“Get me some ears of corn, good big ones.”
“And leave her?” aghast at the thought.
“Thou wilt not cure her by staring at her. She can take no harm for a few moments.”
There was always a big kettle standing on the coals with four short legs holding it up. Mère Lunde raked out the ashes and pushed the flaming brands under it. Gaspard exhumed an armful of corn from a big box in the shop.
“Drop them in,” she said. “A dozen or so.”
“Oh, yes, I know now.” He nodded in a satisfied fashion, for he had faith in the remedy.
Soon the water bubbled up and the fragrance of the steaming corn diffused itself about the room. Mère Lunde went to the bed and put a thick blanket under the child. Then the ears were laid about her and she was rolled up like a mummy. The woman raised her head a trifle and forced a potion down her throat that almost strangled her. Spreading blankets over her, she tucked her in securely, and, patting the top one, meant for love to the child, she turned away.
“Well people must eat for strength, and Christmas day is no time for fasting. Come.”
But Gaspard Denys was in no mood for eating. He had never thought of Renée being ill. He knew of some children who had died, and there was Monsieur Laclede who looked strong enough to live to a hundred years, who had gone out of life with a fever. Oh, he could not give up his little girl!
“Is that all?” he asked presently.