She was tired of so much thinking. She went over to grandfather, and seated herself on the arm of the chair. She did not want Norry's fairy stories. Leaning her head down on the dear old shoulder, she said, "Tell me about a great King, who beat the English."
"Are you going mad about the English?" her mother asked laughingly. "We shall all be friends again. Quarrels are made up. And so many of us came from England."
"We didn't," returned Dilly decisively.
"Well—on the one side Scotch and Irish."
"And on the other French, pure French, until your mother married a Bradin, and you——"
"And Marc Bradin has been a good husband to me," said his wife, looking up from her preparations.
Truly, he had, and a kind son to him as well, though he had not been in favor of the marriage at first.
The story was about the grand old times in France. He never told of the religious persecutions to the little girl. He had a soft winsome sort of voice, and often lapsed into French idioms, but she was always charmed with it, even if she could not understand all he said. Presently she went fast asleep.
Then the darkness began to fall. The candles were lighted, and that roused both sleepers. There was a savory smell of supper, even Judy went around sniffing.
"We won't wait any longer," gran'mere said, with a little impatience. She had been cooking some messes that she remembered her son-in-law was very fond of, and she was disappointed that he was not here to enjoy it.