"I don't know," said Pierot, whose own legs lacked their old springiness. "Would you like some cherries now, Pierotte? I can reach them easily."
"Cherries! Those sour things? No, thank you. They would be sure to disagree with me," returned Pierotte, pettishly.
"Times are changed," muttered Pierot; but he dared not speak aloud.
"Where shall we sleep?" asked Pierotte.
"Under the trees, so long as the summer lasts."
"Gracious! We shall both die of rheumatism."
"Rheumatism? What an idea for a child like you!"
"I wish I were a child," said Pierotte, with a groan. "Here's a tree with grass below it, and I'm getting tired and sleepy."
When the brother and sister woke it was broad sunlight again.
"One day gone of our year," said Pierot, trying to be cheerful.