She broke from her mother, rushed into the house and up, up into the farthest corner of the attic where she could have out her cry without being seen. Her father! Her beloved father gone, gone! She might never see him again on earth. She could not bear to think of it! In the excitement of the past few days, in the glamour of beholding uniforms, hearing drums beating and seeing flags flying she had scarcely realized that he was going into dangers, but now that part was done with, that exciting part which had buoyed her up, and ahead were only days of waiting and of anxiety. The sobs grew less and less, however, as she remembered her promise to be brave. She repeated it over and over again: “I will be brave, always, always. I will, papa.” She wiped her eyes and gazed seriously out of the small window by which she sat. The pigeons were strutting over the red-tiled roof, making their queer cooing sounds. Down in the garden, walking back and forth, back and forth, she saw her grandfather slowly pacing. Presently something soft and furry rubbed against her knee. “You, Mousse!” she cried. “You have searched me out. What a cat indeed! How did you know where to find me?” She gathered the little purring creature into her arms, gently stroked his head till he settled down in her lap; then she sat there very still for some time, thinking, thinking, until looking down into the garden she saw Paulette come out with two buckets and go toward the well. “The poor Paulette,” exclaimed Lucie, “she will now have to do Jean’s work since he is no longer here. Behold grandfather! he has taken a bucket. He is helping her. What a thing indeed! I, too, should help; it is what I promised papa I would do. I had forgotten all that might happen with Jean gone, that Paulette would have double work unless we others should do some of it. Come, Mousse, we must go down.” She carried the small creature with her down to the garden, calling as she went: “What can I do? What can I do? Paulette, is there nothing I can do to help?” “To be sure there is something,” replied Paulette, setting down her bucket, a smile relaxing the gravity of her face. “You can feed the fowls.” “Truly I can,” replied Lucie. “I know where their food is. Come with me to feed the fowls,” she said to her grandfather who was setting down the second bucket. “And do you think I have nothing better to do than help you feed the fowls?” he asked, smiling at her indulgently. “No doubt you have, but it will not take long, and it is so much more entertaining when one has a companion to whom one can say: ‘Is not the speckled hen greedy?’ or, ‘What a coward is the red rooster!’” “To-day then it is allowed that you make those remarks to me, but after this--” He shook his head. “After this why can you not?” “Because, my child, I take my son’s place at the factory, as must many an old man do.”