"Put them in my money-box till I have got enough to get a deposit book in the Savings Bank; then, when I am grown up, I shall buy some land." That evening Aurelle repeated this to Lucie and Berthe, thinking it would amuse them. He soon found out that no one was amused: jokes about money were sacrilege. The publican related a little moral story to make this clear. "When I was small," he said, "I often used to go on messages into the town for Monsieur le curé, and each time he gave me two sous, which I took to my father. But after a time, Monsieur le curé made old Sophie, his servant, send me on his commissions and she never gave me my two sous. My father, who asked me for them, was very indignant. He consulted my grandfather, and the whole family were called in one evening to discuss the matter. "My father said, ’The child cannot go and complain to Monsieur le curé, because if it is he who has stopped the two sous he might be offended.’ ’And if it is old Sophie who has diddled the child out of it she would box his ears,’ said my mother. My grandfather, who was no fool, hit upon the best way. He said to me, ’You will go and make your confession to Monsieur le curé. You will tell him that you have sinned by getting angry with old Sophie because she sent you to the town without giving you anything.’ "It was a great success. ’What,’ said the curé. ’The old wretch! She charged me for them every time. Release me from the secret of the confessional and I will give her a good talking-to!’ I remembered that her hand was heavy and I did not release him; but in future he always sent me himself." The schoolmistress from Lille, who possessed the only piano in the village, explained to Aurelle that she had had to cut out of her lesson the whole chapter on economy and thrift, substituting a lesson on generosity. A little girl of eight then said to her, "I can never do that, mademoiselle. My mother is mean, and I am sure I shall be meaner than she." Meanwhile the Highlanders were turning the King’s shillings into glasses of beer, and were showering on these economical little girls embroidered aprons, sugar-plums and post-cards, with "From Your Soldier Boy" on them, price ninepence. The plump and active mothers of these nice little Flemish girls sold the aprons and post-cards. "Ah, messiou," said Colonel Bramble, "before the War we used to talk about frivolous France; now it is stern and prudent France." "Yes," added the doctor, "the French are hard and severe on themselves. I begin to understand the Boche who said, ’Man does not aspire to happiness, only Englishmen.’ There is, among your peasants of the north, an admirable voluntary asceticism." "Did you ever see, messiou," said the padre, "in our country, before the War, the Frenchman of the music-hall? The little fellow with the black beard, who gesticulates and harangues? I believed it, messiou, and never pictured these devout and industrious villagers."