“You have a hard master,” put in the other, “if he would pay you with blows upon the feast of Noel.”

“He is hard enough,” said Hyacinthe, “but once he gave me a dinner of sausages and white wine; and once, in the summer, melons.  If my eyes will stay open, I will finish this by morning.  Stay with me an hour or so, comrade, and talk to me of your travels, so that the time may pass more quickly.”

And while Hyacinthe worked, he told,—­of sunshine and dust, of the shadow of vine-leaves on the flat white walls of a house; of rosy doves on the roof; of the flowers that come out in the spring, anemones crimson and blue, and white cyclamen in the shadow of the rocks; of the olive, the myrtle, and the almond; until Hyacinthe’s fingers ceased working, and his sleepy eyes blinked wonderingly.

“See what you have done, comrade,” he said at last; “you have told me of such pretty things that I have done but little work for an hour.  And now the cabinet will never be finished, and I shall be beaten.”

“Let me help you,” smiled the other.  “I also was bred a carpenter.”

At first Hyacinthe would not, fearing to trust the sweet wood out of his own hands.  But at length he allowed the stranger to fit in one of the drawers.  And so deftly was it done that Hyacinthe pounded his fists on the bench in admiration.  “You have a pretty knack,” he cried.  “It seemed as if you did but hold the drawer in your hands a moment, and hey! it jumped into its place.”

“Let me fit in the other little drawers while you rest awhile,” said the stranger.  So Hyacinthe curled up among the shavings, and the other boy fell to work upon the little cabinet of sandalwood.

Hyacinthe was very tired.  He lay still among the shavings, and thought of all the boy had told him, of the hillside flowers, the laughing leaves, the golden bloom of the anise, and the golden sun upon the roads until he was warm.  And all the time the boy with the quiet eyes was at work upon the cabinet, smoothing, fitting, polishing.

“You do better work than I,” said Hyacinthe once, and the stranger answered, “I was lovingly taught.”  And again Hyacinthe said, “It is growing towards morning.  In a little while I will get up and help you.”

“Lie still and rest,” said the other boy.  And Hyacinthe lay still.  His thoughts began to slide into dreams, and he woke with a little start, for there seemed to be music in the shed; though he could not tell whether it came from the strange boy’s lips, or from the shappy tools as he used them, or from the stars.

“The stars are much paler,” thought Hyacinthe.  “Soon it will be morning, and the corners are not carved yet.  I must get up and help this kind one in a little moment.  Only the music and the sweetness seem to fold me close, so that I may not move.”

Then behind the forest there shone a pale glow of dawn, and in Terminaison the church bells began to ring.  “Day will soon be here,” thought Hyacinthe, “and with day will come Monsieur L’Oreillard and his stick.  I must get up and help for even yet the corners are not carved.”