The Doctor had the gallantry of his race, and bowing low, he raised her fingers to his lips.
"Harold is busy with his men at the new bridge," she said, looking over in the direction of the island.
"Yes," he assented. "He and Captain Cummings will be there with a large force all day."
"Please tell him, when you go down, that I shall be at the wharf to see him before they leave for dinner."
As the Doctor withdrew she entered the cottage. Emmiline was busily preparing wheaten dough for the oven. Her sleeves were turned up, her neck bare, and her dress fastened loosely at the girdle. A bright fire burned in the open fireplace, and in it a square sheet-iron oven had been placed to heat for the baking.
"How is the bread, Emmiline?" she asked as she opened the window a little wider.
"Oh, 'tees bon, Madame. Salt risin' good to-day. Yesterday mauvais bad. Oven nice heat. Put right in now." And she dropped the dough into a square tin, patted it on the back, and placed it on the shelf in the oven.
"Now," she went on, "Je vatch de fire—not too 'ot—not too cole—jes' de tres meedle."
"You must not work too hard, Emmiline."
"No fear, Madame. No fear 'tall. You jes' like Bateese; he al'us say tak' car', Emmiline, tak' car'. I only laugh. I strong an' work all de same."