their heads! How the children watch these peasant-girls, all dressed
in neat little jackets, and many short skirts one above another, red
and blue, white and green. On their heads are the baskets of grapes,
and they never drop nor spill them, but carry them steadily down the
steep, narrow path to the great vats, where the young men stand on
short ladders to reach the top, and pour in the purple fruit. Then
the grapes are crushed till the purple juice runs out, and that is
wine,--such wine as even the children may drink in their little silver
cups, for it is even better than milk. You may be sure that they have
some at dinner-time, when they cluster round the flat rock below the
dark stone castle, with the warm noonday sun streaming across their
mossy table, and the mother opens the basket and gives to every one a
share.

Below them is the river, with its boats and beautiful shining water;
behind them are the vine-covered walls of that old castle where two
hundred years ago lived armed knights and stately ladies; and all
about them is the rich September air, full of the sweet fragrance
of the grapes, and echoing with the songs and laughter of the
grape-gatherers. On their rocky table are purple bunches of fruit, in
their cups the new wine-juice, and in their hearts all the joy of the
merry grape season.

There are many days like this in the autumn, but the frost will come
at last, and the snow too. This is winter, but winter brings the best
pleasure of all.

When two weeks of the winter had nearly passed, the children, as you
may suppose, began to think of Christmas, and, indeed, their best
and most loving friend had been preparing for them the sweetest of