The Woodcutter’s Dog [Illustration] [Illustration] THE WOODCUTTER’S DOG TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES NODIER · ILLUSTRATED BY CLAUD LOVAT FRASER [Illustration] LONDON: DANIEL O’CONNOR, 90 GREAT RUSSELL STREET, W.C.1 1921 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN. _Foreword_ Charles Nodier’s fascinating story “Le Chien de Brisquet,” which has enthralled generations of French children, is now introduced to English children of the present day, with a few delightful illustrations by that exquisite artist, the late Claud Lovat Fraser. The Woodcutter’s Dog In the Forest of Lions, not far from the village of La Goupilière and close to a fine well which belongs to St. Mathurin’s Chapel, lived a kindly soul, a woodcutter by trade, who was called Brisquet, or, as often as not, the Man with the Trusty Axe. [Illustration] He and his wife, whose name was Brisquette, lived poorly enough on the sale of his faggots. God had given them two pretty children――a seven year old boy, who was dark and was called Biscotin, and Biscotine, a girl of six who was very fair. [Illustration] They had, besides, a dog, a curly-haired mongrel, which was all black except for its nose, and that was red as fire. They called it Bichonne. You may remember the time when such numbers of wolves swarmed in the Forest of Lions. It was the year of the Great Snow, when the poor folk found it so hard to keep alive. The misery in the country was dreadful. [Illustration] Brisquet, who never shirked his work, and, thanks to his good axe, had no fear of wolves, said to his wife one morning: “Oh, do not let either Biscotin or Biscotine run about outside until the master of the wolf-hounds arrives. It will be dangerous if they do. There is room enough for them to play between the mound and the pond, now that I have put stakes along the water to prevent any accident happening to them. And do not let Bichonne out either; she is always wanting to be on the run.” [Illustration] Morning after morning he cautioned Brisquette in the same way. One evening Brisquet did not reach home at his usual time. Brisquette went to the doorstep, returned, went back again, and “Oh, dear; oh, dear!” she said, wringing her hands, “how late he is!” Then she ran out of doors, shouting, “Oh, Brisquet, Brisquet!” [Illustration] And Bichonne leaped as high as her shoulders, as if she were asking, “Shall _I_ not go?”