Jeanne’s eyes swept the room and came to rest on the bent shoulders of a person working over a small bench in the corner.
“Tad!” Merry called. “See what I found in our storeroom. And see! She isn’t broken one bit.” She put an arm about Jeanne’s waist and laughed merrily.
“Oh, yes I am!” Jeanne exclaimed. “Broke flat as a flounder! Is that not how you say it here in America, when you have not a penny left?
“But this,” she added quickly, “this is my luckee day. To-day I shall make a beginning at piling up a fortune. See! I will go out to dance the sun up out of the lake where he has been sleeping!”
She sprang across the room in a wild fantastic whirl which set all the lamps jingling and twinkling.
Tad threw down his tools and sprang to his feet. Then the little French girl’s dance came to a sudden end, for she was seized with a mood that unfitted her for the dance. When Tad stood up he was no taller than when he sat down; and yet he was a man in years.
“That’s all right.” He laughed a strange, hoarse laugh. “I’ve always been this way; just a little tad of a man. You’ll get used to it. I have. So has Merry, here.” He laid an affectionate hand on Merry’s arm.
Merry beamed down at him. “It’s not how tall you are, but what you’ve got in your head,” she laughed. “Tad’s head is all full of bright ideas.
“We’re going to have coffee very soon. Won’t you stay and have some with us?”
“And then who will dance the sun up from the lake?” Jeanne went dancing away again. “Oh, no I must not.