“But that is just what you must not do if you want to keep awake,” persisted Jeanne, who knew that Colin would go to napping again if she left him as he was. “Come on! You never have beaten me at a race, and you can’t do it to-day.”
“Aw! I’ve never tried very hard,” grumbled Colin, getting to his feet reluctantly.
“I’ll run, but I’d much rather stay here. I don’t see why girls want to pester a fellow so, anyway. And why do you want to take the sheep elsewhere? They’ll
do well enough right here. Where did you say the flowers were?”
“Yonder.” Jeanne indicated a large cluster of the yellow linden flowers growing near an oak thicket on the edge of the wood. These flowers grew in great abundance around the village. “Girls,” turning toward her friends, “Colin thinks that he can beat me running to that bunch of linden blossoms.”
“The idea,” laughed Mengette teasingly. “Why, he can’t beat any of us; not even little Martin yonder, who is half his size,” indicating a small boy whose flock browsed just beyond Colin’s sheep. “We’ll all run just to show him. Besides, it’s the very thing to keep us from getting sleepy. Get in line, everybody. Come on, Martin. I’ll be the starter. There! You will all start at three. Attention! Attention!
One, two, three,––Go!” And laughing merrily they were off.
Now Jeanne often ran races with her playmates. It was a frequent diversion of the children when they attended the animals on the uplands, care being always exercised to run in a direction that would bring no alarm to the flocks. Jeanne was very fleet of foot, as had been proven on more than one occasion. This afternoon she ran so swiftly, so easily, so without conscious effort on her part that it seemed as though she were upborne by wings. Reaching the flowers quite
a few moments ahead of her companions she bent over them, inhaling their perfume with a sense of rapture that she had never before experienced. Hauviette was the first one after her to reach the goal.
“Oh, Jeanne,” she cried, gazing at her friend with wonder. “I never saw any one run as you did. Why, your feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground.”
“Jeanne always runs as though she were flying,” spoke Mengette now coming up. “Anyway I’m glad that Colin didn’t beat us. He’s ’way behind us all, for here is Martin before him. For shame, Colin,” she cried, laughing, as the boy lumbered up to them. Colin was not noted for fleetness of foot. “Not only did Jeanne outstrip you, but Hauviette, Martin and I did likewise. All of us got here before you. You didn’t stand a chance for those flowers, even if Jeanne had not run.”
“I wasn’t waked up enough to run well,” explained Colin, rousing to the need of
defending himself.
“Jeanne,” broke in little Martin suddenly, “go home. Your mother wants you. I heard her calling.”
“Mother wants me,” exclaimed the girl in surprise. “Why, that’s strange! I never knew her to call me before when I was out with a flock. Something must be the
matter.”
“Maybe there is,” said the lad. “Anyway I heard her calling, ‘Jeanne! Jeanne!’
just like that.”
“Then I must go to her,” cried Jeanne. With this she turned and left them, hastening in some alarm to the cottage. Her mother glanced up in surprise from
her sewing as she came through the door.
“Why, child, what brings you home so early?” she cried. “Has anything happened to the flocks?”
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“Did you not call me, mother?” asked Jeanne innocently. “I thought that something was wrong.”
“Call you? No. What made you think that I called you?” questioned Isabeau sharply. “You should never leave the sheep alone on the uplands. The other children have enough to do to mind their own animals without attending to yours. What made you think that I called you?”
“Martin said that he heard you,” Jeanne told her simply. “He must have tried to trick me, because I beat him and Colin in a race. I will go back to the sheep.”
She started to leave the room as she spoke.
“Martin is a naughty lad,” exclaimed Isabeau with some irritation. “Nay, Jeanne; do not go back. Pierre has just come from the fields, and I will send him. You can be of use here. I have let you tend the sheep because your father has been so busy that he could not spare the boys, and because of it your sewing has been neglected. Do you, therefore, take this garment and finish the seam while I attend to Catherine. She is fretful of late, and does not seem well. Go into the garden, where it is cool. I will speak to Pierrelot.”
Obediently the little maid took the garment that her mother held out to her, and going into the garden sat down under an apple tree. She was quite skillful in sewing. Her mother did exquisite needlework, and wished her daughter’s ability
to equal her own. Jeanne wished it too, so took great pains to please Isabeau.
It was quiet in the garden. Quieter than it had been on the uplands. There had been merry laughter there, and songs and jests from the children. Here there were only the twitter of birds, the rustle of the leaves in the breeze, and t 5 h
9 e
humming of gold belted bees for company. So quiet was it that presently some
little birds, seeing that they had nothing to fear from the small maiden sewing so diligently, flew down from the apple tree and began to peck at the grass at her very feet. Jeanne smiled as she saw them, and sat quite still so as not to frighten them. Soon a skylark rose from the grass in the meadow lying beyond the orchard, and in a burst of song flew up, and up into the air, mounting higher and higher until he shone a mere black dot in the sky. Still singing he began to descend, circling as he came earthward, dropping suddenly like an arrow straight into the grass, his song ceasing as he disappeared.
Jeanne had let her work fall into her lap as she watched the flight of the bird, now she took it up again and began to sew steadily. The air was still athrill with the skylark’s melody, and the child sewed on and on, every pulse in harmony with her surroundings. All at once something caused her to look up.
There was a change of some kind in the atmosphere. What it was she could not tell, but she was conscious of something that she did not understand. She glanced up at the sky, but not a cloud marred its azure. It was as serene, as dazzling as it had been all day. Bewildered by she knew not what she picked up
her sewing again, and tried to go on with it, but she could not. She laid down the garment, and once more glanced about her. As she did so she saw a light between her and the church.
It was on her right side, and as it came nearer to her it grew in brightness. A brightness that was dazzling. She had never seen anything like it. Presently it enveloped her. Thrilled, trembling, awed, too frightened to move, the little maid closed her eyes to shut out the glory that surrounded her. And then, from the midst of the radiance there came a voice; sweeter than the song of the skylark, sweeter even than the chime of the bells she loved so well. It said:
“Be good, Jeanne, be good! Be obedient, and go frequently to church. I called thee on the uplands, but thou didst not hear. Be good, Jeanne, be good.”
That was all. The voice ceased. Presently the light lessened; it faded gradually, and soon ceased to glow. The little girl drew a long breath, and fearfully lifted her eyes. There was naught to be seen. The garden looked the same as before.
The little birds still pecked at her feet, the leaves still rustled in the breeze, the church wore its usual aspect. Could she have fallen asleep and dreamed, she asked herself.
