Clethera shook a finger in his face.
“Honoré McCarty, you got watch dat Jules! I got to watch Melinda. Simon Leslie, he have come by and put it in Jules' head since de funer'l! I hear it, me.”
The young man's face changed through the dusk.
He braced his back against the fence and breathed the deep sigh of tried patience.
“Honoré, how many mothers is it you have already?”
“I have not count',” said the young man, testily.
“Count dem mothers,” ordered Clethera.
“Maman,” he began the enumeration, reverently. His companion allowed him a minute's silence after the mention of that fine woman.
“One,” she tallied.
“Nex',” proceeded Honoré, “poor Jules is involve' with de Chippewa woman.”