when Félix had ventured to speak to him aboutit, he had insisted rather sharply that he was to stick to hissheep-tending, so that when the Père himself grew old he could takecharge of the flocks and keep the family in bread; for the Père hadsmall faith in the art of the carver as being able to supply the bigbrown loaves that the Misè baked every week in the great stone oven. SoFélix was obliged to go on minding the flocks; but whenever he had amoment of his own, he employed it in carving a bit of wood or chippingat a fragment of soft stone.
But while I have stopped to tell you all this, he had almost finishedthe crèche; the little houses were all in place, and the animalsgrouped about the holy stable, or else seeming to crop the tufts ofmoss on the mimic rocky hillside. Over the manger with its tiny wispof hay, twinkled a wonderful star that Félix had made from some goldenbeads that the Misè had treasured for years as part of her peasantbridal finery.
Altogether, the crèche was really very prettily arranged, and aftergiving several final touches, Félix stood back and surveyed it withmuch satisfaction.
“Well, well!” said the Père Michaud, who had just entered the cottage,“’tis a fine bit of work thou hast there, my son! Truly ’tis a bravecrèche! But,” he added, “I trow thou hast not forgotten the live sheepin the fold whilst thou hast been busy with these little wooden imageshere?”
“Nay, father,” answered Félix, “that I have not”—but here the Misècalled them both to the midday meal, which she had spread smoking hoton the shining deal table.
When this was finished Félix arose, and, as the Père wished, once morewent out to the fold to see how the sheep, especially his little Beppo,were faring.
As he pushed open the swinging door, Ninette, who was lazily dozingwith her toes doubled up under her fleece, blinked her eyes and lookedsleepily around; but Beppo was nowhere to be seen.
“Ninette!” demanded Félix, fiercely, “what hast thou done with myBeppo?”
At this Ninette peered about in a dazed sort of way, and gave analarmed little “Baa!” For she had not before missed Beppo, who, whileshe was asleep, had managed to push open the door of the fold andscamper off, no one knew just where.
Félix gazed around in dismay when he realized that his lamb, the chosenone, who had brought such pride and honor to him, was gone!
“Beppo!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Beppo! Beppo-o!”
But no trace could he see of the little bundle of fleece he hadscrubbed and combed so carefully that morning.
He stood irresolute a moment; then, thinking that if Beppo really wererunning off, not a second was to be lost, he set out at a brisk paceacross the sheep-meadow. He had no idea in what direction the truantlamb would be likely to stray, but on he went, calling every littlewhile in a shrill voice, “Beppo!” Now and then he fancied that hesaw in the distance a glimpse of white; but once it proved to be theMisè Fouchard’s linen hung to dry on a currant-bush, and again it wasa great white stone—but no Beppo; and all the while Félix kept on,quite forgetting that Beppo’s weak, woolly legs could not possibly havecarried him so great a distance.
By and by he had left the village meadows far behind, and was skirtingthe great marsh. Sometimes he shaded his eyes with his hand and lookedfar across this low wet land to see if perhaps Beppo had strayed intoits uncertain foothold; but nothing could he see but the waving rushesand the tall bitterns wading about on long, yellow legs.
And still he pressed heedlessly on farther and farther, till, after awhile, he found himself thrusting through a thick coppice of willowboughs.
“Oh,” thought Félix, “what if poor Beppo has strayed into thiswoodland!” Tired as he was, he urged himself on, searching among thetrees; and it was not until he had wandered on and on, deeper anddeeper into the wood, that he realized that the dusk had fallen, andthat he must be a very, very long way from Sur Varne.
Félix then began to grow uneasy. He stood still and looked anxiouslyabout him; the dark forest trees closed around him on all sides, and hewas quite unable to remember from which direction he had entered thewood.
Now, Félix was really a very brave little fellow, but it must be ownedhis heart misgave him, and he fairly quaked as he peered through thegathering darkness; for in those days the forests of Provence wereknown to harbor many dangerous animals, especially wild boars andwolves. He pricked up his ears, and now and then thought he heard inthe distance the stealthy tread of some four-footed forest prowler, andonce he was sure he caught the deep howl of a wolf.
That ended his hesitation. He looked quickly around, and grasping thelow boughs of a slender sapling, managed to swing himself up into atall chestnut tree that grew close by; and there he clung, clutchingthe thick branches with might and main, feeling very cold and hungryand miserable, his heart all the while sinking clear down into hislittle peasant shoes.
And indeed he had cause for fear, for, not a great while after he hadthus hidden himself, a gaunt wolf really did pass close by, sniffingand peering, till poor Félix gave up all hope of escaping with hislife; but, luckily, the wolf did not see him, and at last slowly crepton through the underwood.
How long the little boy stayed in the perilous shelter of thechestnut-tree he never knew, but it seemed untold ages to him. After awhile the moon rose, and shed a faint light through the close-lappingbranches; then, by and by, Félix’s ears, strained to listen for everylightest sound, caught the echo of distant trampling, as of horses’hoofs, and presently two horsemen came in sight, pricking their waycautiously along a narrow bridle-path.
He did not know whom they might prove to be, but wisely thinking thatanything would be better than staying in a tree all night at the mercyof hungry wolves, he waited till the first rider came quite close, andthen he plucked up courage to call out faintly:
“Oh, sir, stop, I pray thee!”
At this, the rider, who was none other than the noble Count Bernard ofBois Varne, quickly drew rein and, turning, called to his companion:
“Ho, Brian! Heardest thou aught?”
“Nay, my Lord,” answered Brian, who was some paces behind, “naught savethe trampling of our own horses’ hoofs.”
The count looked all around, and seeing nothing, thought himselfmistaken in the sound, and began to pace on. Then Félix in terror gaveanother shout, this time louder, and at the same moment a little twighe was pressing with his elbow broke away and dropped, striking againstthe count’s stirrup; for the bridle-path wound directly under the treewhere Félix was perched.
The count instantly checked his horse again, and, peering up into theboughs overhead, he caught sight of Félix, his yellow hair wet with dewand shining in the moonlight, and his dark eyes wide with fear.
“Heigh-ho!” exclaimed the count, in blank amazement. “Upon my word,now! what art thou—boy or goblin?”
At this Félix gave a little sob, for he was very tired and very cold.He hugged the tree tightly, and steadying himself against the boughs,at last managed to falter out:
“Please thee, sir, I am Félix Michaud, and my lamb Beppo, who was toride in the Christmas procession, ran off to-day, and—and—I have beenhunting him, I think, ever since—since yesterday!” Here poor Félixgrew a trifle bewildered; it seemed to him so very long ago since hehad set out in search of Beppo. “And I live in Sur Varne.”
At this the count gave a long whistle.
“At Sur Varne!” he exclaimed. “If thou speakest truly, my little man,thou hast indeed a sturdy pair of legs to carry thee thus far.” Andhe eyed curiously Félix’s dusty little feet and leathern leggings,dangling limply from the bough above him.
“Dost thou know how far distant is Sur Varne from this forest?”
“Nay, sir,” answered Félix; “but I trow ’tis a great way.”
“There thou art right,” said the count; “’tis a good two leagues, if itis a pace. But how now? Thou canst not bide here to become the prey ofhungry wolves, my little night-owl of the yellow hair!”
And thereupon Count Bernard dexterously raised himse
lf in his stirrups,and, reaching upward, caught Félix in his arms and swung him down plumpon the saddle-bow in front of him; then, showing him how to steadyhimself by holding the pommel, he turned to Brian, his squire, whowhile all this was going on had stood by in silent astonishment, andgiving the order to move, the little cavalcade hastened on at a rapidpace in order to get clear of the forest as quickly as possible.
Meantime the Count Bernard, who was really a very kind and noble lord,and who lived in a beautiful castle on the farther verge of theforest, quite reassured Félix by talking to him kindly, and telling himof the six days’ journey from which he and his squire, Brian, were justreturning, and how they had been delayed on the way until nightfall.
“And, by my faith!” said Count Bernard, “’twas a lucky hour for theethat snapped my horse’s saddle-girth! else we should have passed thiswood by midday—and then, little popinjay, what wouldst thou have donehad we not chanced along to pluck thee from out thy chilly nest? Hey?Wolves had been but poor comrades for such as thee!”
At this Félix began to shiver, and the count
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