Marie, and Pierre, and their mother strove to be patient, contenting themselves in the meantime with preparing the empty rooms of the silk-house, where the caterpillars were to be raised. Many a time they had not only seen this done but had assisted in the process. Every step of the work was familiar. They knew well that the labor of making the place immaculate was far from wasted, for unless the rooms were spotless the fastidious spinners would either sicken and die, or would refuse to fashion their wonderful webs.

M. Bretton, who had spent a good portion of his slender income in constructing the up-to-date shelter that housed his caterpillars, often laughingly declared that their accommodations were far more luxurious than were those where his own family lived. Nevertheless it was money well invested, he argued, since already he had got back from the sale of his cocoons many times over what the plant had cost him. So successful had he been that his example had been followed by many of his more prosperous neighbors until now Bellerivre, tiny as it was, could boast as fine equipment for sericulture as could be found in all France.

Poor M. Bretton! How proud he had been of his handiwork! How modestly exultant over his good fortune! And now that he had been forced to abandon it all and go to the Great War it was unthinkable to his wife and children that they should not take up his work and strive to carry it on. Nay, the very bread they ate depended upon their doing so.

Hence do you marvel that Marie, Pierre, and Madame Bretton labored early and late and denied themselves many things they wanted, that instead the money might be spent to further the industry that M. Bretton had cherished? And since what we work for becomes the centre of our interests it logically followed that all three of them found their task an absorbingly fascinating one. Playtime and study were cast cheerfully aside, and in place of them the boy and girl received each day the more vital compensations that come from unselfishness and hard work.

It was Marie who first detected that the buds near the ends of the mulberry branches were opening.

As she and Pierre drove the flock of goats down the steep mountain trail which led from the plateau where the pasture lay she glanced across the valley. Against the blue sky a tracery of delicate green was showing.

"Pierre!" she cried, "see! The mulberry buds are awaking! Look! Do you not catch that bit of color against the clouds? We will wait no longer. Let us tell Mother to take the silkworm eggs out of the dark room and put them where it is light. Soon there will be plenty of new leaves. Hurrah, Pierre!"

With a rush Marie bounded past her brother and ran down the narrow path scattering the goats before her in every direction, and sending Hector racing homeward with yelps of delight.

CHAPTER II
THE SILK-HOUSE

Marie's prediction proved a true one, for within another fortnight the mulberry buds were tipped with green, and it was evident they would be in leaf with the coming of a few more days of warm sunshine.

"Our silk-growing will begin in earnest now," declared Madame Bretton, "and before it does I think we'd better take one last careful survey of the silk-house to make sure that everything is all right."

From a peg over the fireplace she took down a key, and going out, crossed the lawn to a building which stood opposite. The children danced after her, entering the silent structure with prancing steps. Once inside, however, they stopped their skipping as if automatically and instead began creeping softly about on their tiptoes. Then Pierre glanced up and laughed.

"I declare if we are not as quiet as though the silkworms were here already," said he.

His mother smiled.

"It is force of habit," she answered. "We always have to be so quiet when they are here that it is hard to remember there is no need for the precaution when the building is empty. How odd it is that their hearing should be so acute! No one who has not had the care of silkworms can realize the disastrous results of startling them."

"Father once told me he had known of a lot of silkworms that stopped eating and died because a sudden noise frightened them," observed Pierre.

"Such a calamity is not at all unusual, Pierre," returned his mother. "And more than that, if anything alarms them after they have begun to spin they will frequently snap the thread of their cocoon and refuse to spin any more; if they do continue the interruption causes a lump, or rough place, in the filament so that it is imperfect and has to be broken and tied. In consequence the silk is poorer and brings a lower price. So you see how really important it is not to jar their sensitive nerves."

"Who would think that one of those green caterpillars had any nerves!" ventured Marie. "Is it true, Mother, that a thunder-storm will check their spinning?"

"Yes. It often does if the thunder is very heavy. Your father once lost an entire crop of silkworms because of a severe thunder-storm. The little creatures died of fright. It is wonderful how delicately attuned they are."

"And their sense of smell is so keen," Marie continued thoughtfully. "I remember one day Father hurried me out of the silk-house because I had some perfume on my handkerchief. I was so cross," she added with a shamefaced little flush, "for I thought the perfume very nice and I couldn't understand why he did not like it."

"Miss Vanity!" cried Pierre. "I guess afterward you saw he was dead right. He couldn't take the chance of losing his silkworms, and I don't blame him, either. It is far too much work to raise them; isn't it, Mother?"

"I rather think you will say so when you have raised your own crop," was the quiet answer.

"Do you remember the Italian Father hired to help him once; and how he afterward sent the man away because he would smoke, and smelled of tobacco all the time?"

"Yes. That was another example of the same thing," replied Madame Bretton. "Your father was afraid to risk keeping the man. The caterpillars might scent the tobacco and object to it."

"I had no idea they were so fussy!" gasped Marie. "I do hope our silkworms won't get frightened and die, or else have something make them stop spinning."

"I don't believe they will if we take good care of them," was her mother's soothing answer. "Still, we never can tell. We must heed everything Father has told us if we want to make a success of our task. To begin with there are the mulberry trees—we must not strip them of leaves too early in the season, for if we do the sap will be lost, and the strength of the tree weakened; in addition we must be careful not to waste the leaves by gathering too many at a time, or by getting the wrong kind. You know the worms will eat only freshly gathered leaves. Let us not forget that. And the young silkworms must have small and tender ones. As they grow older they will need more solid food and their development will keep pace with the advancing vegetation. It is the saccharine they take from the leaf that makes them grow; if you feed them tough leaves with little saccharine in them the poor worm has all the labor of eating a vast quantity of