I was made so."
Dreaming in this lazy way, the picture rose up in her mind of the
farm-yard with the proud cock strutting among his hens, and then she
remembered the eggs, how they used to find them in the straw in some
corner of the barn.
"If I had a couple of hard-boiled eggs," she thought, "just like those
Fritz had yesterday in his bag, with a crust of bread and a little salt,
I should like it very well. But what signifies? When you can't get eggs
you have blackberries and whinberries."
A scent of whinberries made her little nostrils dilate with expectation.
"There are some here," she said; "I can smell them."
She was right. The wood was full of them.
In another minute, not hearing the thrush, she raised herself on her
elbow and noticed the bird picking at the arbutus-berries.
Then she went to the brook and took a little clear water in her hollow
hand, and observed that there was plenty of watercress.
Then she remembered what she had never taken the trouble to think of
before, some words of the _cure_, Niclausse about the birds of the air
that God provided for, and the lilies of the field that were more
beautiful than the glory of Solomon, and she remembered the lesson about
not being anxious for food and clothing, and thought that that would just
suit her, for she did not think of any of the teaching of the same great
Teacher about industry, and frugality, and living honestly, and so she
came to the satisfying conclusion that the true heathens were Catherine
and all her people, who were so foolish and wicked as to plough, and sow,
and reap, while she was the good Christian, because she was as idle as
the day was long.
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