“It was Dennis the young and brave
Was bound for Palestine;
But first he made his orisons
Before Saint Mary's shrine.
“‘And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,’
Was still the soldier's prayer,
‘That I may prove the bravest knight
And love the fairest fair.’”
So sang Madelon, loud and sweet, as she tidied the kitchen. There were four verses, and she was on the last when the door opened stealthily and her granduncle, old Luke Basset, entered. Her back was towards him, and she did not see or hear him.
He waited, his old face fixed in a sly grin, standing unsteadily on his shaking old legs, and holding to the back of a chair for support, until Madelon sang at the close of the song,
“And honored be the bravest brave,
Beloved the fairest fair,”
and stopped. Then he spoke. “'Tain't so, then, I s'pose,” said he, and his voice seemed to crack with sly suggestiveness.
Madelon faced around on him. “What isn't so?” she asked, coldly. “I didn't hear you come in.”
Old Luke Basset shuffled stiffly to the hearth and settled into David's chair. “Well,” said he, “I heerd in the store just now that your weddin' was put off, but I s'pose it ain't so, 'cause you seem to be in sech good sperits. A gal wouldn't be singin' if her weddin' was put off.”
“Look here, Uncle Luke,” said Madelon.
“Well?”