child with each crumb she broke off the bread.
"Why had you not a grandmother of your own, my little one ?" she mumbled.
"How good you would have been to her, Bebee!" "Yes," said Bebee seriously, but her mind could not grasp the idea.

It was easier for her to believe the fanciful lily parentage of Antoine's stories.

"How much work have you done, Annemie?
Oh, all that?
all that?
But there is enough for a week.