The venerable priest smiled with pleasure, and with a child clinging to each of his hands he passed into the tiny cottage.
CHAPTER IV
A SUPPER PARTY
The interior of the Bretton home was extremely simple; and simple, too, was the supper laid out upon the sand-scoured table. In war time even the more well-to-do families were living on the plainest of rations, that all the food which could possibly be spared should be sent to the men on the fighting lines. There was no sugar, little salt, a scant quantity of flour, and no meat to be had in the village. Still no one complained. Was not each serving his country by denying himself those things which, after all, could easily be done without? Healthy boys and girls were as well off—nay, better—without cakes and candies, the grown-ups said; and even the children themselves had come to admit this.
Therefore the little group ate without comment their frugal meal, thankful that their food was as plenty as it was. The kind old priest, like his people, was accustomed to scanty fare, and would have been the first to reprimand his parishioners had any of them offered him anything else. Simple, however, as was the supper it was well-cooked and satisfying; and after the chairs had been pushed back, and Marie and her mother had washed the few dishes, a candle was lighted and the Brettons, together with their guest, drew their seats into the circle of its radiance.
"I wish, Father, you would tell us how they make velvet," ventured Marie, who delighted in the Curé's stories. "That, too, is made from silk, isn't it?"
"Velvet!" ejaculated the priest. "What a frivolous little damsel you are! Are you planning already how you will one day dress yourself in the clothes of a princess, my dear?"