He felt a swelling sense of gratitude and even love
for Joe for consulting him. He would put his dog's brain to good use
now. Already he had thought of the friendly shelter of the old broken
wall. Now he let his memory carry him back a trifle farther. What
else had those sharp eyes of his taken in besides the old wall? Why,
surely, surely, just down in the hollow, not many yards away, a
little smoke. Did not smoke mean a fire? Did not a fire mean a house?
Did not a house mean warmth and food and comfort? Toby was on his
feet in a moment, his tail wagging fast. He looked at Joe and ran on,
the boy following carefully. Very soon Joe too saw, not only a thin
column of smoke, but a thick volume, caused by a large wood fire,
curling up amidst the whiteness of the snow. The moment his eyes
rested on the welcome sight, he sent Toby back. "Go and lie on the
children, Toby. Keep them as warm as you can, good dog, dear dog."
And Toby obeyed.
CHAPTER VIII.
A FARM IN NORMANDY.
A Norman gentleman farmer and his wife sat together in their snug
parlor. Their children had all gone to bed an hour ago. Their one
excellent servant was preparing supper in the kitchen close by. The
warmly-curtained room had a look of almost English comfort.
Children's books and toys lay scattered about. The good house-mother,
after putting these in order, sat down by her husband's side to enjoy
the first quiet half hour of the day.
"What a fall of snow we have had, Marie," said M.
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