Meanwhile the time was passing. Cynthia had arrived on a Thursday, Sunday had rolled round, her Christmas cover must go off to Paris this week, and she seemed no nearer it than the week before. In fact, so far, she hadn’t seen any children that looked paintable.
“They are pretty enough,” she mourned, at breakfast on Sunday. “But it’s merely a matter of color with them. I haven’t seen a single child that I thought would make a good poster cover.”
Mrs. Brewster nodded. “I know. But some of the old people are marvelous. There are no better types for models of old people in all of France.”
“But not for the Christmas cover of a children’s magazine. Unless ... there is a thought, I give them a Breton Santa Claus.”
“No whiskers on ’em here.” Nancy was most discouraging. “What have you to suggest, Mother?”
“Hark, there’s the church bell. I suggest that you two hurry into your best bonnets and shawls and go to church. All the village will be there and you will have a good chance to look them over. Then if you find what you want I’ll ask Madame, our patronne, to introduce us. Hurry now!”
It was a splendid idea, Cynthia admitted, as she followed Nancy into the little stone church. Surely every good Breton inhabitant of Le Conquet was present, the women in wide skirts trimmed with bands of black velvet, with full sleeves, and tight black bodices setting off the lace-trimmed white aprons, the frosty white caps of Breton lace and the wide lace collars. Here at least, all the lovely quaintness of medieval France had not gone down before the stupid uniform of store-bought gingham dresses.
The men were no less picturesque, with their low crowned wide brimmed hats, the shining silver buttons on their short, black velvet coats. And each child was a miniature replica of its parents, with the exception of the caps which mark the married women.
The small bleak church was warmed to light by the rustle of many garments, by the soft glow of candles and Cynthia was enchanted by the little ship-models that swung from the hand hewn rafters, all of them as perfect as skill and loving care could make them.
“They are thank offerings for the safe return of the ships they represent,” Nancy whispered to her. “Oh look, Cindy; isn’t she a darling?” Her elbow nudged for Cynthia’s attention.