Those were specially happy days for me when I went fishing with my dear “King,” as I used to call him.  Sometimes I tried my hand with a small rod of my own, but generally I preferred to sit on the grass some distance away.  Then my reflections became really deep, and, without knowing what meditation meant, my soul was absorbed in prayer.  Far-off sounds reached me, the murmuring of the wind, sometimes a few uncertain notes of music from a military band in the town a long way off; all this imparted a touch of melancholy to my thoughts.  Earth seemed a place of exile, and I dreamed of Heaven.

The afternoon passed quickly away, and it was soon time to go home, but before packing up I would eat the provisions I had brought in a small basket.  Somehow the slices of bread and jam, prepared by my sisters, looked different; they had seemed so tempting, and now they looked stale and uninviting.  Even such a trifle as this made the earth seem sadder, and I realised that only in Heaven will there be unclouded joy.

Speaking of clouds, I remember how one day when we were out, the blue sky became overcast and a storm came on, accompanied by vivid lightning.  I looked round on every side, so as to lose nothing of the grand sight.  A thunderbolt fell in a field close by, and, far from feeling the least bit afraid, I was delighted—­it seemed that God was so near.  Papa was not so pleased, and put an end to my reverie, for already the tall grass and daisies, taller than I, were sparkling with rain-drops, and we had to cross several fields to reach the road.  In spite of his fishing tackle, he carried me in his arms while I looked down in the beautiful jewelled drops, almost sorry that I could not be drenched by them.

I do not think I have told you that in our daily walks at Lisieux, as in Alencon, I often used to give alms to the beggars.  One day we came upon a poor old man who dragged himself painfully along on crutches.  I went up to give him a penny.  He looked sadly at me for a long time, and then, shaking his head with a sorrowful smile, he refused my alms.  I cannot tell you what I felt; I had wished to help and comfort him, and instead of that, I had, perhaps, hurt him and caused him pain.  He must have guessed my thought, for I saw him turn round and smile at me when we were some way off.

Just then Papa bought me a cake.  I wished very much to run after the old man and give it to him, for I thought:  “Well, he did not want money, but I am sure he would like to have a cake.”  I do not know what held me back, and I felt so sad I could hardly keep from crying; then I remembered having heard that one obtains all the favours asked for on one’s First Communion Day.  This thought consoled me immediately, and though I was only six years old at the time, I said to myself:  “I will pray for my poor old man on the day of my First Communion.”  Five years later I faithfully kept my resolution.  I have always thought that my childish prayer for this suffering member of Christ has been blessed and rewarded.