“There’s a quietness about you, Dian. You are one of few words, but, if I mistake not, you think more than the most of us,” Mother Barbette continued. She sat down on a stool by the fire and began to mend Jean’s little coat. “There will be snow soon,” the shepherd gave answer. He ate his stew slowly, for he was thinking deeply. He did not notice that Jean had come into the room until the boy came close to the fire. Then he made room for him on the settle. “Tell us a good tale, please, Dian,” pleaded Jean, snuggling up to the shepherd, for the cold wind blew through the little house and, even by the fire, it searched out one’s toes and ears. Mother Barbette eyed her son severely. “There is never a moment of the day that you think of aught but to amuse yourself. You can do little more than read and write, and you can thank Dian that you accomplish even that much.” Mother Barbette spoke with feeling. It seemed as though Jean would never grow up, he was so merry of heart and so untouched by trouble. Her heart was sad enough, for she knew that, since Neville had come back two months previous, there had been no message from Madame Saint Frère and Lisle. They were hoping daily for the coming of another messenger. Dian had spoken of snow. That would mean bad traveling! Mother Barbette sighed as she patched the little coat. She knew that, though there were stores in the cellars at Les Vignes, there was very little ready money. There was a sudden rap on the door. An instant later it opened, and in ran Marie Josephine. Mother Barbette rose to her feet and came toward the child, a look of concern on her broad face. “Little Mademoiselle, what is it? You have come alone through the wood!” she exclaimed. Dian stood up, and Jean jumped about the room in sheer delight, for Marie Josephine laughed as she gave Mother Barbette a hug. “I came for some fun,” she said, “and because I was tired of them all, even of Cécile, that is, not of her, but of her long face. You are not to scold me, dear Mother Barbette, because I ran alone through the woods.” She danced over to Dian and went on speaking eagerly. “I am glad that you are here, Dian. Jean and I were saying only the other day that it was so long since you had told us a story, not since we went last to meet you when you came home from the pasture. I will sit on one side of you and Jean on the other, and if we are very good, will you not tell us something?”