“And then, O Lord, there were the witch-cats. Why yes, those black cats they called the ‘Mascots,’ for they were said to make money come to the house where they lived. You knew the old Tarlavelle, eh?--she who left such a pile of crowns when she died--well, she had a black cat, and she took care to give it the first helping at every meal. And there was my poor uncle, going to bed one night by the light of the moon, what does he see but a black cat crossing the road. He, thinking no harm, threw a stone at the cat--when, lo and behold, the beast turned round, gave him an evil look, and hissed out, ‘Thou hast hit Robert!’ Strange things! To-day they seem like dreams, nobody ever mentions them--yet there must have been something in it all, or why should every one have been so afraid. Eh, and there were many others,” continued Renaude, “awful strange creatures like the Night-witch, who seated herself on your chest and squeezed the breath out of you. And the Wier-wolf, and the Jack o’ Lantern, and the Fantastic Sprite. Why, just fancy, one day--I might have been eleven years old--I was returning from the catechism class when, passing near a poplar, I heard a laugh coming from the very top of the tree. I looked up, and there was the Fantastic Sprite grinning between the leaves and making me signs to climb up. Why, I wouldn’t have gone up that tree for a hundred onions--I took to my heels and ran as if I’d gone crazy. Oh, I can tell you, when we talked of these things round the hearth at nights not one of us would have gone outside. Poor children, what a fright we were in. But we soon grew up, and then came the time for lovers, and the lads would call to us to come out and walk or dance by the moonlight. At first we refused for fear we might meet the White Hen or the Fantastic Sprite, but when they called us ‘sillies’ to believe such blind grandmother’s tales, and said they’d scare away the hobgoblins--boys of that age have got no sense, and make you laugh with their nonsense even against your will--why, gradually we ceased to think so much of it. For one thing we soon had too much to do. Why, I had eleven children, who all turned out well, thank God, besides others I looked after. When one is not rich and has all those brats to do for, one’s hands are pretty full, I can tell you.” “Well, Tante Renaude, may the good God protect you.” “Oh, now I am well ripened--let Him pluck me as soon as He will.” And with her big handkerchief the old body flicks at the flies, and nodding her head, quietly leans back and continues to drink in the sunshine. CHAPTER IV NATURE’S SCHOOL At eight years old I was sent to school with a little blue satchel to carry my books and my lunch. Not before, thank God, for in all that touched my inner development and the education and temperament of my young poet’s soul, I certainly learnt far more through the games and frolics of my country childhood than by the tiresome repetition of the school routine.