"Thine was an error in judgment, my little one. I am not angry with you, my children. Another time, you will both be wiser, and David also I trust. Nov run up to the top of the hill and see if you can see him." We went out together, but not hand in hand as usual. A drizzling rain was falling, but we were too hardy to mind that. Our sabots or wooden shoes were impervious to wet, and our thick homespun frocks almost as much so. No sooner were we out of hearing of the elders, than Loulou overwhelmed me with a torrent of reproaches mingled with tears. "It is you—you, Vevette, who have sent my brother away," she cried. "You knew he was going, and you did not try to stop him." "That is not true," said I calmly. I was as angry as herself, but it was always a way of mine that the more excited I was, the quieter I grew. "I said everything I could." "Yes, you said everything; why did not you do something. If he had told me—but no! Everything is for Vevette, forsooth, because she is a demoiselle. His poor sister is nothing and nobody. You try every way to separate him from me, and make him despise me. I wish—" but a burst of angry sobs choked her voice. "Yes, I know what you wish, and you shall have your wish," said I, for I was now at a white heat. Loulou began to be scared, and, as usual, as I grew angry, she began to cool down. "Well, I think you ought to have told, but to be sure you are only a little girl," she added condescendingly. "As father says, when you are older you will know better." This put the climax. Nobody likes to be called "only a little girl." I did not say a word, but I fumed and walked away from her. I had had a glimpse of a figure coming up the hollow lane, and I was determined to meet David before his sister did. "Vevette, where are you going?" called Loulou. "Come back; you will be wet through." I paid no attention to her, but, quickening my steps, I passed a turn in the lane, and as I did so, David caught me in his arms. "Vevette! What are you doing here, and what makes you so pale? Is your heart beating again?" For I was subject to palpitations which, though probably not dangerous, were alarming. "Here, sit down a moment. What frightened you?" "You—you did," I gasped, as soon as I could speak. "I thought they would carry you off—that we should never see you again." "Was that all? There was no danger," said David, with an odd little smile. "I did not go near them." "Did not go near them!" repeated Lucille, who had now come up with us. "Why not?" "I did not think it right," answered David manfully. "I meant to go when I set out, but Vevette's words kept ringing in my ears: 'It is mean and cowardly to pain thy mother's heart just for a pleasure.' So I turned aside and went to sit a while with Jean Laroche, who is laid up still with his sprained ankle."