"That is the way the government finds out about all the people in the country," explained Hamilton, "their names and how old they are, what they work at and how many people they employ, the wages they pay or are paid, and all sorts of things."
The Frenchwoman's eyes had been getting bigger and rounder at every sentence, and when Hamilton had finished, she said with an air of regretful surprise:
"An' they tol' me zere was no police spy in America!"
"There isn't, so far as I know," the boy answered.
"But you—"
"I'm not a police spy," the boy said, a little nettled at being misunderstood.
"No? Zen zat is all ze more strange. In my country zose are ze questions ze gendarmes ask. An' if you are not policeman, why do you wear badge?" she queried, pointing to the little census shield on Hamilton's coat.
"That has nothing to do with the police," the boy insisted, "that's a census badge. Madame," he added, "do I look like a policeman?"
The Frenchwoman, remembering the military appearance of the gendarmes of her native land and the burly make-up of the American policeman, shook her head.
"Perhaps you are disguise'?" she said, with a smile.