"Quite right of him. See how the best intentions are given a twist. A thousand francs are left to fit a lad for the battle of life, and they put him in a priest's school to make a psalm-singer of him. How much did your aunt give old Fortier?"
"Nothing."
"Then she pocketed Master Gilbert's money?"
"It is likely enough."
"Mark ye, Pitou, I have a bit of a hint to give you. When the old humbug of a saint cracks her whistle, look into the boxes, demijohns and old crocks, for she has been hiding her savings. But to business. Have you the Gilbert book?"
"Here, in my pocket."
"Have you thought the matter over, father?" said Catherine.
"Good actions do not want any thought," replied the farmer. "The doctor bade me have the book read and the good principles sown. The book shall be read and the principles scattered."
"But we can go to church?" ventured the maid timidly.
"Mother and you can go to the pew, yes: but we men have better to do. Come alone, Pitou, my man."