OUR SENTIMENTAL GARDEN 



the good of his health at the farm of pere Pelletier, was 

 known to everybody/ was accepted and treated as one 

 of the community. Rarely did he stroll, as might any 

 roaming puppy dog, into an open door of the village 

 without being supplied with a generous sup of milk, or a 

 tartine de raisine/ or again, in season, with a pomme 

 cuite. The roasted apple, be it said, browning and 

 lusciously oozing caramel, was a standing affair in that 



old-world village. There 

 was, however, on that 

 day, a benighted wayfarer 

 who obviously could not 

 reconcile with these rus- 

 tic surroundings the 

 yellow-haired, barelegged 

 little boy gravely gazing 

 at the glowing oven. 

 " jyousqui sort, ce gosse- 

 Fa 1" <for which bar- 

 barous lingo I take 

 leave to give as an 

 equivalent: Who's the 

 d?> asked the man. 

 5 - : ', And the answer came : 

 " fa 1ca, mats le p'tit 

 godem, done!' <That~ why, 

 that's the little "goddam.") 

 Le petit godem !... Such was the 

 name under which that young 

 innocent was known at Mesnil- 

 le Roy, and, be it understood, 



