“But look at the muscle in my arms,” protested the poor fellow in desperation. “Why do you force me to die of hunger under the pretence that I am a learned man? Are you ignorant that Epictetus the philosopher was a tavern waiter to earn his bread, and that Æsop the fabulist had to work for a living? and yet they were more learned than ever I shall be. But Master Billet sent me down here to help on the farm.”
“Be it so; but my father can force you to do things that I should shrink from imposing upon you.”
“Don’t shrink, and impose on me. You will see that I can stand anything. Besides you have books to keep and accounts to make out; and my strong point is figuring and ciphering.”
“I do not think it enough for a man,” rejoined Catherine.
“Am I good for nothing, then?” groaned Pitou.
“Well, live here a bit,” she said; “I will think it over and we shall see what turns up.”
“You want to think it over, about my staying. What have I done to you, Miss Catherine? you do not seem to be the same as before.”
Catherine shrugged her shoulders very slightly. She had no good reasons to fear Pitou and yet his persistency worried her.
“Enough of this,” she said, “I am going over to Fertemilon.”
“I will saddle a horse and go with you.”