is dead and our moth-er has to work
ver-y hard. IL wish I were a man!’

“*Why, what would you doif you
were a man?’ said I.

“Oh, [ would go to the big: cit-
ies, said Pierre, ‘and earn lots of
mon-ey, so that my poor moth-er
need not work so hard.’

“The next win-ter when we were
in Bas-el, a pret-ty town on the
riv-er Rhine, I saw one day a lit-tle
boy on the cor-ner of a street that
made me think of Pierre. He was
much small-er, and his face was far
more plump, but still there was a
look a-bout the mouth and eyes that
was ver-y much like Pierre.

He had’ a small boot-black stand,
and asked pa-pa, as we were pass-