“I weren’t goin’ to scream,” returned Molly, briefly and calmly, and thereat the stranger smiled—a very pleasant smile, with a flash of white teeth, and a merry twinkle in the eyes.
Molly blushed all over her apple-blossom face, and dropped her head, upon which the brown hair would never lie as smoothly as she wished; but presently, overcoming her shyness, she fixed her honest grey eyes upon him and said seriously: “What might you please to want, sir?”
“I will tell you the truth,” said the man. “I have escaped from prison. I want you to give me shelter here for a few days, until the hue and cry is over, and then—”
“’Scaped from prison!” ejaculated Molly. “I don’t say as I won’t scream now,” and she made as though she would rush past him to the door. But the other stopped her.
“I am not a criminal,” he said. “I have done no wrong except to fight for my own land.”
“Dear o’ me,” said Molly. “And where may that be? I doubt we are fighting most of the world just now.”
“I am a Frenchman,” returned he. “My name is Jean Marie Kerenec.”
“Well, that’s a name,” cried Molly, and dropped upon a chair. “Jammery, d’ye say? But you speak English quite sensibly.”
“I was a fisherman by trade,” said Jean, “and used besides to do a bit of trade with your country, and your folks came over to us, and so I learned to speak your language when I was quite a little boy. And then I’ve been so long in an English prison, you see. When the war broke out I became a marine, and was taken prisoner with my mates by an English man-o’-war, and I’ve been in prison two—three years now. Life in an English prison-ship is not gay, I tell you.”
“You shouldn’t fight against us, you see,” said the girl. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what I’m to do. You’re welly clemmed, I reckon?—hungry, I mean,” seeing that he stared at her. “Sit down and eat a bit.”