After Jacques, and Fine-Anguille, and the sea, Ange was the dearest friend of this dog. Fanor paid the most delicate attentions to this little fellow. He kept back his strength and refrained from those boisterous leaps; he gave Ange a thousand tender caresses with his great cold nose and with his paw; and, when he licked his hands, he scarcely moistened them. It was plain that he was in love with this baby. And as for Jeanne, she loved nothing in the world besides Jacques and Ange and the dog.
For you and me, and the thoughtless or busy world, what a grand sight to watch the sea in September! so deep, so dark, it falls and rises with ever-increasing majesty. There is a menace in its ceaseless roll, its beauty is terribly grand, and from the shore we admire its strength and its immensity. But how differently it appears to the poor fisher's wife! For her there is nothing to admire in the ocean. For her it is only a source of anxiety and dread. How gloomy to her is the evening as it settles over this ever-tossing plain; how her heart starts at the vague threats of the wind! This blue and white-crested mass is perhaps a shroud. Is there no moaning save that which the listless water makes? And, when the horizon lowers, is the wild call of the sea-bird the only strange cry that can be heard? And, as the wind sweeps from the stormy offing, we perhaps think it beautiful. But to the fisher's wife it is dreadful. She fears for him who toils in the abyss. What can a little shell like Fine-Anguille and a man and a dog do against the ocean?
We may say, "How beautiful!" But she cries, "Holy Virgin! the sea is too high! Sweet Jesus! it blows too, too hard."
One day Jeanne was with Ange on the beach and Jacques was preparing Fine-Anguille for fishing. Jeanne sat, knitting, by the water's side. Ange had kicked off one of his little wooden shoes, and with his rosy little foot was playing in the water. He laughed, he shouted, he splashed the little waves that ran softly upon the sand. Ah! what grand fun he was having.
It was evening. The setting sun bathed the entire coast in purple, and the water, still and peaceful, reflected this scene of splendor.
Ange had tied a string to his little shoe and had thrown it out on the water.
"Mamma," said he, "look! see my Fine-Anguille! In a minute I am going to make a storm."
And he splashed away with his bare foot.
The little shoe tossed from one side to another; finally it filled with water. Jeanne looked up and said. "Naughty boy! put on your shoe. Quick!"