Moral Tales Page 16

  THE SECRET OF COURAGE.

  While rummaging one day in her mamma's drawers, Clementia found atale, which had been written by one of Madame de Laumont's friends,for the purpose of throwing ridicule on the absurd fears of herdaughter, as well as upon a scene to which those fears had givenoccasion. She asked her mother's permission to read it, this Madamede Laumont granted, and she read as follows:--

  THE FORMIDABLE MONSTERS.[B]

  [B] This tale is not from my own pen, it was given to me by a friend, who composed it on a scene which actually took place.

  In the time of the fairies, when every story commenced with _Therewas once upon a time_, many wonderful things were to be seen. Thelearned men who have discovered that the bones of animals found atMontmartre, do not belong to any species existing at present, oughtto endeavour to ascertain whether they may not have belonged tosome animals of that period. I am going to speak of two of the mostsingular that then existed, and to relate the terror caused by theirapparition, in a fairy castle, where dwelt the princess Tantaffaireand the princess Morgeline.

  One day in the beginning of December, an animal, almost as large andstrong as a man, was observed to enter the castle, walking on hishind legs, and enveloped in a covering which resembled the skin of arhinoceros. His skull alone was covered with a species of hair, of adeep black, and the fore part of his head presented a skin nearly ofthe same colour as the rest of his body. He had large black and whiteeyes, which rolled incessantly, and which appeared to possess anextraordinary degree of vivacity, while to the two jaws of his widemouth were attached teeth, as white as those of the elephant, andwhich seemed disposed to devour everything they could seize upon. Thestrangely-articulated growling which escaped him, seemed to indicatethat he wanted something in the house, whereupon the servants eagerlychased him from room to room, until he reached the one occupied bythe two princesses of whom I have spoken. In this room there was along tube, which extended as far as the upper terraces, which werefrequently visited by the cats. As soon as the monster perceivedthis tube, which had become blackened by the dust and smoke from thefire usually lighted in it, he took off one of the thick skins whichcovered the upper part of his body, and disclosed in one of his largepaws, a new claw, flat and sharp, and suddenly darting into the tube,he showered after him, a black powder as offensive as the vapours ofthe infernal regions.

  The princess Morgeline, at this unexpected sight, could not helputtering the most fearful cries. Every one tried in vain to calm her;every one pointed out to her, that the creature had not injured anyone; she was not to be quieted until she had seen him disappear bythe chimney, for I had forgotten to tell you that this smoky tube wasprecisely what at the present day is called a _chimney_.

  The princess Tantaffaire, who was older than Morgeline, and possesseda clear and sound judgment, endeavoured to persuade her that itwas absurd to be afraid; since these animals come every year, andnever do anything more than pass up the tubes, and take away thedust which, in some way or other, seemed to supply them with food.Morgeline would listen to nothing. The reasonings of the otherprincess were soon troubled by a frightful noise, made by themonster, when he had reached the upper end of the tube. Similarcries proceeded from the neighbouring houses at the same moment,and seemed to unite in the most dreadful discord, as if to deafenthe inhabitants of the country for a quarter of a league round. Itappeared to be the habit of these animals to march in troops, and tospread themselves nearly all at once over the same district, for thepurpose of seeking food.

  However, Tantaffaire, still courageous, asserted that Morgeline,who did not know where to hide herself, ought to make an effort toovercome her fears; that she ought to be compelled to remain andsee the monster again when he descended from the tube, in order toconvince herself that there was nothing dangerous about him. "If weallow her to run away," she argued, "she will be again frightened atanother time. Let us force her to examine, and then she will be atrest for the future."

  The princess Tantaffaire reasoned very well, but all at once therecame out from behind the wainscoting a little creature, which couldscarcely be perceived, so rapid was its flight; it seemed to be of adark-grey colour, and nearly as large and as formidable as a sparrow.

  "Let us fly!" exclaimed the princess Tantaffaire; "run, Morgeline!"and she herself fled with the utmost precipitation.

  "But what is the matter?" said the servants, who had not observedanything, and who were occupied in cutting some bread and pouring outsomething to drink for the first monster, who had descended from thechimney, twice as black as he was before, and who was making horribleefforts to get rid of the soot which he had swallowed.

  "What, Mademoiselle Tantaffaire, are _you_ now afraid of thechimney-sweep?"

  "No! no!" she cried, "no! but there is a mouse."

  At that moment the fairy who presided over the house, entered,accompanied by a beautiful yellow cat, which, smelling the mouse,hunted for it and caught it.

  The fairy turned towards poor Tantaffaire:

  "You see, Mademoiselle, that it does not require the power of afairy, nor even that of an ordinary woman, to free oneself from theterrible object which made you run away. I have only had to bring ina cat, a feeble animal, which the Savoyard who terrified Morgelinecould strangle with the greatest ease: nevertheless, you had thesense not to be afraid of the latter; you reasoned very correctlywhile encouraging your little friend; but when it became necessaryto apply to yourself the principles you so well laid down, you havealtogether failed; nor have you even had the strength of mind toconceal, so far as not to infect others, a childish fear, with whichyou have been reproached from your infancy."

  The fairy said a great deal more to the same effect, for the fairies,who have the power of doing so many things with their wands, havealso the power of saying still more; but it will be sufficient foryou to know, that during this lecture, Tantaffaire seemed very muchashamed, and that it is asserted, that she succeeded, in the end, inovercoming in herself, those fears which she considered so blamableand ridiculous in others.

  And now, perhaps, you will ask me what there is so extraordinaryin my tale? What! do we still meet with reasoning princesses whoare afraid of these little creatures, a thousand times smaller thanthemselves, which neither bite, nor pinch, nor scratch, and which runso rapidly, that they can scarcely be perceived?

  * * * * *

  "Mamma," said Clementia, "I saw immediately that it was achimney-sweep, and then a mouse that was meant;" and after a moment'sreflection, she added, "One ought not, certainly, to be afraidof either chimney-sweeps or mice; but I do not think it was soridiculous in the princess Tantaffaire, to have been more afraid of amouse than of a chimney-sweep."

  "Why so, my dear?"

  "Why, mamma, because we know very well that the chimney-sweep is aman."

  "And I think no one can be ignorant that a mouse is a mouse."

  "No; but we know why the sweep comes, and what he wants to do;whereas this little creature, which runs nobody knows how, and nobodyknows from where, and which goes and returns hardly giving one timeto see it.... In fact, mamma, many persons who are grown up areafraid of mice, but no one is afraid of a chimney-sweep."

  "And yet they are perfectly aware," said Madame de Laumont, "that theone does no more harm than the other."

  "Oh! mamma, as if one was afraid of nothing but what does harm. Whenwe are in the country, and the wind whistles through the corridors ofthe ch?teau, when I hear it moan in the night through the crevicesof the door or of the window, I know that it can do me no harm, andyet I am so frightened, that I cover my head with the sheet, and pullthe clothes as tightly round me, as if I had to protect myself fromsome great danger. When it thunders, I am quite aware that the pealwhich we hear, can do no harm, since this noise is only the echo ofthe sound, which has already passed, and yet you know, mamma, thatat those two terrific claps of thunder which we had last year in thecountry, if you had not absolutely forbidden me, I could not havehelpe
d running about and screaming, as people do when they are verymuch afraid."

  "And, when I forbade you, that prevented you from doing so; I am surethat if I were to forbid your rolling yourself up in your sheets,when you hear the wind whistle, it would prevent you from doing thatalso?"

  "Oh! yes, certainly, mamma."

  "Very well, then I forbid your doing so. Do you consider that thatwill prevent you from being afraid?"

  Clementia reflected a moment, and then told her mother that she didnot suppose it would.

  "What do you think about," asked her mother, "when the wind whistles,and you roll yourself up in your sheets?"

  "I do not think about anything, mamma, I assure you; I am afraid,that is all."

  "And when you hear it without tightening your sheets, since I haveforbidden you to do so, what will you think about then?"

  "I shall think, mamma, of what you have forbidden me," saidClementia. Then, after a moment's reflection, she added, "I think,perhaps, that this idea might prevent me from being afraid; for Iremember, when it thundered so loudly last year, that at the secondpeal I thought of your having forbidden me to cry out at the first; Ithought of restraining myself, and consequently thought less of beingafraid."

  "This is what always happens, my child. The best means of overcomingfear, is to think of something which may divert our thoughts from it.Those who are afraid of mice, are quite capable of being afraid ofchimney-sweeps, if, when one made his appearance, they did not thinkhe came to sweep the chimney, and that it is desirable that chimneysshould be swept, in order to prevent their catching fire; in fact, ifthey did not think of many things which prevent them from dwellingupon the impression which his disagreeable appearance might make uponthem. If mice were as useful to every one as sweeps are, no one wouldbe afraid of them."

  "Do you think so, mamma?"

  "You know well enough, for instance, that if it were the custom tomake ragouts of them, Catherine, who runs away the moment she seesone, would, instead of doing so, think only of catching it, and wouldbe no more afraid of it than she is of the eel, which twists about inher hand like a serpent, and which you think it would be impossiblefor you to touch. In the same way she would think only of the ragoutshe was going to prepare, and not of her absurd fears."

  "But, mamma, one cannot always conjure up an idea which will enableus to overcome fear."

  "Nothing is easier. You see that by a simple prohibition, I havegiven you sufficient means to diminish your fear of the thunder, andof the wind; as to those things which I do not forbid, you have onlyto forbid them yourself."

  "One cannot always find something to forbid oneself."

  "Always, my child, when we are disposed to yield to fear, for weare led to do many things which we ought to think of forbiddingourselves, and when we do not yield to them, we soon lose the habitof doing so. Do you remember the habit you had two years ago, oflooking, before you went to bed, both under your own bed and mine,and of examining all the closets and doors of the apartment? When Icompelled you to go to bed without all these precautions, were youany longer tormented by fear?"

  "Oh! dear, no, mamma; the following day I thought no more about it;but I am quite sure, however, that if I had missed of my own accord,I should have fancied that that was the very time when there would besome one concealed."

  "Because you were not then convinced that it was unreasonable, andthat you ought not to yield to it. The idea of resisting a bad habit,by reasoning against it, would have diverted your mind, as much as myprohibition, from the fear which had induced you to form it."

  "In fact, mamma, those who are afraid of nothing, must, I shouldsuppose, be thus fearless, because they never think about fear,otherwise I could not comprehend them."

  "And those who are afraid of everything, are so because they are inthe habit of thinking about what may frighten them. Do you supposethat the soldiers in a battle, if they allowed themselves to think ofall the balls which might reach them, would have sufficient courageto stand their ground for a minute? Instead of this, they think onlyof what they have to do, of repelling the enemy, of gaining groundupon him, or of distinguishing themselves, in order to gain reward.It is thus they forget the bullets and press forward; it is thusalso that you, who are so afraid of a little pain, do not, when youromp with your brother, regard the blows you may receive, becauseyou think only of those you wish to give. Think of anything but thatwhich may cause fear. In this, my child, lies the whole secret ofcourage."

  In the evening, Clementia, having occasion to pass through some ofher mother's apartments, and afterwards through a long corridor,wanted to take a light. Her mother asked her whether she did notknow the way well enough to do without it. Clementia did, but shefelt timid; her mother perceived this, and Clementia acknowledgedit. After having reasoned with her respecting the kind of danger shemight encounter, "Come, let us make a trial," she said, "go veryslowly, examine well whether you are afraid, and of what you areafraid, so that you may give me an account of what you have felt; ifyou feel too much afraid, come back."

  Clementia hesitated; her mother's pleasantries, by making her laugh,diminished a little her fear. At the first emotion of terror whichshe experienced, she stopped, according to her mother's advice,in order to ascertain what had caused it; she felt that it had noreasonable foundation, and continued her way: she stopped againat the entrance of the dark corridor, to consider whether sheshould retrace her steps; but she thought she was not sufficientlyfrightened to return, and when she entered the corridor, she foundshe was not so much afraid as she had at first expected to be,because indeed there was no cause for fear. Having reached the spotto which she was going, she returned with much less difficulty,and agreed with her mother that her fear had been less than usual.Repeated experiments rendered her quite courageous against the night,the mice, and all other imaginary dangers. As to real dangers, everyone knows that we ought not to expose ourselves to them withoutnecessity, and she learned, by her own experience, that in thesecases, it is not of the danger we think. She had occasion to attendupon a person, of whom she was very fond, through a contagiousdisease, and every one was astonished that she had no fear on herown account. It was because her mind was so much occupied with theillness which she was attending, that she had no fear of that towhich she exposed herself.

  THE DREAM;

  AN EASTERN TALE.

  Narzim was a pious child, filled with filial love, and ever obedientto his mother Missour, a poor widow who lived with him, in a littlehut, in the environs of the mighty Delhi. With them also lived theyoung Elima, the daughter of Missour's sister. Elima had large blackeyes, a mild expression, and a sweet smile. Narzim would sometimessay to her, "Elima, you shall be my wife, and we will not leaveMissour: when her sight, which daily becomes weaker, has altogethergone, we will lead her under the palm-trees, and the pleasure ofhearing you will make her forget, for a few moments, that she is nolonger able to see. I shall be strong then; I will cultivate ourfields of rice, and the sweet voice of Elima will render my labourlight." Elima smiled, and rejoiced at the thought of never leavingMissour.

  Their union was their only happiness. Missour's husband had beenkilled by robbers, who had ravaged his field, and since that timeMissour had been able to cultivate only a portion of it, hardlysufficient for herself and family. Often the remembrance of herhusband's death, of his last looks, and of his last words, wouldoccasion her inexpressible anguish. In those moments, when she wasoverwhelmed with fatigue, misery embittered her heart; and, ready tomurmur against the Author of her being, she would say, "Has Bramathen created us for the purpose of rendering us unhappy?" Then shewould shed torrents of bitter tears. Narzim and Elima beheld herweep, and wept also: without being able to understand the wholeamount of her grief, they felt it; it surrounded them with a darkcloud, filling their hearts with sadness; at those times theirchildish sports were suspended, and even their voices died away upontheir lips, for they could only have uttered words of sorrow. Elimano longer dared to smile; Narzim remaine
d motionless, while thevivacity of his age which boiled within him made him rebel againstthe grief with which he felt himself overwhelmed, and he repeated toBrama the words he had heard his mother Missour utter, "Why hast thoucreated us to render us unhappy?"

  One evening he fell asleep in the midst of these sad and culpablethoughts. Scarcely had slumber sealed his eyelids, when a soothingbalm seemed to flow through his veins, and calm the agitation of hissoul. A celestial form appeared before him: it was that of a youngand handsome man; his eyes were as soft as those of Elima, and hishair fell in ringlets round his neck, like that of Narzim. Whiteand glittering wings sustained him in the air, where his light andpliant limbs seemed to float, like the folds of his garments. Narzimrecognised in him one of the angels[C] commissioned to execute thewill of the great Brama.

  [C] In the East these angels are denominated _Deptas_.

  "Narzim," said the angel, in accents so sweet, as almost to concealthe reproach which they conveyed, "you think that you were created tobe unhappy."

  "Mighty Depta," replied Narzim, "from the moment of my birth,misfortune has constantly been my lot: without the affection ofMissour and of Elima, I should know no happiness on earth, and eventhis happiness is embittered by their misfortunes."

  "Narzim," replied the angel, "it is the will of Brama that you shouldbe happy; but such is the condition of mortals, that happiness cannotbe attained without some sacrifices. The great Brama will render themfor you as light as possible, he only requires you to renounce oneof the blessings you possess; and in the place of this single one,all the happiness of the earth shall be yours. Come, you are about toenjoy riches and pleasure."

  With these words, he took him in his arms, and raised him into theair; at least so it seemed to Narzim in his dream. It also appearedto him, that in proportion as he withdrew from the earth, his heartbecame torn with anguish, while the air resounded with his cries."Let me return to Missour and Elima," he said. "What will they thinkof my absence? what will become of them?"

  "The happiness of seeing them," said the genius, "is the sacrificewhich is demanded from you. You must renounce them for ever."

  "Without them," replied Narzim, "what happiness can I enjoy?Pleasures and riches would only be a torment to me."

  "You will forget them," said the angel. "A breath will erase fromyour mind every trace of their remembrance."

  "Stop!" exclaimed Narzim, turning away his face, for alreadyhe thought he felt the icy breath which was to destroy all histenderness for the objects of his affection. "Stop! it is far betterto suffer with them than to forget them."

  At these words, the angel opened his arms, and Narzim felt as if hewere descending gently towards the earth. "You have refused happinessat the price at which it was offered to you," said the angel, as heflew away; "but Brama is good; when you can no longer endure yourmisfortunes, call to me, and I shall be ever at hand to aid you."

  He disappeared, and Narzim imagined in his dream that years passedrapidly before him; he seemed to have arrived at manhood, and to haveacquired a friend. This friend said to him, "We will dwell in thesame cottage. Missour shall be my mother; Elima shall be my sister.We will cultivate together the field of rice; the labour of ourhands will render their subsistence more abundant." Afterwards itappeared to him that he went one day to the city of Delhi, to sell alittle rice, a portion of the surplus of their crop; and that on hisreturn he found neither his friend nor Elima. Missour, dying withgrief, informed him that his friend, assisted by two men as wicked ashimself, had carried her away by force; that she had never ceased tocall her dear Narzim to her aid; that for a long time she had heardher cries; and that for herself, overwhelmed by the loss of Elima,and by the ill-treatment she had received in endeavouring to defendher, she felt that she was on the point of death. And indeed Missourexpired shortly after she had said these words. Such, at least, wasthe dream of Narzim.

  He fell into the deepest despair. "For them," he said, "I haverefused both riches and pleasures, and, behold, they are both tornfrom me."

  "Come, then," said the angel, suddenly presenting himself beforehim, "the sacrifice shall this time be very light. The faint hopeof recovering Elima, is all that Brama desires you to abandon, inexchange for the delights that he will heap upon you."

  "May I still preserve this hope then?" exclaimed Narzim.

  "Brama," said the angel, "has given me no commands to take it fromyou, but I can do nothing to restore Elima to you."

  "Mighty Depta, I will hasten to seek Elima through the whole world.The hope which you leave me is a blessing, which I cannot exchangefor any other."

  "Go! and when you are still more unhappy, call upon me. Brama hascommanded me never to refuse you my aid."

  Narzim sold his little inheritance and departed, seeking everywherefor his lost Elima, sometimes believing himself on the point ofdiscovering her, at others despairing of ever beholding her again;and though often ready to sink overcome by grief, fatigue, andhunger, he never felt tempted to call upon the Depta, who would haverequired him to renounce the hope of finding her.

  It seemed to him in his dream, that one evening, having sunk downat the gates of a large city, no longer able to struggle with hismisfortunes, he awaited death, and did not desire to live. The angelpresented himself before him, surrounded with a great light.

  "Narzim," said he, "you may live, you may revive to joy and health;Elima, even, may be restored to you. Listen only to this man, andlearn from him what sacrifice Brama demands for so many benefits."

  Narzim turned round, and by the light that emanated from the bodyof the angel, he saw beside him a man richly clad, but pale andtrembling, and with looks gloomy and terrified.

  "Hearken," said the man, hurriedly. "A shameful crime has justbeen committed; I am the author of it; I have been discovered; Iam pursued, and shall soon be taken; the condemnation, which Icannot escape, will deprive me of my honours and of my wealth; you,poor unfortunate, have nothing to lose; a slight but ignominiouspunishment will be the only chastisement that you have to fear; takethis dress, which will be recognised, give me yours, declare yourselfthe culprit, and you shall enjoy for the remainder of your days, thewealth which will be insured to you by the necessity I have for yoursecrecy."

  Narzim remained silent.

  "Quick! the moments are precious: you hesitate, miserable wretch, whohave not two hours to breathe the air of the living? Can you valuetheir esteem?"

  "Let me die," said Narzim, "unknown to men; I aspire not to theiresteem, but I could not live an object of their contempt."

  The angel disappeared, and darkness again enveloped Narzim. Theculprit was still beside him, endeavouring to force upon him theexchange, which was to load him with the appearance of crime: but thepresence of the angel had restored all his strength to the son ofMissour; he defended himself. The vigilant eyes which had discoveredthe crime, had pierced the darkness, even to the very spot wherethe criminal had taken refuge; he was seized; and Narzim, freed andrestored to misery, did not regret the disgrace which would haveenriched him.

  However, his ideas became confused, as often happens during sleep;and without being able to follow the thread of his destiny, he foundhimself plunged into new and deeper misfortunes. Accused of a murderwhich he had not committed, he had been thrown into a dungeon, andwas on the point of suffering the punishment of the crime. Mute,overwhelmed with the deepest despair, he saw the angel appear beforehim.

  "What do you now require of me?" he said; "What sacrifice can I offerto Brama? There is nothing left to me. I have no longer anything torelinquish in exchange for the happiness which he would offer me."

  The celestial messenger, without replying, looked at him with ananxious and tender expression.

  "You are mistaken," said a voice which seemed to proceed from thedepths of his own thoughts, without striking upon his ears; "therestill remains one sacrifice for you to make, by which you may besaved. Behold, sleeping near you that man formerly so powerful; ifhe sleeps, it is because misery has
suspended his faculties; he hasattempted the life of his sovereign, nothing can save him; neitherhis former power, nor his gold, nor his jewels, with which, evenin his prison, he has surrounded himself, can seduce in his favourguards who would pay with their lives a moment of weakness, or evenof negligence; but you, an obscure criminal, scarcely known to thosewho are about to punish you, take possession of his treasures; youcan do so without difficulty; they will open for you the gates ofyour prison, they will cover your flight until you reach a place ofsafety. Lose not a moment; you can yet purchase your life by thesacrifice of your virtue."

  Narzim raised his eyes towards the angel, and still beheld the sameexpression of tenderness and compassion, and felt that such wordscould not have come from a messenger of heaven. He looked at theriches spread out before him; they dazzled not his eyes, and he feltthat it would be easier to walk to the scaffold, than to lay a handon what did not belong to him. He again raised his eyes towards theangel: he raised them filled with an expression of noble joy, forNarzim had just discovered how much he loved virtue. The angel readhis thoughts.

  "Well, Narzim," he said, with a smile almost divine, "at this momentdo you consider yourself created solely for misery?"

  "Mighty Depta," said the son of Missour, with a transport such as hehad never before experienced, "at this moment Narzim feels that he ishappy."

  "You see," said the angel, "that even in the deepest distress, therestill remain to you possessions so precious, that you cannot make upyour mind to part with them. Cease, then, to complain, and neveragain dare to say that beings capable of loving virtue are createdsolely for misery."

  At this moment the eyes of the angel sparkled with a flame sodazzling, that Narzim could not endure its brightness. He prostratedhimself on the ground, and on rising, beheld neither the angel norhis dungeon, nor the wretch who shared his chains. His eyes opened;he awoke; daylight was shining into his cottage; Elima and Missourstill reposed there. Narzim had lost nothing; he felt his heartexpand with joy. It flowed into it as from an inexhaustible fountain,which the words of the angel had unsealed. There was strength in hissoul, and it seemed to communicate itself to his limbs. He appearedto himself to have passed over the days of his childhood, to such anextent did a new vigour animate his whole being. The virtue he hadjust contemplated presented itself to him, with all his duties; andin the fulfilment of these duties he perceived the seeds of happiness.

  "Mother," said he to Missour, as soon as she had opened her eyes tothe dawning day, "I complained of misery without thinking that I hadnot yet purchased happiness. Solely occupied in sharing the sportsof Elima, I have too far prolonged my childhood, and your tendernessfor me has too long forgotten the years which, as they pass, ought tobring with them the time for labour. Look at the arms of Narzim, theyare strong, and shall cultivate for you our field of rice."

  His mother smiled, and placed in his hands the instruments of labour.Narzim learned to use them, and use increased his strength. Missourwas no longer overpowered by fatigue, nor was the end of her daysovershadowed by that despair which an exhausted body sheds over asick mind. Joy again returned to the lips of Elima, and to the eyesof Narzim. Sometimes he raised them towards heaven, as he had doneat the moment when he first learned how much he loved virtue: thenhis soul became filled with a holy and sweet confidence, and with adeep sense of gratitude towards that great Being who has placed inthe heart of man the germ of a happiness of which nothing can deprivehim, but his own will.

  THE END.

  WYMAN AND SONS, PRINTERS, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LONDON.

  Transcriber's note

  Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected. Original spelling was kept. Variant spellings were made consistent when a predominant preference was found.

  Chapter headings have been harmonized and made consistent both in text and in Table of Contents. Illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs while remaining close to the text they illustrate.

  The following changes were made:

  Page v: in the Table of Contents, page '313' replaced by page '309' Page 46: 'on' replaced by 'in' (in twenty-four days) Page 70: 'Juliet' replaced by 'Juliette' (Madame de la F?re turned to Juliette) Page 102: 'be' inserted (What is to be done?) Page 109: 'come' replaced by 'came' (Suzette, who had followed her, came forward eating) Page 256: 'together:' replaced by 'together!' (she said, "we shall make it together!")