The boy looked as if he regretted the fact, while not being able to help it.
“But my pa, his name it was Mathurin Peloté,” he offered in some palliation.
“Peloté! Peloté!” mused Doctor John-Luis. “Any kin to Théodule Peloté who lived formerly in Avoyelles parish?”
“W’y, yas!” laughed Mamouche. “Théodule Peloté, it was my gran’pa.”
“Your grandfather? Well, upon my word!” He looked again, critically, at the youngster’s rags. “Then Stéphanie Galopin must have been your grandmother!”
“Yas,” responded Mamouche, complacently; “that who was my gran’ma. She die two year ago down by Alexandria.”
“Marsh,” called Doctor John-Luis, turning in his chair, “bring him a mug of milk and another piece of pie!”
When Mamouche had eaten all the good things that were set before him, he found that one side of him was quite dry, and he transferred himself over to the other corner of the fire so as to turn to the blaze the side which was still wet.
The action seemed to amuse Doctor John-Luis, whose old head began to fill with recollections.
“That reminds me of Théodule,” he laughed. “Ah, he was a great fellow, your father, Théodule!”