“Rabouiller” is a Berrichon word which admirably describes the thing it is intended to express; namely, the action of troubling the water of a brook, making it boil and bubble with a branch whose end-shoots spread out like a racket. The crabs, frightened by this operation, which they do not understand, come hastily to the surface, and in their flurry rush into the net the fisher has laid for them at a little distance. Flore Brazier held her “rabouilloir” in her hand with the natural grace of childlike innocence. “Has your uncle got permission to hunt crabs?” “Hey! are not we all under a Republic that is one and indivisible?” cried the uncle from his station. “We are under a Directory,” said the doctor, “and I know of no law which allows a man to come from Vatan and fish in the territory of Issoudun”; then he said to Flore, “Have you got a mother, little one!” “No, monsieur; and my father is in the asylum at Bourges. He went mad from a sun-stroke he got in the fields.” “How much do you earn?” “Five sous a day while the season lasts; I catch ‘em as far as the Braisne. In harvest time, I glean; in winter, I spin.” “You are about twelve years old?” “Yes, monsieur.” “Do you want to come with me? You shall be well fed and well dressed, and have some pretty shoes.” “No, my niece will stay with me; I am responsible to God and man for her,” said Uncle Brazier who had come up to them. “I am her guardian, d’ye see?” The doctor kept his countenance and checked a smile which might have escaped most people at the aspect of the man. The guardian wore a peasant’s hat, rotted by sun and rain, eaten like the leaves of a cabbage that has harbored several caterpillars, and mended, here and there, with white thread. Beneath the hat was a dark and sunken face, in which the mouth, nose, and eyes, seemed four black spots. His forlorn jacket was a bit of patchwork, and his trousers were of crash towelling. “I am Doctor Rouget,” said that individual; “and as you are the guardian of the child, bring her to my house, in the place Saint-Jean. It will not be a bad day’s work for you; nor for her, either.” Without waiting for an answer, and sure that Uncle Brazier would soon appear with his pretty “rabouilleuse,” Doctor Rouget set spurs to his horse and returned to Issoudun. He had hardly sat down to dinner, before his cook announced the arrival of the citoyen and citoyenne Brazier. “Sit down,” said the doctor to the uncle and niece. Flore and her guardian, still barefooted, looked round the doctor’s dining-room with wondering eyes; never having seen its like before.