BAD news was circulating from house to house in the village. Here is what they were saying:

That day they had put little Louis into his first trousers. They had pockets and shiny buttons. In his new costume Louis was a little awkward, but much pleased. He admired the buttons that shone in the sun; he kept turning his pockets inside out to see if there was room enough for all his playthings. What made him the happiest was a tin watch, always marking the same hour. His brother, Joseph, two years older, was also much pleased. Now that Louis was dressed like him, nothing prevented his taking him to the woods, where there were birds’ nests and strawberries. They owned in common a lamb whiter than snow, with a pretty little bell at its neck. The two brothers were to take it to the meadow. Some lunch was packed in a basket. They kissed their mother, who advised them not to go far. “Take care of your brother,” said she to Joseph; “hold him by the hand and come back soon.” They started. Joseph carried the basket, Louis led the lamb. From the door their mother watched them going off, herself happy in their joy. Every now and then the children turned to smile at her; then they disappeared at the turn of the path.

They reach the meadow. The lamb frolics on the grass; Joseph and Louis run after butterflies in the midst of a clump of tall trees.

“Oh, the beautiful cherries!” exclaimed Louis, suddenly; “see how big and black they are! Cherries, cherries! We are going to have a feast. Let us pick some to eat.”

There were, in fact, some large berries of a dark violet hue on low plants.

“How small these cherry-trees are!” answered Joseph. “I have never seen any like them. We shan’t have to climb the tree for them, and you won’t tear your new trousers.”

Louis picked one of the berries and put it into his mouth. It was insipid and sweetish.

“These cherries are not ripe,” says little Louis, spitting it out.

“Take this one,” answers Joseph, giving him one that felt very soft. “It is ripe.”

Louis tastes it and spits it out.

“No, they are not at all good,” repeats the little boy.

“Not good, not good?” says Joseph; “you will see.” He eats one, then another, then another still, then a fourth, then a fifth. At the sixth he is obliged to stop. Decidedly they were not good.

“It is true, they are not very ripe. But let’s pick some, all the same. We’ll let them ripen in the basket.”

They gathered a handful or two of these black berries, then began running after butterflies. The cherries were forgotten.

An hour later, Simon, who was ret............