"Oh, gentles, I am mad and old,
My dress is worn and thin;
Oh, give me one small piece of gold!
To clothe my wretched skin;"
she didn't even offer to tell our fortunes, but passed timidly by. It was enough to have disappointed a saint! and we were only restored to a pleasant frame of mind by finding Mr. Sydney at the hotel on our return.
[Illustration]
In the afternoon we took the other path—previously mentioned as branching off below the bridge over the Gave d'Azun,—which leading sharply to the right, passes beside the river for a short distance, and then leads among the fields, finally—like others in Argelès— losing itself there. Just as the poplars which run with it ceased, we had a lovely view up a dip between two fertile hills, to the snow-peaks near Barèges; a narrow path skirts the side of the hill, on the right, in the direction of the morning's sketching ground, but this we did not take, making, instead, for the hill standing immediately above the river. Up this a certain distance we clambered—scaring a few large green lizards that were sunning themselves on the stones,—by a sheep track we managed to discover, till we could look down on a mass of tangled brushwood by the riverside. Scrambling down to this through the wild vines and briars, we succeeded, after many fruitless attempts, in gaining the water's edge. There was no place to cross and the current was far too swift to attempt jumping, so we had to turn back. While deliberating on the right path, a little girl, looking very wretched, with blurred face and torn clothes, came round a corner, and asked us if we had seen a lamb anywhere. We were sorry we hadn't, very sorry indeed; all we could do was to endeavour to recollect a rhyme and adapt it to her case, that we learnt in the nursery when we were something under fifteen, and, although it didn't seem to assuage her grief much—probably because she didn't understand a word of English—we think it ought to be quoted in case it should be useful to others.
JEANNETTE'S LAMB.
Jeannette had a naughty lamb,
That looked like dirty snow;
And wherever Jeannette went
That lamb would never go.
It wandered from her care one day,
(Oh, stupid little fool!)
It made her cry her heart away
While searching brake and pool.
And Jeannette tore her dress to rags,
And scratched her hands and face;
But of her dirty little lamb
She couldn't find a trace.
The lamb fell in the river deep,
But Jeannette never knew.
Though Satan finds some mischief still,
For little lambs to do.
However, she listened very submissively till we had finished, and then wandered off again still searching for her lamb, while we retraced our steps.