Jacquot's business was to sell charcoal to the rich people in the city. He might be seen every day with a bag of charcoal on his back, carrying it to some of his customers. Sometimes he carried three or four bags to the palace where the little king of France lived with his mother. One evening he was very late coming home. The table was spread and supper was ready. The children were hungry and could hardly wait for their father to come. "The supper will get cold," said Charlot,[Footnote: _pro._ shar lo'] the eldest. "I wonder why he is so late," said his little brother, Blondel.[Footnote: Blon del'.] "There is to be a great feast at the queen's palace to-night," said the mother." There will be music and dancing, and many fine people will be there. Perhaps your father is waiting to help in the kitchen." The next minute they heard his voice at the door: "Be quick, boys, and stir the fire. Throw on some chips and make a blaze." They did so, and as the flames lighted up the room, they saw their father enter with a child in his arms. "What's the matter?" cried the mother. "Who is that child?" Then she saw that the child's face was very pale and that he neither opened his eyes nor moved. "Oh, what has happened? Where did you find him?" "I'll tell you all about it," answered Jacquot. "But first get a blanket and warm it, quick. That on the children's bed is best." "What a beautiful child!" said the mother, as she hurried to do his bidding. The two boys, Charlot and Blondel, with wondering eyes watched their father and mother undress the little stranger. His beautiful clothes were soaked with water, and his fine white collar and ruffles were soiled and dripping. "He must have some dry clothes. Bring me your Sunday suit, Charlot." "Here it is, mother." said Charlot. Soon the little stranger was clad in the warm clothes; the dry soft blanket was wrapped around him; and he was laid on the children's bed. Then, being very comfortable, he began to grow stronger. The color came back to his cheeks. He opened his eyes and looked around at the small, plain room and at the poor people standing near him. "Where am I? Where am I?" he asked. "In my house, my little friend," answered Jacquot. "_My little friend!_" said the child with a sneer. He looked at the fire on the hearth, and at the rough table and benches. Then he said, "Your house is a very poor place, I think." "I am sorry if you do not like it," said Jacquot. "But if I had not helped you, you would have been in a worse place." "How did these clothes come on me?" cried the child. "They are not mine. You have stolen my clothes and have given me these ugly things." "Stolen!" said the charcoal man, angrily. "What do you mean, you ungrateful little rascal?" "Hush, Jacquot," said his wife, kindly. "He doesn't know what he says. Wait till he rests a while, and then he'll be in a better humor." The child was indeed very tired. His eyes closed and he was soon fast asleep.