hair was long and dragged along the ground. She rushed off, leaping this way and that. Every time she went into the pine wood I took my revenge on her by frightening her with my hair. Master Silvain surprised us one morning when I was butting at her. He laughed and laughed till I didn't know which way to look. I tried to throw my hair back quickly. The she goat came close up to me. She looked at me, stretching her neck and wriggling her back about in the funniest way. The farmer could not stop laughing. He bent almost double, holding his sides and simply roared with laughter. All I could see of him were his eyebrows, his beard, and his big hat. His shouts of laughter made me want to cry. When he had stopped laughing he asked me all about it. I told him how wicked the goat had been, and he shook his finger at her and laughed again. Martine took her out next day; but the day after she said that she would rather leave the farm than take out that she goat again. It was possessed of the devil, she said. Old Bibiche used to say that goats ought to be beaten, but I remembered the only time I had beaten mine. Her ribs had made such a strange hollow sound that I never dared touch her again. She was left free to run about the farm, and one day she disappeared. We never found out what had become of her. The feast of St. John was drawing near, and to celebrate the anniversary of my arrival on the farm Eugene said that I must be taken to the village. In honour of this feast day the farmer's wife gave me a yellow dress which she used to wear when she was a girl. The village was called Sainte Montague. It only had one street, at the end of which was a church. Martine took me into mass, which had already begun. She pushed me on to a bench and she sat down on the one in front of me. There were two women behind me who never stopped talking about yesterday's market, and the men near the door talked out loud without seeming to mind. They only stopped talking when the priest mounted the pulpit. I thought he was going to preach, but he only gave out notices of the weddings. Every time he mentioned a name the women leaned to right and left and smiled. I never even thought of praying. I looked at Martine, who was on her knees. Her dark curls had got out from under her embroidered cap. Her shoulders were broad, and her white bodice was fastened at the waist with a black ribbon. The whole of her made one think of something fresh and new, and yet the Mother Superior had told me that shepherdesses were dirty. I thought of Martine and how smart she always looked in her short striped petticoat, her stockings, which were always tightly drawn, and her wooden shoes covered with leather, which she blacked like boots. She was always very careful of her flock, and the farmer's wife used to say that she knew every one of her sheep. When we came out of mass she left me and ran up to an old woman, whom she kissed tenderly. Then I lost sight of her and remained all by myself, not knowing where to go. A little way off I saw the inn of the "White Horse." There was a noise of voices there and I could hear dishes and plates rattling. People went in in crowds, and presently there was nobody left outside. I was going back into the church to wait for Martine to come and fetch me when I saw