At the very thought, Georges' heart began pounding. Could I really do that? he wondered. Actually run AWAY? It was completely unthinkable…and yet, he was thinking about it.

And the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the only possible solution.

Unconsciously, a smile came over his face as he imagined walking a path lined with stately, ivy-covered buildings toward a library filled with classic literature – more books than he could read in a lifetime. He got even more excited as he pictured himself in a classroom having spirited discussions with other students, making friends who loved poetry as much as he did, listening to wise professors explain all about classic poems and even giving him advice on his poems, helping him improve and praising his talent. It would be pure heaven! Maybe there would even be a university publication where he could actually see his own poems in print for others to read! The thought thrilled him.

And then, someday, maybe, he might actually feel the incredible joy and excitement of having his work published for real, in a fancy leather-bound volume with his name embossed in gold on the cover, and people would line up to buy it at bookstores…His mother would be so proud…

His mother. Georges' smile vanished as he crashed down to earth with a jolt. She'll be so hurt if I leave, he thought. He pictured her discovering he was gone, going crazy with worry, missing him so much. Could he really do that to her, cause her so much pain and fear? He was overcome with guilt. What a terrible son he was! Besides which, he would miss her, too. She was the one who understood him, who loved his poems and supported his dream of being a writer.

But that very fact gave him pause. She said I can be anything I want to be, he remembered. And she loves books too, just like me. She was so excited at the idea that I wanted to go to university. So if I write a note explaining everything, she'll understand, won't she? And then when I become a REAL writer and dedicate my first book to her, she'll be so proud, and it will all be worth it. That made him feel better. His mother would forgive him, he was sure of it. And she could explain it to the rest of the family. She was good with words; she would tell it to them in a way that would make them understand, so they would forgive him too.

But that wasn't his only problem. Far from it. I'm only 12…I'm not even old enough to enroll in university yet, he realized. What can I do until then? Go to a school to prepare me for university, maybe? But that costs a lot of money…He frowned. How could he ever come up with the price of a fancy private school education like that, let alone the tuition for a prestigious university?

As his thoughts continued, his outlook grew bleaker. How will I even LIVE? he wondered in dismay. He started to get scared as he imagined being out in the world, in a strange city far from home, surrounded by uncaring strangers, totally on his own, without any money or food… He shivered in fear.

This is a crazy idea, he thought mournfully, berating himself for his stupidity. I've got my head in the clouds, just like Papa said. Who am I kidding? I can't run away. I have no money and no plan and nowhere to go! I'm going to be stuck here forever and Papa will make me go hunting every day and I won't ever be allowed to even read poems any more, let alone WRITE any, and I'll be miserable forever!

He felt like crying as his dream shattered into dust. He'd been a fool to get his hopes up. Sadly, he picked up the letter from Herve, re-reading the glowing words of praise that had filled him with such happiness. It was useless. What good was his talent if he couldn't ever go somewhere where he could learn to use it?

Then, as he dejectedly re-read the letter, one line jumped out at him: "If you do decide you want to send him on to higher education, you have only to let me know and I will make suitable arrangements. Talent like this deserves to be allowed to grow to its fullest potential in the fertile ground of alycee and, later, a university."

A sudden inspiration blossomed within Georges. Of COURSE! Why didn't I think of it before? Professor Liseur will help me!

He could hardly contain his excitement. The more he thought about it, the more perfect it was! Professor Liseur had said Georges had talent, that he could even become an important writer like Shakespeare or Moliere if he got some training and went to university. He'd even said Georges DESERVED to be allowed to go to school! Of course he'd help, if Georges came to him and explained the situation!

He almost laughed out loud with the joy and relief of it. That's it then – I'm going! he decided giddily. I'm going to Paris to become a writer, and nothing will stop me! He smiled as he remembered his wonderful talk with Professor Liseur when they'd toured the university, that sense that the professor was a kindred spirit. Why, he'd even said Georges reminded him of himself at the same age! He'd be thrilled to find Georges on his doorstep and learn that Georges wanted to follow in his footsteps and go to his university! It was a foolproof plan!

The only question now was…how would he get to Paris? Georges frowned, trying to think. Coaches were expensive, and he couldn't very well ask his parents for the money…

A knock at the door startled him. "Come in," he said.

It was his mother, bearing a plate of food. "You didn't come down to dinner," she said, putting the plate on the dresser. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks," he said, feeling a stab of guilt at her kindness. Yes, she would be proud of him in the end, but that was years away. Right now, if she knew what he was planning, she'd be so hurt and so worried. He hated the thought of causing her pain. His conviction wavered in the warmth of his mother's presence. Maybe this was a mistake after all.

She sat on the edge of his bed, watching him eat, and gently pushed back a lock of his hair that had fallen forward. "So…how was it today?" she asked sympathetically. "You looked so unhappy when you came home."

Georges looked down. He didn't want to think about that awful moment of watching the deer die and knowing he was responsible. It would haunt him forever. "It was bad," was all he could say.

Belle nodded. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It's not right. Papa's at the tavern right now, but when he gets home, I'm going to tell him that he is absolutely NOT to take you hunting anymore. This has to stop!"

"No, don't," Georges said quietly. "Mama, please. I don't want any more fighting." He couldn't stand the thought of his parents getting into yet another screaming match on account of him.

"But I have to, Georges!" Belle protested, her voice rising unconsciously. "I just can't stand by while you're so unhappy!"

Mimi, who was passing by the room, stuck her head in. "What's going on?" she wanted to know. "I heard Mama yelling. Why are you unhappy, Georges?"

Georges sighed. That was Mimi, always having to be involved in whatever was going on. "It's just because I had to go hunting today," he tried to explain.

"Yeah, I heard you got a deer today! Your first time ever!" Mimi grinned and punched Georges' shoulder. "Congratulations! Although it sure took you long enough!" she couldn't resist adding. Then she looked puzzled. "But that's GOOD news! So why are you unhappy?"

Belle tried to explain. "Mimi, I know you love hunting, but Georges doesn't," she told her daughter patiently. "It makes him sad."

Mimi was confused. "Huh? But that's so silly!" It made no sense - why, it was like being sad that someone gave you a yummy cupcake!

"Mimi, don't call your brother silly," Belle admonished.

"But it IS silly!" Mimi argued. "I mean, hunting is the best thing EVER! Especially if you actually get something!" She turned to her brother. "Georges, you shot a deer all by yourself. Be HAPPY about it! I know I would be!"

"Mimi, you can't tell someone to be happy! And Georges isn't like you," Belle said, trying to get her to understand.

"But he should be like me!" Mimi insisted. She looked at Georges again, wanting to help. "Georges, listen, you really shouldn't be sad when you hunt. It's so silly. Hunting is SO much fun! You get a trophy to put on the wall, and the boys are all jealous 'cause you got one and they didn't. It means you're the best! And then you get to eat it for dinner, and you feel so good knowing that everybody's eating what you brought home, just like Papa does. And Georges, you're REALLY lucky because you're a boy! So you don't get all those stupid people telling you that you shouldn't do it because you should be sewing instead!" Mimi made a face. "Honestly, Georges, how can you be sad? I mean, it's crazy!" She shook her head in disbelief.

"Mimi!" Belle said sternly. "What did I just tell you? Stop calling your brother names!"

"But I'm just trying to help!" Mimi protested. She thought a moment, then had an idea. "I know! Maybe you just need to go hunting MORE! You know? Maybe if you go every single day, you'll start to see how fun it is!" She grinned. "It's heaps better than reading all those boring books, that's for sure!"

Belle groaned. Mimi was starting to sound just like her father! "That's enough, Mimi!" she snapped, more angrily than she intended.

"What? What did I do?" Mimi asked, wide-eyed. "I'm just saying what I think! Aren't we supposed to do that?"

Looking back and forth from his mother to his sister, Georges had a sudden moment of clarity. Mama's right – this DOES have to stop. Not only are Mama and Papa fighting over me, but now I'm making Mama and Mimi fight too! He was now even more convinced that his decision to run away was for the best, not only for him but for his whole family. I'm really doing all of them a favor, he thought. All the problems in this family are because of me! Once I'm gone, everything will be peaceful again and everyone can be happy.

Belle took a deep breath, calming herself down. "I'm sorry, Mimi. Of course you can express your opinion – politely, without calling names. But Georges and I were having a private conversation, just between the two of us. So why don't you go to your room and get ready for bed?"

Mimi made a face, hating to be excluded from anything, but she got up and went out the door.

Georges looked at his mother and suddenly felt protective of her. He could see that she was worried about him, and he wanted to reassure her. "Don't talk to Papa, please. Just leave it for now. Everything will be all right." He suddenly had a brainstorm. "Mama…would it be all right if I missed school tomorrow?"

Belle frowned. "Miss school? Why?"

"I just need some time to be alone and think about things."

"Oh, I see," Belle said. That was Georges' way when he was upset – he liked to go off on his own to a quiet spot by the lake, look out at the water, and work through whatever was bothering him, usually by writing a poem about his feelings. "Of course. I understand."

Mimi immediately popped her head back in, having been listening outside the door. "WHAT? You're letting him miss school?" she said in outrage. "That's not fair! I want to miss school too!"

Belle shook her head. "Mimi, this is a special situation. Georges just needs some time alone to think."

"Well…so do I!" Mimi said, seizing on this excuse. "I need to think too! I have a LOT to think about!"

Belle and Georges couldn't help smiling at that. They exchanged an amused look. "Yes, Mimi, we all know how much you love to think," Belle teased fondly, going over to Mimi and tickling her. Mimi rolled on the floor in giggles. Belle tousled her hair, then got serious. "Look, Mimi, right now Georges needs this day. I'm sure at some point in the future something important will happen that will require you to miss one day of school too. But this day isn't it."

"Aw," Mimi said in disappointment, although she really hadn't expected to be let off. She thought about what her mother had said. "Do you PROMISE if something important happens you'll let me skip a day?"

"If I agree that it's important, yes," Belle promised. "But I have to agree. And it can only be one day. All right?"

"I guess that's fair. But I wish it was tomorrow!" Mimi said.

Belle patted her behind. "Now off to bed. I'll be in in a minute to tuck you in."

"Oh, Mama! I'm too old for that!" Mimi said. "I'm 10 years old! I'm not a baby!" She paused, reconsidering. "But Lili still needs it. So definitely come in soon, okay?"

Belle smiled. Mimi still wanted her mother at bedtime even if she pretended she didn't. "I will."

As she started out the door, Georges said impulsively, "Listen, Mimi? I'm really glad you're my sister."

She turned back in surprise. "You are?"

"Yeah. And I love you. Always remember that, okay? And tell Lili that too."

Mimi shrugged. "Okay, sure. But you don't have to get all mushy about it." She went back to her room.

When Mimi was gone, Belle said, "Well, I'd better finish up the dinner dishes." She picked up his empty plate and started to leave, then turned back. "Oh, Georges, I almost forgot! Monsieur Liseur at the bookstore told me he's getting in a new shipment of books tomorrow morning. I'm going to stop by there in the afternoon and see what's come in. Do you want to meet me there?"

Normally, of course, Georges would have loved to spend the afternoon browsing with her through all the new books. But if things went as planned, he'd be far away by then. "Maybe. I don't know," he said evasively, not meeting her eyes. "Like I said, I really feel like I need some time alone tomorrow."

"I understand," Belle said. She smiled. "Tell you what: if I don't see you there, I'll bring you home a new book. Something special."

"Thanks." He looked up at her warm, sympathetic face and felt a lump in his throat, knowing it was the last time he would see her for a long, long time. "I love you, Mama."

Belle looked pleased, warmed by the unexpected endearment. "I love you too, Georges." She kissed his forehead. "Now, get ready for bed."

Georges watched her go. In his mind, it was settled. Leaving was clearly the only path of action he could take. Mama and Alain and the girls will be upset at first, but I'll write a letter to explain. And once I'm settled in Paris, I'll write to them to tell them how I'm doing, he told himself. Then after I go to university and I become a real poet and no one can take it away from me, I can come back to see everybody. Or maybe even sooner, if things calm down and they really do understand. The thoughts were comforting. It wasn't like he was leaving FOREVER, after all. Just for a while.

He wondered how his father would react to his leaving. Disappointed in me, Georges decided, feeling a pang of sadness. Not only am I NOT becoming a hunter, but he'll also think I'm a coward for running away from my problems. Plus I'm leaving to become a poet, which he hates…and making my family unhappy…and being disobedient… His father was bound to consider Georges a failure on all counts. It hurt Georges to think of that, but what could he do? At least Papa still has Alain and Mimi and Lili to be proud of, he thought. And he'll probably be happier without me anyway. He won't have to fight with Mama anymore, and he can take Mimi hunting all the time instead of me and be happy about how wonderful at it SHE is, instead of always having to feel embarrassed that he has a weak cowardly son he's ashamed of.

Tears came to Georges' eyes, but he fought them back, furiously rubbing his fists in his eyes. Crying was unmanly, he told himself. Even if he liked poetry, that didn't mean he had to be everything his father despised.

He took a deep breath. He needed to focus. First things first: he had to pack for the journey, and he had to hurry to get it done before Alain came upstairs. If his brother found him packing, he'd want to know what was going on.

He took his pack out of the closet and tried to figure out what to bring. Warm clothes, certainly, since it was autumn and the weather was getting colder. Should he bring his heavy boots? He might need them if it snowed a lot in the winter…but they'd make the pack much heavier to carry. What about food? Or tools, like the hunting knife his father had given him – would that be useful? Or a water skin, in case he got thirsty?

He was wracked with indecision, weighing the pros and cons of every item, overcome by an irrational fear that he would forget something vital and end up desperately needing it.

Then, hearing a creak in the hall, he panicked and began to pack as fast as he could, throwing clothes and other items in frantically, making split-second decisions and not bothering to fold anything. When he finally finished, he breathed a sigh of relief. He listened closely, but heard no further sound. Good, he still had some time.

Then he turned to his bookcase. Of course he couldn't pack ALL his books, but having a few with him would be a comfort, like taking old friends along. It was so hard to choose, though! He thoughtfully picked out a few favorites and added them to the pack.

As he went through the bookshelves, his fingers touched a small, old book that was well-worn and battered. Georges pulled it out and smiled reminiscently. It was a treasured old book of fairy tales that Belle's mother had read to her when she was a child. Georges' earliest memories were of snuggling on his mother's lap while she read bedtime stories from this book aloud to him and his brother, before his sisters were even born. He could still conjure up that blissful feeling of contentment, being safe and warm in his mother's arms, listening to her soothing voice spinning tales of magic and adventure while he looked at the colorful illustrations, his imagination taking flight. Later, when he himself was learning to read, this was the book he'd returned to again and again to read to himself, until one day his mother gave the book to him to keep. ""I want you to have this book because I know it's special to you, just like it's always been special to me," she'd told him, smiling fondly at him. "Always remember, Georges: a good book is like a loyal friend you can always turn to. As long as you have a book with you, you're never alone."

Of course, as he'd grown older, he'd moved on to more challenging literature, and the old children's fairy tale book had been relegated to the bookshelf, a childhood keepsake that he hadn't read in many years. But seeing it now, he knew he had to take it with him. When I'm homesick, I'll read it, and I'll hear Mama's voice in my mind, just like she's right there with me, he thought.

When the pack was full, he tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. Now what do I do? he thought in frustration. Regretfully, he looked through it, removing the heavy boots, a lot of the clothes and some of the supplies, and one or two of the books, until it was manageable for him to carry. He hated to leave anything behind, but he knew he might have to do a lot of walking on his journey, and a heavy burden would slow him down and tire him out.

The final thing he had to do was write a note. He had to tell his family he was leaving so they wouldn't worry about him. He sat down at his desk, dipped a quill in the inkwell…and then just sat, the paper blank in front of him. How could he make them understand? There was so much to say, but he didn't know how to begin.

Finally, he just started writing from the heart. Once he started, it all came pouring out of him, all the feelings he'd been keeping inside for so long flowing through his quill and onto the page. He wrote faster and faster, as though he would never stop.

He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't hear Alain come in. He jumped when he heard his brother's voice over his shoulder. "Hey, Georges! What are you working on – a new poem? Can I read it?" He reached out as though to take the paper.

"NO!" Georges said too loudly, quickly shoving the note into the desk drawer. "I mean…it's not done yet. I don't want anyone to see it until it's finished."

Alain shrugged, sat down on his bed, and started unlacing his work boots. "All right. I was just curious." He took his boots off and said, "So how was it today? Papa was telling us all at dinner that you bagged a prize buck. He's thrilled to pieces, of course. But how are you doing? Was it as bad as you thought it would be?"

Georges nodded. "It was even worse," he admitted. "The worst moment of my life. Watching that deer die right in front of me, seeing how scared it was…I'll never forget it."

"That's rough," Alain said sympathetically. "So what are you going to do now? Did you talk to Papa about it?"

Looking into his brother's compassionate brown eyes, Georges was torn. He wished so much that he could tell his brother what he was planning! It would be such a relief to share his burden with someone. And Alain could be a big help: after all, no one was more practical than he was. Alain would know exactly the right things to pack, how to get to Paris, what steps he should take once he was there. Georges could picture his brother immediately getting busy with a quill and paper, working out a step-by-step plan and making organized lists for the journey.

But I CAN'T tell him, Georges thought forlornly, knowing his brother too well. He'd try to talk me out of it…and he'd be so logical and so sensible, he probably WOULD talk me out of it. But I need to do this! And Alain is so honest – he would want to tell Mama and Papa. Of course Georges could swear him to secrecy.. but that wouldn't be fair to Alain, expecting him to keep such an enormous secret from their parents. No, Georges would have to carry this burden alone.

"I did tell Papa, but he didn't really understand. And I don't know what I'll do next," Georges said, avoiding his brother's steadfast gaze. "Mama's letting me stay home from school tomorrow. I feel like I just need some time alone. I'm going to spend the day just thinking about things, figuring things out."

"That's a good idea," Alain said approvingly. "Whenever I have a problem, I always like to take time to think it all out and decide what to do. I make a list of all the possible solutions, and write down all the good and bad points of each one. It really helps clear things up for me. I never want to just jump into a reckless decision, you know?"

Like running away? Georges thought. Out loud, he said, "I know. Well, listen, I'm kind of tired, it's been a long day. I'm going to bed now."

"All right. Good night, Georges."

Soon the house was dark and still, the rest of the family asleep. Georges lay awake in the dark, making plans and listening to Alain's steady, slumbering breathing.

He waited until the first gray watery pre-dawn light came through the window – just enough to see what he was doing. As quietly as he could, he took the note out of the desk, signed his name at the bottom, and sealed it with wax. Then he opened his closet and took out the pack.

As he set it down with a thump to close the closet door, Alain stirred in his bed. Georges froze. Alain mumbled sleepily, "Time to get up?"

"No, it's early. Go back to sleep," Georges told him, his heart thudding.

"Mmmph," mumbled Alain, and drifted back to sleep, to Georges' relief.

Georges looked at the note in his hand. Where should he leave it? He didn't want his family to find it right away, because then they'd come after him and stop him before he could get out of town. But he did want them to find it before nightfall, so they wouldn't wonder where he was and worry about him.

He looked around the house, trying to think of places to put it, but no place seemed right. He was getting more and more anxious. Time was wasting, and he needed to LEAVE! He couldn't spend too much time on this one small thing!

Then he remembered what his mother had said about going to the bookstore. That's it! I'll leave the note for her at the bookstore, and Monsieur Liseur will give it to her this afternoon when she goes there, he decided.

As silently as he could, Georges crept down the stairs and out of the house, letting out a breath of relief as the door closed behind him. He headed to the family stable and saddled up his horse, Hercules. The horse's ears flicked forward questioningly and he playfully butted Georges' chest, wondering why they were going out so early.

"It's something I have to do," Georges told the horse. He felt guilty – if his plan worked, he wouldn't see Hercules again for a long time either, perhaps never. But it was the only way he could think of to get money for Paris. He stroked the horse's nose. "I'm sorry, boy."

With the pack on his back, he swung himself into the saddle and took one long, last look back at the house, the only home he'd ever known. The next time I see this house, I'll be a famous writer and poet, he told himself, and that thought fired him up with determination.

He started on his way, pausing just long enough to write on the outside of the note "Please give this to Belle when she comes to the bookstore" and stick it under the door of the shop. Then he turned the horse toward the main road and headed out of town, leaving the village behind.

He rode for several hours as the sun rose into the sky, the birds began to sing, and the world began to come to life around him. He passed farmers in wagons and milkmaids on foot, herds of cows and flocks of sheep.

By 11:00 a.m. he had reached the large town of Clermont-Ferrand, full of hustle and bustle. Georges asked around and soon found the stable where horses were bought and sold.

"Excuse me, monsieur," he said to the proprietor. "My father sent me here to sell this horse. He told me to get a good price for him."

The horse trader sized Georges up thoughtfully. "Your father, eh? Do I know him? You do look familiar…"

Georges cursed his resemblance to his father, whose prowess at winning contests at the annual fair was legendary, even though he no longer competed. Not to mention the big scene Gaston had caused that time when the mayor wouldn't let Mimi into the shooting contest, but she stormed onstage anyway. That had certainly made an impression- people had been gossipping about it for days.

Fortunately, Georges himself had always stayed shyly in the background, never competing himself. So although the horse trader scratched his head, trying to figure out where he'd seen Georges before, he wasn't able to place him.

"My father is a blacksmith in Rouen," Georges told him. "We come here pretty often to buy supplies."

"Ah, that must be it," the horse trader said, satisfied. He looked over the horse. It was a fine specimen, that was for certain; he'd definitely fetch a pretty penny. The horse trader pondered how much to offer the boy for the steed. Of course he wanted to make as much money as possible, and with a young inexperienced boy like this, he could easily get the horse for a pittance – the lad wouldn't know any better.

"Well, you seem like a good boy, and I know you want a good price for your father, so I'll be generous," the horse trader said, and confidently named a price that was only half what the horse was worth.

Georges frowned. One thing Gaston had made sure to pass on to his sons was his vast knowledge of horses, and Georges had often watched him haggle when buying or selling a horse. "That's an insult," he told the man. "He's from an exceptional bloodline! Look at fine form of his chest and back - you can see the power in him, and he races like the wind. Look at his carriage and his gait, check his teeth – you won't find a finer horse anywhere for love nor money!"

The horse trader was taken aback. This boy knew what he was talking about, which made it harder to pull a fast one on him. And he'd mentioned that his father was a blacksmith, which no doubt meant he was a huge powerful man with biceps like iron from swinging his mallet. Not the kind of man the horse trader wanted to come to town searching for the scoundrel who'd cheated his son.

"All right, all right," he grumbled, and offered Georges four-fifths of the horse's value. "I do have to make a profit when I sell him, you know!"

"I know. I'll take it," Georges said. He took the money and looked wistfully at Hercules. "I'm sorry, boy," he whispered, giving the horse a carrot he had in his pocket. "But you're a wonderful horse, and I know you'll get a good home." He knew Hercules was valuable, and whoever bought him would have to spend a fair amount of money, which meant the buyer was bound to treat the horse well, to protect his investment if nothing else.

Still, he felt sorrow as the man led the horse away. He hated having to do it, but he had no other way of getting money.

With an impressive sum in his pocket, Georges next went to the inn. "Excuse me," he asked. "Does the coach for Paris leave from here?"

"Yes, it does," the innkeeper told him. "Right out front. And you're in luck: a coach goes to Paris from here only twice a week, and today is the day. It's leaving in an hour. So tell your parents to be out front then," he added, assuming that Georges was traveling with his family and that his parents had simply sent him into the inn to inqure. "The coachman doesn't wait for anyone."

Georges spent a nerve-wracking hour trying to stay out of sight, not wanting anyone to see him and and ask him who he was and why he was waiting around. He wondered if his parents had discovered that he was gone yet. What if they were heading to Clermont-Ferrand at this very moment to find him and take him back? He was sweating with nervousness despite the cool autumn chill in the air. He wished the coach would come already!

Finally the hour passed and the coach pulled up. "One fare to Paris, please," Georges told the coachman.

The coachman pushed his cap back on his head and peered at Georges suspiciously. "Ain't you a mite young to be traveling to Paris all by yourself?" he asked. "Where are your folks?"

Georges thought quickly. "They're sending me to Paris to go to school," he explained. "My uncle lives there, and I'm going to stay with him while I get an education."

"I see," said the coachman, sizing him up. "And they didn't come to see you off?"

"Um…" stammered Georges, his mind racing frantically. "Well, they were going to, but my little sister is sick. My mother had to stay with her while my father fetched the doctor. They were upset that they couldn't come with me, but I told them it was all right, I could go myself. They felt bad about it, but the coach only leaves twice a week, and they didn't want me to have to miss it."

Satisfied with the explanation, the coachman grunted and told Georges the fare. He paid it, and the coachman moved to take his pack.

"No, I'd like to keep it with me, if that's all right," Georges said. It was all he had in the world now, and he didn't want to be parted from it.

The coachman shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Georges settled into the coach and watched the other passengers climb aboard. When they were all seated, and all the baggage was safely stowed away, the coachman cracked his whip and the horses started forward. The coach began to roll, slowly at first but then picking up speed till they were going at a steady pace.

As the town receded behind them, Georges was overcome with relief, and his anxiety melted away. He'd succeeded in the first part of his plan - getting away without anyone stopping him - and that gave him renewed confidence.

He looked out the window. The sun was shining cheerful golden light on the countryside, as though celebrating his journey. Georges felt a sudden, giddy rush of exhilaration. I'm really DOING this! he thought excitedly, marveling at his own daring. Just like all the heroes of the countless fairy tales and novels he had read, he was going forth to seek his fortune! Finally he was taking his destiny into his own hands, instead of sitting around worrying about what everyone else thought. It was an amazing feeling. He felt like he could do anything.

The road in front of the coach winded temptingly into the distant hills, promising a new life full of fascinating experiences and surprises around every turn. Georges was filled with eager anticipation. It was like opening a book to begin a brand new story – but this time, it was HIS story. And he was going to live it, not just read about it!

"Carpe diem!" he said aloud, and smiled, boldly ready for whatever adventure awaited him.