“‘Big! Yes, that is possible. But the larger you are, my poor Jacques, the less excuse you have for not knowing how to swim, for having fear of the water.’ “‘He has tried,’ interposed my aunt. ‘I had uncle Antoine’s gardener, who is an excellent swimmer, give him a lesson in the river, but he came out so blue with cold that I dared not let him go back again. Although he neither cried nor complained, I am certain he would have died in less than five minutes.’ “‘You believe that, perhaps, my poor dear sister,’ replied my father. ‘It is, however, an experience which he will have to repeat. But I warn Jacques that in the meantime, or until he is able to swim, at least a few feet, there will no longer be a boat for him at the “Garden of Roses.” The St. Jacques (which was the name given in my honor to my uncle’s boat)—the St. Jacques must remain at anchor.’ “This was terrible, but it was irrevocable. It never entered my head to try to make my father alter his decision. “Then he said to me, ‘My boy, you love boats, but hate the water; when you have rendered two such contrary propositions a little more harmonious, when you are no longer afraid of wetting your precious little skin, you may voyage all you like in uncle Antoine’s boat. Until then, do not dream of doing so. One should never go in a boat unless one is capable of taking care of one’s self in case of accident.’ “The following morning we went to see uncle Antoine. * * * * * “My father and I at length set out. It was good to have him back, to hold his hand, and our disagreement upon one point had not seriously troubled our friendly relations. When we arrived, we found uncle Antoine, who occasionally suffered from the gout, incapable of taking a step in the garden. My father offered to give him his revenge for the game of chess which he had gained from him the year before,—the day previous to his departure. “‘As for you, Jacques,’ said uncle Antoine, ‘as you have no gout, run away, pick my cherries, eat my strawberries, look at my roses, go and see your chickens and rabbits and feed them for me. You would perhaps do well to take along a book, your ‘Swiss Family Robinson,’ go and read it in the hammock. Take a nap, if that pleases you, but whatever you do, be good. When one is not watched, there is a double duty and a double merit in being good.’ “‘I will add,’ put in my father, ‘that you may go in the path by the edge of the water, and you will do well to watch attentively what goes on in the river. Flowing water is an instructive spectacle for a boy like you.’ “‘Instructive?’ queried my uncle. “‘Full of information,’ answered my father. ‘It is in the water that the fishes swim. It is in the water also that Jacques will have to swim very shortly,—like a fish.’ “‘Like a fish?’ said my uncle. ‘Then you will have to give him fins.’