The tall sister seemed to be happy in finding fault with the two children, and to seek for them the punishment which the widow pitilessly inflicted. Amandine, without being observed, gently touched her brother's elbow, to make him quietly do what Calabash desired. François did not stir. The elder sister still looked at her mother as demanding the punishment of the offender, and the widow understood her. With her long lean finger she pointed to a stick of stout and pliant willow placed in a recess near the chimney. Calabash stooped forward, took up this staff of chastisement, and handed it to her mother. François had seen his mother's gesture, and, rising suddenly, sprung out of the reach of the threatening stick.
"Do you want mother to break your back?" exclaimed Calabash.
The widow, still holding the willow stick in her hand, pinching her pale lips together more and more, looked at François with a fixed eye, but without uttering a syllable. By the slight tremor of Amandine's hands, with her head bent downwards, and the redness which suddenly overspread her neck, it was easy to see that the child, although habituated to such scenes, was alarmed at the fate that threatened her brother, who had taken refuge in a corner of the kitchen, and seemed frightened and irritated.
"Mind yourself, mother's going to begin, and then it will be too late!" said the tall sister.
"I don't care!" replied François, turning pale. "I'd rather be beaten as I was the day before yesterday, than—go to the wood-pile—and at night—again."
"And why?" asked Calabash, impatiently.
"I am—afraid of the wood-pile—I—" answered the boy, shuddering as he spoke.
"Afraid—you stupid! And of what?"
François shook his head, but did not reply.
"Will you answer? What are you afraid of?"