"I told you I don't want anything expensive," retorted the farmer angrily.
"Oh, that's all right, Sir; I'll tell him so, Sir," said the workman, frightened at Mr. Rougeant's sour tone.
"Well, you will fetch them this evening and be careful to tell him what I require; a good and inexpensive job, or I won't pay him."
"All right, Sir," said Jacques, and he left the room muttering: "He's growing from bad to worse; he is a stingy old niggard."
What was Tom Soher doing all this time? He was drinking.
He had never loved Adèle Rougeant, and when he saw that there was not much chance of winning her, he took to drink. In reality, he preferred his bottle to his cousin. Of course, he put all the blame on the misfortunes which he had encountered.
Once, and only once, his father tried timidly to rebuke him. "No," he said, "there is nothing for me to do but to drown my sorrow. Welcome ruin."
"Why not turn a new leaf?" pleaded Mr. Soher.
"Bah!" he replied as he walked away, "what's the use!—no; good-bye to everything."
Spoilt child; he little knew the terrible death that awaited him.