"An' what you tink 'bout Old Man Savarin? Old Man Savarin is just stand in front of his store all de time, an' he's say: 'I'll tink I'll fetch him bose hup to de magistrate, an' I'll learn him bose a lesson.'
"Me, I'll be only fifteen, but I hain't scare 'bout dat fight same like my moder is scare. No more is Alphonsine Seguin scare. She's seventeen, an' she wait for de fight to be all over. Den she take her fader home, same like I'll take my fader home for bed. Dat's after twelve o'clock of night.
"Nex' mawny early my fader he's groaned and he's groaned: 'Ah—ugh—I'm sick, sick, me. I'll be goin' for die dis time, for sure.'
"'You get up an' scoop some fish,' my moder she's say, angry. 'Den you hain't be sick no more.'
"'Ach—ugh—I'll hain't be able. Oh, I'll be so sick. An' I hain' got no place for scoop fish now no more. Frawce Seguin has rob my platform.'
"'Take de nex' one lower down,' my moder she's say.
"'Dat's Jawnny Leroi's.'
"'All right for dat. Jawnny he's hire for run timber to-day.'
"'Ugh—I'll not be able for get up. Send for M'sieu le Curé—I'll be goin' for die for sure.'
"'Mis re, but dat's no man! Dat's a drunk pig,' my moder she's say, angry. 'Sick, eh? Lazy, lazy—dat's so. An' dere hain't no fish for de little chilluns, an' it's Friday mawny.' So my moder she's begin for cry.