"He says," said the interpreter, again turning to the officer, "the marass is a too unhealth' for peopl' to live."
"But we expect to drain his old marsh; it's not going to be a marsh."
"Il dit"—The interpreter explained in French.
The old man answered tersely.
"He says the canal is a private," said the interpreter.
"Oh! that old ditch; that's to be filled up. Tell the old man we're going to fix him up nicely."
Translation being duly made, the man in power was amused to see a thunder-cloud gathering on the old man's face.
"Tell him," he added, "by the time we finish, there'll not be a ghost left in his shanty."
The interpreter began to translate, but—
"J' comprends, J' comprends," said the old man, with an impatient gesture, and burst forth, pouring curses upon the United States, the President, the Territory of Orleans, Congress, the Governor and all his subordinates, striding out of the apartment as he cursed, while the object of his maledictions roared with merriment and rammed the floor with his foot.