Recollections of Childhood 



ing his breviary as he takes his walk. He sees 

 me coming solemnly along, like a relic-bearer; 

 he catches sight of my hand hiding something 

 behind my back: 



'What have you there, my boy?' he asks. 



All abashed, I open my hand and show my 

 blue egg on its bed of moss. 



'Ah !' says his reverence. 'A Saxicola's 

 egg ! Where did you get it ?' 



'Up there, father, under a stone.' 



Question follows question; and my pecca- 

 dillo stands confessed. By chance I found a 

 nest which I was not looking for. There were 

 six eggs in it. I took one of them — here it is 

 — and I am waiting for the rest to hatch. I 

 shall go back for the others when the young 

 birds have their quill-feathers. 



'You mustn't do that, my little friend,' re- 

 plies the priest. 'You mustn't rob the mother 

 of her brood; you must respect the innocent 

 little ones; you must let God's birds grow up 

 and fly from the nest. They are the joy of the 

 fields and they clear the earth of its vermin. 

 Be a good boy, now, and don't touch the 

 nest.' 



I promise and the curate continues his walk. 

 I come home with two good seeds cast on the 

 fallows of my childish brain. An author- 



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