"The little feather head!" laughed madame out of her thought, oblivious of what had gone before, "but jolie and bright"—
"Zat so bright on, it ees no feddar-head, Felicie; you mistake. That was the rusty, dull"—
"Rusty! Dull! That so brilliant bird of a child! what mean you, Leon?"
"Child? Who say child?" dazedly.
"Oh, stop, stop!" interposed their nephew, raising both hands, "don't have a family jar over nothing. Uncle's on geology, and auntie on babies; don't you see?" and the discussion ended good-naturedly in a laugh all around.
They came every day after that, during their lengthened stay of a week, and often the professor would press Sara into service to direct him in his search for treasures, while madame stayed with Molly and baby; and Morton took many a delightful sail in the yacht with Mr. Glendenning after bluefish or salmon.
Those were happy, plentiful days in the little cottage, for fresh fish or game was almost constantly on their table, while the overplus, sold to their richer friends, kept baby in milk, and all in necessary supplies.
Besides, madame's quick eyes soon penetrated into the real poverty behind the hospitable, self-respecting air of the little household, and she managed in many delicate ways to assist them.
Feeling instinctively that there must be no hint of remuneration to Sara for her really valuable services as guide to her husband, she struck up a trade in wild-flowers, delicate algae, and shells with Molly, buying all that the child could bring her (and the little girl was famous for these findings), afterwards teaching her to mount them in exquisite designs on Bristol-board for possible future customers.
Morton, too, was paid a liberal percentage on fishing-tackle, etc., so that among them all the wolf was kept decidedly at bay, and Sara felt every night like adding a special thanksgiving to her prayers, because she was not forced to ask a loan of Squire Scrantoun.