Aimee’s mother died when she was an infant; and after she could run alone, the little girl was left pretty much to her own guidance. The hamlet where she dwelt, consisted of only a dozen hovels, much like her own home. These were situated on an elevated ridge, in the very bosom of the mountain, and surrounded with wooded cliffs and dizzy precipices. A scene more wild, remote and lonely could scarcely be imagined. Here Aimee grew to the age of nine years, and at that period she had not only become familiar with the scenes around, but, like the wild goats, she could climb the cliffs and thread the dells as fearlessly as if she had wings to support her, in case her foot should slide. Nor was this all. She could even go to the market town of Laperdu, a distance of seven miles, and return in the course of the day, having carried and sold a pair of stockings which had been made with her own hands. In all these mountain excursions, old Tonnerre was the constant companion of Aimee, and he contributed not a little to her amusement. His activity knew no bounds. He must plunge into every thicket; put his head into every cave and crevice; smell up the larger trees; course through the ravines, and take, in short, a careful survey of the country over which they passed. He must banter with every squirrel that took refuge in the trees, daring him down with many a noisy shout. He must give chase to every hare that glanced across his path. He must mark the track of the wolf and bear with cries and howls of defiance, though in such cases he used to keep near his mistress, either for her safety or his own. Such was Aimee, and such old Tonnerre, the hero and heroine of our tale, when, on a fine summer morning, they set out on a visit to Laperdu. They reached the place, and on their return were about two miles from their home, when one of the violent thunder storms, common in the mountains, began to darken the sky. It was already sunset, and in a few minutes the darkness became intense; at the same time the rain began to fall in torrents. In a short space, the ravines were spouting with waterfalls, and torrents were dashing madly down the glens. At the same time the roar of the thunder was perpetual, and the lightning, flash on flash, seemed to array the scene in garments of fire. Accustomed to such scenes, Aimee pushed on, following the lead of the dog, who kept close, and with fidgety anxiety turned round at every step to fortify her heart with a look of cheerfulness and courage. There was that in his face which seemed to say, “Don’t mind it, my dear little mistress――don’t mind it――it’s nothing but thunder and lightning, and wind, and rain, and tempest, and dark night, and we’ll get the better of it all, yet. Keep a good heart, and we’ll soon be home!”