"... where the murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar"-- that we may dream of scalp-hunting Mingoes, and grizzly-bears, and moose, and buffalo, and the beloved Bas-de-cuir with that magic rifle of his, that so seldom missed its mark and never got out of repair. "Prom'nons nous dans les bois Pendant que le loup n'y est pas...." That's the first song I ever heard. Céline used to sing it, my nurse--who was very lovely, though she had a cast in her eye and wore a black cap, and cotton in her ears, and was pitted with the smallpox. It was in Burgundy, which was rich in forests, with plenty of wolves in them, and wild-boars too--and that was only a hundred years ago, when that I was a little tiny boy. It's just an old nursery rhyme to lull children to sleep with, or set them dancing--pas aut' chose--but there's a deal of Old France in it! There I go again--digressing as usual and quoting poetry and trying to be literary and all that! C'est plus fort que moi.... One beautiful evening after dinner we went, the whole lot of us, fishing for crayfish in the meadows beyond the home farm. As we set about waiting for the crayfish to assemble round the bits of dead frog that served for bait and were tied to the wire scales (which were left in the water), a procession of cows came past us from the farm. One of them had a wound in her flank--a large tumor. "It's the bull who did that," said Marie. "Il est très méchant!" Presently the bull appeared, following the herd in sulky dignity. We all got up and crossed the stream on a narrow plank--all but Josselin, who remained sitting on a camp-stool. "Josselin! Josselin! venez donc! il est très mauvais, le taureau!" Barty didn't move. The bull came by; and suddenly, seeing him, walked straight to within a yard of him--and stared at him for five minutes at least, lashing its tail. Barty didn't stir. Our hearts were in our mouths! Then the big brindled brute turned quietly round with a friendly snort and went after the cows--and Barty got up and made it a courtly farewell salute, saying, "Bon voyage--au plaisir!" After which he joined the rest of us across the stream, and came in for a good scolding and much passionate admiration from the ladies, and huggings and tears of relief from Madame Laferté. "I knew well he wouldn't be afraid!" said M. Laferté; "they are all like that, those English--le sang-froid du diable! nom d'un Vellington! It is we who were afraid--we are not so brave as the little Josselin! Plucky little Josselin! But why did you not come with us? Temerity is not valor, Josselin!" "Because I wanted to show off [_faire le fanfaron_]!" said Barty, with extreme simplicity.