flour in a display on the table, then ran back to the shed. How delighted she was when she had a pail three-quarters full of beautiful frothy milk.
There was another burst of delight when she saw the things on the table ready for pancakes, which I told her we were dying to have.
"You must have known that Barberin was in Paris, then?" she said. I explained to her how I had learned so.
"I will tell you why he has gone," she said, looking at me significantly.
"Let's have the pancakes first," I said; "don't let's talk about him. I have not forgotten how he sold me for forty francs, and it was my fear of him, the fear that he would sell me again, that kept me from writing to tell you news of myself."
"Oh, boy, I thought that was why," she said, "but you mustn't speak unkindly of Barberin."
"Well, let's have the pancakes now," I said, hugging her.
We all set briskly to prepare the ingredients and before long Mattia and I were cramming pancakes down our throats. Mattia declared that he had never tasted anything so fine. As soon as we had finished one we held out our plates for another, and Capi came in for his share. Mother Barberin was scandalized that we should give a dog pancakes, but we explained to her that he was the chief actor in our company and a genius, and that he was treated by us with every consideration. Later, while Mattia was out getting some wood
