The peasant placed him carefully on the ground, set him upon his little crutches, which had fallen, and looked at him with an air of satisfaction.
“Don’t you think he’s growing, wife?” he asked in the tone of a man who wishes to be encouraged. “Walk a bit, Jean; walk, boy! He walks more quickly and more strongly. It’ll all come right, wife; we must only be patient.”
The farmer’s wife made no reply, but her eyes turned toward the feeble child with a look of despair so deep that Arnold trembled; fortunately Moser paid no heed.
“Come, the whole brood of you,” he went on, opening the basket he had taken from the cart; “here is something for every one! In line and hold out your hands.”
The peasant had displayed three small white rolls glazed in the baking; three cries of joy burst forth simultaneously and six hands advanced to seize the rolls, but they all paused at the word of command.
“And Jean?” asked the childish voices.
“To the devil with Jean,” answered Moser gayly; “there is nothing for him to-night. Jean shall have his share another time.”
But the child smiled and tried to get up to look into the basket. The farmer stepped back a pace, took off the cover carefully, and lifting his arm with an air of solemnity, displayed before the eyes of all a cake of gingerbread garnished with almonds and pink and white sugar-plums.
There was a general shout of admiration. Jean himself could not restrain a cry of delight; a slight flush rose to his pale face and he held out his hands with an air of joyful expectancy.
“Ah, you like it, little mole!” cried the peasant, whose face was radiant at the sight of the child’s pleasure; “take it, old man, take it; it is nothing but sugar and honey.”