“Dat is not it,” replied La Roche, applying a glowing coal to his pipe. “’Tis de mauvais steel. But I not com for to fight wid you. Your tongue trop long pour dat. I com for ax you to give me turn ov de grindstone, s’il vous plait.”
“Ye don’t desarve it, Losh; but wait till I’ve finished this job and I’ll lind ye a hand.”
“Be-the-bye,” resumed Bryan, when the metal was cooled, “has François finished that sled for Miss Edith?”
“Oui,” replied La Roche, seating himself at the grindstone. ”(Ah! pas si vite, a leet more slow, Bryan.) Oui, him make it all ready; only want de ring-bolts.”
“Thin it won’t want thim long. Ye can take thim over to the shop when ye go across. There they are on the binch.”
Bryan continued to turn the handle of the stone for some time in silence.
“D’ye know, Losh,” he resumed, “whin Mister Frank is goin’ to the fishery?”
“He go demain, I b’lieve, and Mademoiselle Edith go too.”
“None o’ the min goin’?” inquired the blacksmith.
“Non. Monsieur Frank just go for to try if dere be any fish to be cotch by de hook; and I t’ink he go more for to give Edith one drive dan dat.”