He had awakened early, and, sitting up in bed with the quilts wrapped around him, spread the scraps of tarletan on his knees.

He was piecing together with his awkward little fingers enough to make several tiny bags.
Henri missed his spade one morning, and hunted for it until he was out of patience.

It was nowhere to be seen.

Half an hour later, coming back to the house, he found it hanging in its usual place, where he had looked for it a dozen times at least.

Jules had taken it down to the woods to dig up a little cedar-tree, so little that it was not over a foot high when it was planted in a box.
Clotilde had to be taken into the secret, for he could not hide it from her.