20 STORIES FROM DAUDET

Poor little thing, perched up so ‘high
she thought herself gigantic.

Take it altogether, it was a happy
day for M. Seguin’s goat. Towards
noon, running hither and thither, she
met a troop of chamois. Our little
adventurer in her white dress was
much admired. They gave her a
good place and were all very kind to
her. She made friends with a young
black chamois, and they wandered off
together through the woods, and if you
want to know what they said to each
other, ask the little babbling brooks
that glide unseen amongst the mosses.

Suddenly the wind blew cold. The
mountain grew purple; it was night.
‘Already,’ said the little goat; and
she stopped still, wondering.

Below, the fields were wrapped in
mist, M. Seguin’s meadow was hidden
by the fog, and only the roof of the
house could be seen, with a little
smoke coming from it. She heard