Suddenly the sound of wooden shoes rattling over stones announced the approach of some one. A woman came in from the barn carrying an apron full of potatoes and greens. A small army of chickens followed at a respectful distance. The woman was of medium height, kind of pudgy around the gills and places where a corset should have been. Her hands were red and big enough to handle any one-hundred-and-sixty-pound man. Of course, she wasn’t good-looking or particularly ugly, just an ordinary peasant face.
“Que désirez-vous, Messieurs?” (What will you have, messieurs?)
“Eh—bonjour, madame,” began Jimmy, unsteadily. “Avey vouse de chambre for comrade and moi?”
The woman cocked her ear to get the drift. “Chambre—pour coucher?” she asked.
“Ah, oui, madame,” assured Jimmy, picking up courage.
The woman dropped her load of potatoes and greens on the floor, kicked off the wooden boats, and, telling them to follow her, waddled into the next and only room in the house.
“Voilà!” (There), she exclaimed, pointing to a bed that was at least seven feet high.
“Bon—tres-beans, madame,” to the woman. Then Jimmy turned to O. D.: “We may need a step-ladder to get in and a pulley to get us out; but say la guerre. It’s a hundred times better than a hay-loft.”
“Sure,” said O. D., enthusiastically.
“Madame, monjay ici?” was Jimmy’s next effort.