I was so much comforted by these reflections that when I reached the top of the last hill as you go towards Clamecy I went on gaily, throwing my feet out, and twirling my stick with a jaunty air, when I saw in the distance a boy running towards me, seemingly in much distress. As he came nearer, I knew him for my youngest apprentice, a lad about thirteen years old, Robinet, called Binet; certainly as idle a youngster as ever stared out of a window at the girls, when he should have been hard at work. Twenty times a day I had to cuff him for his laziness, but he was a clever little monkey, and his agile fingers could turn out astonishingly good things when he liked; and then his funny face with its wide mouth and turned-up nose, was so attractive that, for the life of me, I could not be really angry with him. He knew it, the young rascal! and when I hit him a good clip, he would just shake his ears like a donkey, and in ten minutes was as bad as ever. Imagine my surprise when I saw that he was crying, the large drops streaming in rivulets down his cheeks, and before I could say a word, he flung his arms round my neck, blubbering, and bedewing me with his tears, like a Triton in a fountain. “Stand off!” cried I. “What on earth is the matter with you? And, for goodness’ sake, blow your nose, first, if you want to kiss me!” Then as I saw that, far from stopping, he let himself slip to the ground and lay there, sobbing louder than ever, I became really alarmed, and raised him, so that I saw that one hand was wrapped in a bloody rag, that his eyebrows were singed, and his clothes torn and dusty. “Come, my boy, what is the matter? What mischief have you been up to this time?”--I had really forgotten my disaster. “Oh, Master!--the fire! I can’t bear to tell you,” said he, weeping, and when I realized that the poor child was unhappy on my account, because my house was burned down, I cannot tell you what a comfort it was to me. “My poor boy!” said I, “don’t cry any longer.” He thought that I had not understood, and told me more calmly that my workshop and my house were burned to the ground. “That’s an old story by now,” said I, patting him on the back. “You are the fourth or fifth person who has told me of it. Well! it’s hard luck, that’s all I can say, but I never thought you cared so much about the old shop. Honor bright, now, didn’t you dance around it, like the others, while it was burning?”