"Good day, Mam'selle," he called to Jo in his perfect English which had merely a trace of accent, "it was a fine funeral and I never saw the father look better nor more as he should. He and you did yourselves proud." Longville's manner and choice of words were as composite as were his neighbours; Point of Pines was conglomerate, the homing place of many from many lands for generations past.
"I did my best for him," Jo responded, "and it's all paid for, Captain."
The dark eyes were turned upon the visitor proudly but helplessly.
"Paid, eh?" questioned Longville. This aspect of affairs surprised and disturbed him. "Paid, eh?"
"Yes, I saved. I knew what was coming."
"Well, now, Mam'selle, I have an offer to make. While your father lived I lent, and lent often, laying a debt on my own land in order to save his, but pay day has come. This is all—mine! But I'm no hard and fast master, specially to women, and in turning things about in my mind I have come to this conclusion. Back of my house is a small cabin, I offer it to you and Cecile. Bring what you choose from here and make the place homelike and, for the help you give Madame when the States' folks summer with us, we'll give you your clothing and keep. What do you say, eh?"
For full a minute Jo said nothing. She was a woman whose roots struck deep in every direction, and she recoiled at the idea of change. Then something happened to her. Without thought or conscious volition she began to speak.
"I—I want the chance, Captain Longville, only the chance."
"The chance, eh? What chance, Mam'selle?"
"The chance to—to get it back!" The screened eyes seemed to gather all the old, familiar wretchedness into their own misery.