"Go on, go on! It's like five-franc pieces falling."
Suddenly he heard some one open the door, and on turning round he was surprised to recognise old Fouan.
"Why, father! You've been frog hunting, then?"
The old man, after a struggle with a large blue umbrella, came in, leaving his wooden shoes on the threshold.
"Something like a watering!" said he, simply. "We wanted it."
During the year that had elapsed since the partition had been finally concluded, signed, and registered, he had had but one occupation: that of visiting his old fields. He was always to be met prowling round them with a deal of interest, grave or gay, according to the state of the crops; yelling at his children if things went wrong, and declaring that it was their fault if matters were at a standstill. This rain had enlivened him also.
"And so," resumed Buteau, "you've looked in to see us as you were passing by."
Françoise, hitherto silent, now came forward and said distinctly:
"No: it was I who begged uncle to come."
Lise, who was standing by the table shelling peas, left off and waited motionless, a harsh expression suddenly coming over her face. Buteau, who had at first clenched his fists, resumed his genial air, having determined not to lose his temper.