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 me in French while he continued his work, became interested in him. He and his wife were sending to school in Evreux their only son, a lad of twelve. They were very fond of him and hopeful that he would make a scholar, and by and by learn a profession or trade more remunerative than shoemaking. Several times I visited the worthy couple and they repeatedly inquired concerning the chances of earning a living in North America. I was careful in my answers not to increase their discontent. One day I asked this workman if he did not have holidays. Shaking his head he said, “I have none except Christmas.” “Why,” I remarked, “you do not work on Sundays” “Oh, yes, I do. I am obliged to work hard seven days in the week to get enough together to give us a decent living.” Poor people Like so many other European workers, L'Amerique du Nord was their constant hope. During one pleasant Sunday I accompanied M. Chauvet and part of his family to a distant village named St. Opportune. Here we attended the anniversary exercises of one of the numerous Evangelical schools. A large congregation, made up principally of the fathers and mothers of the children, was present. As a rule they were dressed in clean blue workday frocks, such as the peasantry in France usually wear. The exercises were similar to what we have on anniversary occasions in our village schools, consisting of literary exercises, examinations, and singing. There were two sessions in this public exhibition. During intermission, while we were at lunch, M. Chauvet asked me to make an address to the school and assembled people that afternoon. I told him that I hardly dared trust myself in French. He smiled and said that I could try. So, mustering courage,
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