Bernadou clung to his home with a dogged devotion. He would not go from it to fight unless compelled, but for it he would have fought like a lion. His love for his country was only an indefinite shadowy existence that was not clear to him; he could not save a land that he had never seen, a capital that was only to him as an empty name; nor could he comprehend the danger that his nation ran; nor could he desire to go forth and spend his lifeblood in defence of things unknown to him. He was only a peasant, and he could not read nor greatly understand. But affection for his birthplace was a passion with him,—mute indeed, but deep-seated as an oak. <br><br>Contents<br><br>1. A LEAF IN THE STORM<br>2. CATS<br>3. AN ADVENTURE<br>4. FOR THOSE WHO LOVE MUSIC<br>5. OUT OF DOORS<br>6. THE TABOO<br>7. SCHOOL DAYS AT THE CONVENT<br>8. IN BRITTANY<br>9. THE ADIRONDACKS<br>10. AN ASCENT OF KILAUEA<br>11. THE FETISH<br>12. SALMON FISHING IN IRELAND<br>13. ACROSS RUNNING WATER<br>14. THE PINE-TREE SHILLINGS
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