understand nearly every number from one to twelve. The patron of the Breton boys was Basque. He courteously demonstrated the throaty difficulties of Eskuara, the rugged tongue of the mountain dwellers on the shores of Biscay Bay.
There was another Basque. We saw him first in the uniform of the "Suisse" at the ceremony of the First Communion in the white church on the square. Cocked hat and gold-braided coat were no grander than his stride. At proper moments he brought his sacristan's staff ringingly to the floor. When veiled little figures defiled beneath pended models of sailing-ships, which hang in this church of St. Peter as they hang in the fanes of Normandy and Brittany, Jean-Baptiste led off, significant in bearing and array of the dignity of Church and State. "I should like to see him on a week-day," said one, following with respect the departing figure. "Do you imagine he carries such pomp into every circumstance?"
The next day, a sunny Monday, we were on the hill road which runs below the ruin of the old barracks when we heard at some distance the heavy plod of oxen's feet and the chiding of a driver. The camera was hastily uncased. "Arretez, s'il vous plait . . . un moment—" as the attelage hove round the corner. The wheels paused. Readily the driver gave permission to make the photograph, which, so it appeared, he had long desired, for he loved his boeufs,—which were of
