"Like your tall, dark brother of the gentle eyes, your task lies in the better way."
"Dear old Jean François," came the reply, without resentment and with perfect understanding, "there you go preaching already! What do you know about my task? After all, dear-a, it is where my heart leads. If I should choose the merry pack, what of it? I think I should not mind turning back right now, would you? Nobody's seen us! No one knows! Come, my comrade, and away while the call is loud! What do you say? I am ready!"
"You impulsive jade," said he, evidently pleased, "would you banish me from Oldmeadow?"
"Not in a thousand years, you old goose," she replied with tenderness.
"But you will—you surely will, if you insist on sharing Columbine and Rogue with me. I'll have to discover another green field, another pair of children—"
"And I, Monsieur," she said with gaiety, "I shall again drop from the heavens into your top-o'-the-morning."
"Then I shall go back to my France and the sunny fields of Picardy."
"I love France," was her reply.
"Look!" exclaimed Jean François, pointing up the road.
A doctor's gig was approaching, driven at a rapid gait. Nance's heart almost stopped beating. There could be no doubt as to whom the vehicle belonged. It came nearer and the portly figure of old Doctor Felix Longstreet became evident, and, by his side, young Dr. Charles Reubelt King. Both were vainly trying to appear dignified and severe. Jean François was in the mood that could, with equal ease, pray, cry, or fight.