but up in one corner, in faded red ink, was something that looked
like a monogram with a device underneath. I would have examined it
at once but that Etienne was anxious to read me a little of the
Latin which he had picked out with infinite patience, I should think.
I promised to help him a little occasionally, but told him that he
was not looking well and had better be content with ignorance in
this lovely summer weather.
"When the winter comes and you are back at the mill, you can study
as much as you like."
The old dame was sallow and sunken from a life of incessant hard work.
The climate itself, so changeable as well as inclement in these
northern wilds, is enough to pinch the face and freeze the blood,
although at the time of my visit it was hot, intensely hot for so
early in the summer. Moreover, the old dame was not given to talking.
So taciturn a Frenchwoman I never met elsewhere. They are usually
characterized by a vivacious loquacity which is the seal of their
nationality. But this one was silent in the extreme and had, as her
son told me, never once held a conversation with him on any subject
whatever. Of his father he knew literally only this fact--that be
had been a "shantyman" in his time too, and was killed by a strained
rope striking him across the middle. Etienne did not remember him.
The time sped on. They made me as comfortable as they could in the
front or "best" room, but, when I thought it would not offend them,
I slept outside--"_couchant a la belle etoile_" as Rousseau has it--
and beautiful nights those were I spent in this manner. We had
plenty of fruit--wild strawberries and raspberries--pork and beans
and potatoes forming the staple articles of diet. There was no cow,
no horse, no dog belonging to the house. Fish we could get ourselves
in plenty, and eggs made their appearance in a farmer's wagon about
twice a week. Etienne and I spent entire days out-of-doors, shooting,
fishing, walking, reading. I tried to take his mind off his books,
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