Mirabelle Marie came into the room and seated herself near Claudine.
"Marc à Jaddus à Dominique's little girl gave him away," said Bidiane, laughingly. "She ran over to the custom-house in Belliveau's Cove and told the man what lovely things her papa had brought from Boston, in his schooner, and the customs man hurried over, and Marc had to pay—I must tell you, too, that I bought some white ribbon for Alzélie Gauterot, while I was in the Cove," and Bidiane pulled a little parcel from her pocket.
Mirabelle Marie was intensely interested. Ever since the affair of the ghosts, which Bidiane had given up trying to persuade her was not ghostly, but very material, she had become deeply religious, and took her whole family to mass and vespers every Sunday.
Just now the children of the parish were in training for their first communion. She watched the little creatures daily trotting up the road towards the church to receive instruction, and she hoped that her boys would soon be among them. In the small daughter of her next-door neighbor, who was to make her first communion with the others, she took a special interest, and in her zeal had offered to make the dress, which kind office had devolved upon Bidiane and Claudine.
"Also, I have been thinking of a scheme to save money," said Bidiane. "For a veil we can just take off this fly screen," and she pointed to white netting on the table. "No one but you and Claudine will know. It is fine and soft, and can be freshly done up."
"Mon jheu! but you are smart, and a real Acadien brat," said her aunt. "Claudine, will you go to the door? Some divil rings,—that is, some lady or gentleman," she added, as she caught a menacing glance from Bidiane.
"If you keep a hotel you must always be glad to see strangers," said Bidiane, severely. "It is money in your pocket."
"But such a trouble, and I am sleepy."
"If you are not careful you will have to give up this inn,—however, I must not scold, for you do far better than when I first came."