"A painter? What does he think he can get to do here? We leave our houses to nature."
"He's going to fix up the wood-cabin." Jo spoke indifferently, but her colour rose. The wood-cabin was Langley's deserted house. Years ago she had bought it, for a song, and then left it alone.
"He goes there every day. I shouldn't wonder if he was going to paint that. It will take gallons, for the knotholes will just drink paint."
"Mam'selle," here Marcel panted a bit, "you don't fear for Donelle?"
Jo stood still, wiped her hands on her checked apron, and stared at Marcel.
"Why should I?" she asked.
"Jo, a strange man and Donelle growing wonderful pretty, and——"
Still Jo stared.
"Mam'selle, the men have fixed the world for themselves; you know that. They have even fixed the women. Some are to labour and bend under their loads until they break, then the scrap heap! Others, the pretty ones, are to be taken or bought as the case may be. And young girls innocent and longing do not count the cost. Oh! Mam'selle, have you thought of Donelle?"
Poor Marcel's eyes were tear-filled.