And the little Lady Elinor was right, too. Years after, when Felix grew to
be a man, he did, in very truth, become a "famous carver," as she had
declared.
Far surpassing his first master, the Pere Videau, he traveled and worked
in many cities; yet never, through all his long life, did he forget that
Christmas Eve in the little village of Sur Varne.
Those who knew him best said that among his dearest treasures he always
kept a beautifully carved little box, and in it a bit of faded crimson
ribbon from the looms of Lyons. While, as for Beppo--well, if ever some
happy day you chance to visit the lovely land of Provence, perhaps you
will see a certain grand old cathedral in the ancient city of Arles; and,
if you do, look sharp at the figure of a lamb chiseled in white stone over
the great portal. Look well, I say, for Felix, when he carved it, would
have told you that he was thinking all the while of his little pet lamb
Beppo.
THE SABOT OF LITTLE WOLFF
FRANCOIS COPPEE
Once upon a time,--it was so long ago that the whole world has forgotten
the date,--in a city in the north of Europe, whose name is so difficult to
pronounce that nobody remembers it,--once upon a time there was a little
boy of seven, named Wolff. He was an orphan in charge of an old aunt who
was hard and avaricious, who only kissed him on New Year's Day, and who
breathed a sigh of regret every time that she gave him a porringer of
soup.
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