“Some one ban comin’, but it ain’t Papineau,” said Stefan.
It proved to be Mrs. Papineau, hurrying down the path and carrying a basket. She explained that the cow had had a calf, hence her delay. Puffing and breathless she scolded them for not lighting the lamp and bustled about the place, declaring that the two watchers should have made tea and that it took an experienced mother of many to know how to handle things.
“I have made strong soup vid moose-meat,” she told them. “Heem do Monsieur Hugo moch good. I put on de stove now an’ get hot.”
She spoke confidently, just as usual, as if nothing out of the ordinary were going on 247 in the shack, but it was a transparent effort to encourage the others, and she was not able to keep it up long. She happened to look at Hugo again, and suddenly her face fell and her hands went up, while she buried her face in her blue apron and sobbed right out.
“De good Lord Heem bring an’ de good Lord Heem take away,” was what she said, and it sounded like a knell in the ears of the others.
Since the light was beginning to fail Madge lit the little lamp. Mrs. Papineau took some of the soup out of the pot and stirred it with a spoon to cool it, and then she lifted the sick man’s head. Her voice became soft and caressing, as if she had spoken to a child.
“My leetle Hugo,” she said, “dere’s a good fellar. Try an’ drink, jus’ one bit. H’open mouth, dat way. Now you swallow, dere’s good boy. An’ now you try heem again, jus’ one more spoon. H’it is awful good, from de big moose what Philippe he get. Jus’ one more spoon an’ I not bodder you no more.”
Whether Hugo understood or not no one could have told. At any rate, with infinite patience, she was able to feed him a little, until he finally pushed her hand away from him.
Stefan, whose back had been resting on the door and whose arms had been hanging dejectedly at his side, took a step towards the girl.