Against one corner of the wall were the hutches for the rabbits, built in tiers, one above the other, and full of dozens of pretty "bunnies," white, black and white, and some quite black. It was Germaine's duty to feed them night and morning, and she liked nothing better than to give them crisp lettuce and cabbage leaves and see them nibble them up, wriggling their funny little noses all the time. "Well, bunnies, you will have to eat your breakfast alone this morning; I cannot spare you much time," Germaine told them, as she gave them the contents of her basket. Raton was leaping beside her and barking, for he was a great pet, and more of a companion than most dogs in French farms. They are usually kept strictly for watch purposes, the poor things being tied up in the yard all of the time; but Germaine's people were very kind to animals, and Raton did much as he pleased. "I am ready, mamma," said Germaine, running into the kitchen. "So am I, my dear," and Madame Lafond took from behind a copper saucepan hanging on the wall a bag of money, from which she took some coins and put the bag back again in this queer money-box. She then placed the basket of strawberries on their bed of green leaves on her arm, and she, Germaine, and Raton set off. Madame Lafond had on a neat black dress, very short, and gathered full around the waist, and a blue apron. Her hair was brushed back under her white cap, and on her feet she wore _sabots_, the wooden shoes all the working people in the country wear. Germaine's dress was her mother's in miniature, and her little _sabots_ clacked as she ran down the road, carrying in her hand a pot holding a flower, carefully wrapped about with white paper for M. Auguste. It was a beautiful walk through the fields and apple orchards, into the road, shaded by old trees that led to the top of the hill, and then down the hillside past the old Château Gaillard; that wonderful castle whose history Germaine never wearied of hearing. It seemed to her like a fairy-tale that such things could have happened so near her papa's farm, though it all took place many hundreds of years ago, when there was nothing but wild woods where now stands their farm and those of their neighbours. The château was built by the great Norman who became an English king. He was known as Richard the Lion-hearted, because he was so brave and fearless. Perhaps our little English cousins will remember him best by this romantic story. Once King Richard was imprisoned by his enemies, no one knew where; his friends had given him up for lost--all but his faithful court musician Blondel, who went from castle to castle, the length and breadth of Europe, singing the favourite songs that he and his royal master had sung together. One day his devotion was rewarded, for, while singing under the windows of a castle in Austria, he heard a voice join with his, and he knew he had found his master.