have not listenings to what that chore boys says. I go on. I pray on. I look and I look for Brave Horatius. I go four straight ways and I come back four different ways. When I am come I go back and forth by Jardin des Tuileries and across Pont Royal and adown the singing creek where the willows grow. Lonesome feels are everywhere. I call and I do call. And I do go on and on to where Rhone flows around Camargue.
I turn about and I go in the way that does go to the forêt de Montmorency. I go to the forêt de Montmorency. No tree here is a chataignier. But anyway I do call it forêt de Montmorency, and often it is I come here; here I come with Brave Horatius. I went in through and out through, but no answerings did come when I did call. I wonder where he is. In the morning of to-day, when I did go that way, I did meet with the father of Lola. And I did ask if he had seen my Brave Horatius. He did have no seeing of him, and he did ask where all I was going on searches. I did tell him to Orne and Yonne and Rille and to Camargue and Picardie and Auvergne and to the forêt de Montmorency. And when I did so tell him, he did laugh. Most all the folks do laugh at the names I do call places hereabout. They most all do laugh 'cepting Sadie McKibben. She smiles and smoothes out my curls and says, "Name 'em what ye are a mind to, dearie." Sadie McKibben has an understanding soul. She keeps watch out of her window for seeings
