"Not to Fourche, but to Ormeaux, where she is going to stay the rest of
the year."

"What!" said Mère Maurice, "are you going to part from your daughter?"

"She has got to go out to service and earn something. It comes hard
enough to me and to her, too, poor soul! We couldn't make up our minds
to part at midsummer; but now Martinmas is coming, and she has found a
good place as shepherdess on the farms at Ormeaux. The farmer passed
through here the other day on his way back from the fair. He saw my
little Marie watching her three sheep on the common land.--'You don't
seem very busy, my little maid,' he said; 'and three sheep are hardly
enough for a shepherd. Would you like to keep a hundred? I'll take you
with me. The shepherdess at our place has been taken sick and she's
going back to her people, and if you'll come to us within a week, you
shall have fifty francs for the rest of the year, up to midsummer.'--The
child refused, but she couldn't help thinking about it and telling me
when she came home at night and found me sad and perplexed about getting
through the winter, which is sure to be hard and long, for we saw the
cranes and wild geese fly south this year a full month earlier than
usual. We both cried; but at last we took courage. We said to each other
that we couldn't stay together, because there's hardly enough to keep
one person alive on our little handful of land; and then Marie's getting
old--here she is nearly sixteen--and she must do as others do, earn her
bread and help her poor mother."

"Mère Guillette," said the old ploughman, "if fifty francs was all that
was needed to put an end to your troubles and make it unnecessary for
you to send your daughter away, why, I would help you to find them,
although fifty francs begins to mean something to people like us. But we