"The idea," laughed Mengette teasingly. "Why, he can't beat any of us; not even little Martin yonder, who is half his size," indicating a small boy whose flock browsed just beyond Colin's sheep. "We'll all run just to show him. Besides, it's the very thing to keep us from getting sleepy. Get in line, everybody. Come on, Martin. I'll be the starter. There! You will all start at three. Attention! Attention! One, two, three,--Go!" And laughing merrily they were off. Now Jeanne often ran races with her playmates. It was a frequent diversion of the children when they attended the animals on the uplands, care being always exercised to run in a direction that would bring no alarm to the flocks. Jeanne was very fleet of foot, as had been proven on more than one occasion. This afternoon she ran so swiftly, so easily, so without conscious effort on her part that it seemed as though she were upborne by wings. Reaching the flowers quite a few moments ahead of her companions she bent over them, inhaling their perfume with a sense of rapture that she had never before experienced. Hauviette was the first one after her to reach the goal. "Oh, Jeanne," she cried, gazing at her friend with wonder. "I never saw any one run as you did. Why, your feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground." "Jeanne always runs as though she were flying," spoke Mengette now coming up. "Anyway I'm glad that Colin didn't beat us. He's 'way behind us all, for here is Martin before him. For shame, Colin," she cried, laughing, as the boy lumbered up to them. Colin was not noted for fleetness of foot. "Not only did Jeanne outstrip you, but Hauviette, Martin and I did likewise. All of us got here before you. You didn't stand a chance for those flowers, even if Jeanne had not run." "I wasn't waked up enough to run well," explained Colin, rousing to the need of defending himself. "Jeanne," broke in little Martin suddenly, "go home. Your mother wants you. I heard her calling." "Mother wants me," exclaimed the girl in surprise. "Why, that's strange! I never knew her to call me before when I was out with a flock. Something must be the matter." "Maybe there is," said the lad. "Anyway I heard her calling, 'Jeanne! Jeanne!' just like that." "Then I must go to her," cried Jeanne. With this she turned and left them, hastening in some alarm to the cottage. Her mother glanced up in surprise from her sewing as she came through the door. "Why, child, what brings you home so early?" she cried. "Has anything happened to the flocks?" "Did you not call me, mother?" asked Jeanne innocently. "I thought that something was wrong." "Call you? No. What made you think that I called you?" questioned Isabeau sharply. "You should never leave the sheep alone on the uplands. The other children have enough to do to mind their own animals without attending to yours. What made you think that I called you?"