Then it enters into its second childhood; it puts out new twigs and leaves and that rests it. And when, instead of a mere clipped skeleton, it has become a real tree again, it thanks you and rewards you by bearing all you choose. For instance, here's a big branch that seems to be of no use," he continued, opening his pruning-knife. "But I shall respect it, for such an extensive amputation would weaken the tree. In these old bodies the blood is not renewed fast enough for them to stand operations which youth can undergo safely. It's the same with vegetables. I am just going to take away the dead wood, scratch the moss, and freshen up the extremities. Look, it's very simple." The artless gravity with which Monsieur de Châteaubrun immersed himself in this innocent occupation touched Emile and presented a constant contrast to what took place in his own home with regard to similar matters. While a gardener with a large salary, and two assistants, busily at work from morning till night, were not enough to keep his mother's garden sufficiently neat and gorgeous, while she worried over a rose bud that failed to bloom or an unsuccessful graft, Monsieur Antoine was happy in the proud savagery of his _pupils_, and in his eyes nothing was more fruitful and more generous than the will of nature. That old-fashioned orchard, with its fine soft turf, cropped by the hard-working teeth of a few patient sheep, allowed to wander there without dog or keeper, with its hardy and capricious vegetation and its gently undulating slopes, was a beautiful spot where no fear of jealous surveillance interrupted one's musing. "Now that I have finished with my trees," said Monsieur Antoine, putting on his jacket which he had hung on a branch, "let us go and find my daughter and have breakfast. You haven't seen my daughter yet, I believe? But she knows you already, for she is admitted to all of our poor Jean's little secrets; indeed, he is so fond of her that he often goes to her for advice instead of me. Go on, _Monsieur_," he said to his dog, "go and tell your young mistress that breakfast time has come. Ah! that makes you frisky, doesn't it? Your appetite tells you the time as well as any watch." Monsieur Antoine's dog answered to the name of _Monsieur_, which he gave him when he was pleased with him, and that of _Sacripant_, which was his real name, but which Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun did not like, so that his master only used it when hunting or by way of stern rebuke, when it happened, as it very rarely did, that he committed some impropriety, such as eating gluttonously, snoring when he was asleep, or barking when Jean came over the wall in the middle of the night. The faithful beast seemed to understand what his master said, for he began to laugh, an expression of merriment very strongly marked in some dogs, which gives to their faces an almost human look of intelligence and kindliness. Then he ran ahead and disappeared down the slope toward the stream.