He uttered a cry of gladness on seeing Pitou, for whom he had a line in his father’s letter to impart.
“Billet wishes you to remind him to Pitou and tell him not to upset the men, and things on the farm.”
“Me? a lot I have to do with the farm,” muttered the young man: “the advice had better be sent on to Master Isidore.”
But all he said aloud was: “Where is the father?”
Sebastian pointed and walked away. Priest Fortier was coming down into the garden. Pitou composed his face for the encounter with his former master.
Fortier had been almoner of the old hunting-box in the woods and as such was keeper of the lumber-room. Among the effects of the hunting establishment of the Duke of Orleans were old weapons and particularly some fifty musketoons, brought home from the Ouessant battle by Prince Joseph Philip, which he had given to the township. Not knowing what to do with them, the section selectmen left them under charge of the schoolmaster.
The old gentleman was clad in clerical black, with his cat-o’-nine tails thrust into his girdle like a sword. On seeing Pitou, who saluted him, he folded up the newspaper he was reading and tucked it into his band on the opposite side to the scourge.
“Pitou?” he exclaimed.
“At your service as far as he is capable,” said the other.
“But the trouble is that you are not capable, you Revolutionist.”