“Three minutes later she made us each drink a glass of sugared wine—very hot—which put Auguste in an extremely jubilant frame of mind. I could not share it. The worst was perhaps over. All was finished on our side of the river, but that which was soon going to pass on the other side began to occupy my mind. I thought alternately of papa, of mamma, of my uncle, of my wet clothes, of the two boxes on my ears, of the boat, and of aunt Marie. All this was very complicated for a childish brain, already confused. Little Auguste, searching for a warm place, had curled up in my arms and gone to sleep. Scarcely knowing it, I followed his example, and became unconscious in the middle of my sad reflections. It seems they let us sleep nearly two hours. When I awoke and found myself in that room and in that bed, and felt the head of a chubby little boy on my shoulder, I was, at first, much astonished. I opened my eyes without daring to move. But soon my memory returned, I remembered everything, and cried, ‘Papa! papa!’ “‘Present!’ replied my father. He had been there by my bedside,—my dear father,—for one hour, and my darling mother was there also. Aunt Sister Marie had been unable to leave, or she would have been there, too. “Madame Brazon, it appears, had at length succeeded in recognizing in the small gentleman so scantily clad, whose ears she had so lately boxed, the little boy she had often seen in the garden across the river, and to explain the enigma, she had sent a neighbor to uncle Antoine’s. It had suddenly interrupted the game of chess. My father arrived soon after, bringing with him my uncle’s doctor. The doctor, after looking at the pretty picture we made in Madame Brazon’s bed, had said, ‘Let them sleep.’ “While waiting for us to wake up, father had sent to town for dry clothes; my mother had brought them herself. When I was dressed, my father took me between his knees and said to me: “‘Tell me everything.’ “I gave him, in fewer words than I have just used, an exact account of what had happened. My father listened to me. I saw clearly that he was not angry. At one moment, however, I saw him grow pale; it was when he realized from my explanations that to go and _undrown_ little Auguste (this was the word I used, and it has been so well remembered by all the family that I have not forgotten it), it was, I say, when he understood that I must certainly have crossed the river to reach the child. “‘It is incomprehensible!’ said he to mamma and the doctor. ‘The middle of the river is every where at least five or six feet deep. What did he do?’ “‘Papa,’ said I, ‘I did as I saw the frogs do.’ “‘But then, my child, you _swam_.’ “‘I do not know, papa; perhaps—’ “‘Did the water go over your head?’ “‘No, papa, surely not.’ “‘You got no water in your mouth while you were going across to rescue little Auguste? You did not go altogether under water?’ “‘No, papa; no papa.’