How often his feet used to ache! How blistered they often
were! And now that the weather was so warm and sunny, little Maurice
got tired even sooner than in the winter's cold. No; what he loved
was lying about under the pine trees, and watching the turpentine
trickling very slowly into the tin vessels fastened to their trunks;
and then he liked to look at the squirrels darting merrily from bough
to bough, and the rabbits running about, and the birds flying here
and there. This was the life Maurice loved. This was south. Cecile
had always told him they were going south. Well, was not this south,
this pleasant, balmy forest-land. What did they want with anything
further? Maurice reflected with dismay over the tidings that they
were to leave quite early in the morning. He felt inclined to cry, to
wake Cecile, to get her to promise not to go. Suddenly an idea, and
what he considered quite a brilliant idea, entered his baby mind.
Cecile and Joe had arranged to commence their march quite early in
the morning. Suppose--suppose he, Maurice, slipped softly from the
old hut and hid himself in the forest. Why, then, they would not go;
they would never dream of leaving Maurice behind. He could come back
to them when the sun was high in the heavens; and then Joe would
pronounce it too hot to go on any journey that day. Thus he would
secure another long day in his beloved woods.
CHAPTER XVIII.
AN OGRE IN THE WOOD.
Full of his idea, Maurice slept very little more that night.
Pages:
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241