"I'm sure I don't know, but when any one wants to prevent our playing, they say, 'That will give your uncle the canon a headache!' When we are not to touch something, 'tis always, 'That belongs to the canon!' If we want to eat some fine fruit, 'Don't touch that; 'tis for your uncle the canon!' And even when we are praised or rewarded, 'tis always because the canon is pleased with us!" "Is it because he is archdeacon of Ajaccio that people are so much afraid of him?" "Oh, no, Panoria; but because he is our tutor. Papa is not rich enough to pay for masters to teach us, and he has not time to look after our education himself; so our uncle the canon teaches us every thing. He is not unkind, but he is very strict. If we don't know our lessons, he slaps us smartly." "And don't you call that unkind, Eliza?" "Not exactly. Do you never get a whipping yourself, Panoria?" "No, indeed, Eliza. It is the Corsican fashion to beat children; but our family is Greek, and mamma says Greeks must not be beaten." "Then I'm sure, Panoria, I wish I were a Greek; for 'tis very unpleasant to be slapped!" "I dare say your brother Napoleon does not like it either." "He is the only one of my brothers who does not cry or complain when he is punished. If you heard what a noise Joseph and Lucien make, you would fancy that uncle was flaying them alive!" "But about Napoleon. What can he be talking about alone in the grotto?" "Hush! Here he is! Let us hide ourselves behind this lilac-tree, and you'll hear." "I see Severia coming to call us." "Ah! it will take her an hour to gather ripe fruit for uncle the canon. We shall have time enough. Come!" And the little girls, gliding between the rock and the overhanging shrubs, took up their position in perfect concealment. The boy who advanced toward the grotto differed from the generality of children of his age in the size of his head, the massive form of his noble brow, and the fixed _examining_ expression of his eyes. He walked slowly--looking at the bright blue sea--and unconscious that his proceedings were closely watched by two pair of little bright black eyes. "Here I am my own master!" he said as he entered the grotto. "No one commands me here!" And seating himself royally on a bench within the dark entrance, he continued, "This is my birthday. I am eight years old to-day. I wish I lived among the Spartans, then I should be beyond the control of women; but now I have to obey such a number of people--old Severia among the rest. Ah, if I were the master!" "Well, and if you were the master, what would you do?" cried Eliza, thrusting forward her pretty little head. "First of all, I'd teach you not to come listening at doors," replied Napoleon, disconcerted at being overheard. "But, brother, there's no door that I can see." "No matter, you have been eaves-dropping all the same." "Eliza!--Panoria!" cried a loud voice. "Where can these children have gone to?"