fer not to think of you," he responded.
"You would rather, then, that I staid at Orizava?"
"Oh no; I should like you to go, and--to go with you."
"What can you be thinking of? Before we were a mile on the road you would be knocked up, complaining of heat, thirst, fatigue--"
"That's quite a mistake, dear father. I know I should be very useful to you, if you would only take me. I could pick up wood, light the fire, and look after the cooking, besides catching butterflies and insects, both for your collection and mine."
"That's all very well; but the first time you were scratched by a thorn you would cry."
"Oh father! I promise you I will never cry, except when--I can't help it."
I could not resist smiling at this answer.
"Then it is a settled thing, and I am to go with you," exclaimed Lucien.
"We must consult your mother, and if she sees no objection, I--"
The child ran off without allowing me to finish my sentence.
While I we