"Not a crumb, monsieur."

Grandet took a large round loaf, well floured and moulded in one of the flat baskets, which they use for baking in Anjou, and was about to cut it, when Nanon said to him,

"We are five to-day, monsieur.”

"That's true," said Grandet, "but your loaves weigh six pounds; there'll be some left. Besides, these young fellows from Paris don't eat bread, you'll see."

"Then they must eat frippe?” said Nanon.

Frippe is a word of the local lexicon of Anjou, and means any accompaniment of bread, from butter which is spread upon it, the commonest kind of frippe, to peach preserve, the most distinguished of all frippes; those who in their childhood have licked the frippe and left the bread, will comprehend the meaning of Nanon's speech.

"No," answered Grandet, "they eat neither bread nor frippe; they are something like marriageable girls."

After ordering the meals for the day with his usual parsimony, the good man, having locked the closets containing the supplies, was about to go towards the fruit-garden, when Nanon stopped him to say,

"Monsieur, give me a little flour and some butter, and I'll make a galette for the young ones." "Are you going to pillage the house on account of my nephew?

"I wasn't thinking any more of your nephew than I was of your dog,-not more than you think yourself; for, look here, you've only forked out six bits of sugar. I want eight."

"What's all this, Nanon? I have never seen you like this before. What have you got in your head? Are you the mistress here? You sha'n't have more

than six pieces of sugar."

"Well, then, how is your nephew to sweeten his coffee?"

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I'd rather buy

With two pieces; I'll go without myself." "Go without sugar at your age! you some out of my own pocket." "Mind your own business."

In spite of the recent fall of prices, sugar was still in Grandet's eyes the most valuable of all the colonial products; to him it was always six francs a pound. The necessity of economizing it. acquired under the Empire, had grown to be the most inveterate of his habits. All women, even the greatest ninnies, knew how to dodge and double to get their ends; Nanon abandoned the sugar for the sake of getting the galette.

“Mademoiselle!" she called through the window, "do you want some galette?"

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"Come, Nanon," said Grandet, hearing his daughter's voice, see here." He opened the cupboard where the flour was kept, gave her a cupful, and added a few ounces of butter to the piece he had already cut off.

"I shall want wood for the oven," said the implacable Nanon.

"Well, take what you want," he answered sadly; "but in that case you must make us a fruit-tart, and you'll cook the whole dinner in the oven. In that way you won't need two fires."

"Goodness!" cried Nanon, "you needn't tell me

that."

Grandet cast a look that was well-nigh paternal upon his faithful deputy.

Mademoiselle," she cried, when his back was turned, we shall have the galette."

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE, author and dramatist, was born, in 1860, at Kirriemuir, Scotland. He has produced ten novels, of which the most popular have been "A Window in Thrums," "The Little Minister" and "Sentimental Tommy." For the last three years he has devoted the greater part of his time to play-writing.

COURTSHIPS

(From "The Auld Lichts," Charles Scribner's Sons, Publishers of Mr. Barrie's works in America)

WITH

H the severe Auld Lichts the Sabbath began at six o'clock on Saturday evening. By that time the gleaming shuttle was at rest, Davie Haggart had strolled into the village from his pile of stones on the Whunny road; Hendry Robb, the 'dummy," had sold his last barrowful of "rozetty (resiny) roots" for firewood; and the people, having tranquilly supped and soused their faces in their water pails, slowly donned their Sunday clothes. This ceremony was common to all; but here divergence set in. The gray Auld Licht, to whom love was not even a name, sat in his high-backed armchair by the hearth, Bible or "Pilgrim's Progress in hand, occasionally lapsing into slumber. Butthough, when they got the chance, they went willingly three times to the kirk-there were young men in the community so flighty that, instead of dozing at home on Saturday night, they dandered casually into the square, and, forming into knots at the corners, talked solemnly and mysteriously of women. Not even on the night preceding his wedding was

an Auld Licht ever known to stay out after ten o'clock. So weekly conclaves at street corners came to an end at a comparatively early hour, one Celebs after another shuffling silently from the square until it echoed, deserted, to the townhouse clock. The last of the gallants, gradually discovering that he was alone, would look around him musingly, and, 'aking in the situation, slowly wend his way home. On no other night of the week was frivolous talk about the softer sex indulged in, the Auld Lichts being creatures of habit who never thought of smiling on a Monday. Long before they reached their teens they were earning their keep as herds in the surrounding glens or filling "pirns" for their parents; but they were generally on the brink of twenty before they thought seriously of matrimony. Up to that time they only trifled with the other sex's affections at a distance-filling a maid's water pails, perhaps, when no one was looking, or carrying her wob; at the recollection of which they would slap their knees almost jovially on Saturday night. A wife was expected to assist at the loom as well as to be cunning in the making of marmalade and the firing of bannocks, and there was consequently some heartburning among the lads for maids of skill and muscle. The Auld Licht, however, who meant marriage seldom foitered in the streets. By and by there came a time when the clock looked down through its cracked glass upon the hemmed-in square and saw him not. His companions, gazing at each other's boots, felt that something was going on, but made no remark.

A month ago, passing through the shabby familiar square, I brushed against a withered old man tottering down the street under a load of yarn. It was piled on a wheelbarrow, which his feeble hands could not have raised but for the rope of yarn that supported it from his shoulders; and though Auld

Licht was written on his patient eyes, I did not immediately recognize Jamie Whamond. Years ago Jamie was a sturdy weaver and fervent lover whom I had the right to call my friend. Turn back the century a few decades, and we are together on a moonlight night, taking a short cut through the fields from the farm of Craigiebuckle. Buxom were Craigiebuckle's dochters," and Jamie was Janet's accepted suitor. It was a muddy road through damp grass, and we picked our way silently over its ruts and pools. "I'm thinkin'," Jamie said at last, a little wistfully, “that I micht hae been as weel wi' Chirsty."

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Chirsty was Janet's sister, and Jamie had first thought of her. Craigiebuckle, however, strongly advised him to take Janet instead, and he consented. Alack! heavy wobs have taken all the grace from Janet's shoulders this many a year, though she and Jamie go bravely down the hill together. Unless they pass the allotted span of life, the ". poorshouse" will never know them. As for bonny Chirsty, she proved a flighty thing, and married a deacon in the Established Church. The Auld Lichts groaned over her fall, Craigiebuckle hung his head, and the minister told her sternly to go her way. But a few weeks afterwards Lang Tammas, the chief elder, was observed talking with her for an hour in Gowrie's close; and the very next Sabbath Chirsty pushed her husband in triumph into her father's pew. The minister, though completely taken by surprise, at once referred to the stranger, in a prayer of great length, as a brand that might yet be plucked from the burning. Changing his text, he preached at him; Lang Tammas, the precentor, and the whole congregation (Chirsty included), sang at him; and before he exactly realized his position he had become an Auld Licht for life. Chirsty's triumph was complete when, next week, in broad day