"Now you will not feel the cold so," said the Frenchwoman, "and you will go back quicker. Do you like my riz-au-gras?"
"What is it, ma'am?" said Nettie.
The Frenchwoman laughed, and made Nettie say it over till she could pronounce the words.
"Now you like it," she said, "that is a French dish. Do you think Mrs. Mat'ieson would like it?"
"I am sure she would!" said Nettie. "But I don't know how to make it."
"You shall come here, and I will teach it to you. And now you shall carry a little home to your mother, and ask her if she will do the honour to a French dish to approve it. It do not cost anything. I cannot sell much bread the winters; I live on what cost me nothing."
While saying this, Madame Auguste had filled a little pail with the riz-au-gras, and put a couple of her rolls along with it. "It must have the French bread," she said; and she gave it to Nettie, who looked quite cheered up, and very grateful.
"You are a good little girl!" she said. "How keep you always your face looking so happy? There is always one little streak of sunshine here"—drawing her finger across above Nettie's eyebrows—"and another here,"—and her finger passed over the line of Nettie's lips.
"That's because I am happy, Mrs. August."
"Always?"