"Little Margot, from behind her tree, heard those cries; and it is marvellous how the wits of a little child are sometimes sharpened, in cases of great trial; she thought, and thought truly, that she could do Meeta no good by running to her, but that she might help her by flying, as fast as her young feet could carry her, to the village. It was down hill all the way, and it was all straight running, if she could get unseen into the path on the other side of the hedge. So she threw herself on her hands and feet, and crept on all fours to where the hedge was thinnest, and, neither minding tears nor scratches, the hardy child came tumbling out on the path on the side of the village, jumping up on her feet; and no little lapwing could have flown the path more swiftly than she did."
"Well done, Margot!" cried Henry; but Emily did not stop to answer him.
"Jacques, at the very time in which Margot had begun to run down the hill, was watching his flock on the side of a green and not very steep peak, scarcely a quarter of a mile, as a bird would fly, from the cottage, though, to drive his flock up to it, he had perhaps the greater part of a mile to go. On the top of this peak were a few dark pines which might be seen for miles. Jacques was seated quietly beneath the shade of one of these trees; his sheep were feeding about him, his dog apparently sleeping at his feet, and his eyes being occupied at one moment in taking a
careful glance at his flocks, and again fixed on a small old book which he held in his hand. Nothing could have been more quiet than was the mountain in that hour, nearly the hottest of the day; and how little did Jacques Stolberg imagine what was then going forward so near to him.
"Wolf had been supposed by his master to be asleep some minutes, when suddenly the creature uttered a short sleepy bark, and then, raising his head and pricking his ears, he remained a minute in the attitude of deep attention and anxious listening.
"'What is it, Wolf?' said Jacques: 'what is it, boy?'
"The dog drew his ears forward, every hair in his rough coat began to bristle itself; he sprang upon his four feet—he stood a moment.
"'What does he see?' cried Jacques, getting up also, and grasping his crooked staff; 'eh, Wolf, what is it?'