Aimee did keep a good heart, but the storm was indeed fearful; and at last a bolt of lightning, falling upon a tree near by, tore it in splinters, and dashed the little girl to the ground. Here she lay, in a state of insensibility. The dog came to her side, and in a beseeching howl, seemed to try to awaken her. He at last began licking her face, but all was in vain. He remained with the poor girl till it was near morning, when, having used every art and device of which he was master, to recall her to consciousness, he set off with a round gallop for the hamlet. Panting and out of breath, he rushed up to his master, and with a piteous howl, did all he could to tell his melancholy story. Pierre knew at once that something had befallen his child. He instantly announced his fears to his neighbors, who rallied at his call, and set out in search of Aimee. Her absence during the night had been remarked, and all the people had feared some accident, though Pierre had solaced himself with the idea that Aimee had been kept at Laperdu by the storm. Tonnerre took the lead, and bounded forward like a deer. He went in long leaps, his hinder heels flying high in the air at every jump. He whined, howled, and came often back upon his track, as if to hasten forward the too tardy party. At last Pierre, who was the most anxious, and the leader of the group, came near the place where Aimee had fallen. The dog then leaped forward, and placing himself by the side of the girl, once more licked her face. She instantly raised herself so as to sit up, and putting her arms around the neck of her friend, embraced him, while the tears began to flow down her cheeks. Her father soon arrived, and the rest of the party coming up, all were rejoiced to find the poor girl unhurt. She was a little bewildered, and it was not until after several minutes, that she was able to tell her story. At last she arose upon her feet, on her wooden shoes, which had been knocked off by the lightning, and went home. An occasion like this, would be noticed with pleasure, in any country; but these wild mountaineers appear to be peculiarly sensible to everything that is beautiful, even though it be but a display of the activity with which animals are endowed by their Creator. Accordingly, the tale we have told, was commemorated by an anniversary; every year, on the day in which the event occurred, the people used to go to a wild spot in the mountain, where a dog was wreathed with flowers, in honor of the feats of old Tonnerre. [Illustration] The Snow Man. Of all the sports of winter, I know of none that used to delight me more, when I was a boy, than the making of a snow man. To do this successfully, it required what is called a moist snow, so that it would adhere like mortar, and take any desirable shape.