"No, she ran from us up the bank."
"Your mother is a wicked woman to cause my son pain," said Mrs. Nimmo, in indignant and rapid French.
"My mother is not wicked," said Narcisse, vehemently. "I wish to see her. I do not like you."
They were on the verge of another disagreement, and Mrs. Nimmo, with a soothing caress, hurried him from the room. What a curious boy he was! And as she dressed herself she sometimes smiled and sometimes frowned at her reflection in the glass, but the light in her eyes was always a happy one, and there was an unusual color in her cheeks.
[CHAPTER XIX.]
AN INTERRUPTED MASS.
"Here is our dearest theme where skies are blue and brightest,
To sing a single song in places that love it best;
Freighting the happy breeze when snowy clouds are lightest;
Making a song to cease not when the singer is dumb in rest."
"Here is our dearest theme where skies are blue and brightest,
To sing a single song in places that love it best;
Freighting the happy breeze when snowy clouds are lightest;
Making a song to cease not when the singer is dumb in rest."