The Solitary Summer

"So you do know some French," I said as I snipped off poppy-heads; "you have always pretended you don't." "Oh, keep the poppies, mummy," cried April, as she saw them tumbling into her basket; "if you picks them and just leaves them, then they ripes and is good for such a many things." "Tell me about the diable" I said, "and you shall keep the poppies." "He isn't nice, that diable," she said, starting off at once with breathless eloquence. "Seraphine says there was one time a girl and a boy who went for a walk, and there were two ways, and one way goes where stones is, but it goes to the lieber Gott; and the girl went that way till she came to a door, and the lieber Gott made the door opened and she went in, and that's the Himmel." "And the boy?" "Oh, he was a naughty boy and went the other way where there is a tree, and on the tree is written, 'Don't go this way or you'll be dead,' and he said, 'That is one betise,' and did go in the way and got to the Holle, and there he gets whippings when he doesn't make what the diable says." "That's because he was so naughty," explained the May baby, holding up an impressive finger, "and didn't want to go to the Himmel and didn't love glory." "All boys are naughty," said June, "and I don't love them." "Nous allons parler Francais" I announced, desirous of finding out whether their whole stock was represented by diable and betise; "I believe you can all speak it quite well."