"'YOU ARE YOUNG FOR THAT, MADEMOISELLE, YET—'"
The woman hesitated, laid her knitting on her lap, and thoughtfully smoothed her tweed dress. "You are young for that, mademoiselle, yet—" and she scrutinised 'Tilda Jane's dark, composed, almost severe face—"if a girl could do it, I should think yes—you can. He is seeck, poor man. He walks not well at all. It makes him—"
"Like the evil one," muttered her husband, clutching his gun more tightly; "if he was a crow, I would shoot."
"Let um do!" came in guttural tones from grandfather's corner.
The woman laughed merrily, and all anxiety faded from her face. "Hark to gran'père—it makes me feel good, so good. No one can make us feel bad if we feel not bad ourselves. Deelson is seeck. He is not hap-py. Let us not be seeck, too. Let us be hap-py. Allons mes enfants, est-ce que le—" and then followed more smooth syllables that 'Tilda Jane did not understand.
She soon saw, however, that an order had been given to butter and salt the corn, and presently she was shyly but sweetly offered some by the French children. Even Poacher and Gippie had some kernels laid before them, and in the midst of her concern as to Mr. Dillson's behaviour, her heart swelled with gratitude to think that she should have such good neighbours. Here all was gentleness and peace. She had never seen so kind a woman, such amiable children. Did they ever quarrel and slap each other, she wondered.
"It's getting late, ain't it?" she exclaimed at last, with uneasiness. "I must go," and she rose quickly.
"But you can stay all night if you desiah," said the woman, motioning toward the pigeon-holes. "Stay, and go nex' doah in the morning."
"No, no, I must not," said 'Tilda Jane very hastily, through fear that she might yield to so pleasant a temptation. "But can I drop in an' see you by spells?"