well the arithmetic, that demoiselle Meelair; it was enormous! The big
farmer Tremblay has not more money at the bank than that. Then she asks
me if I have been at Quebec? No. If I would love to go? Of course,
yes. For two years of the smoking we could go, the goodwife and me, to
Quebec, and see the grand city, and the shops, and the many people, and
the cathedral, and perhaps the theatre. And at the asylum of the orphans
we could seek one of the little found children to bring home with us, to
be our own; for m'sieu knows it is the sadness of our house that we have
no child. But it was not Mees Meelair who said that--no, she would not
understand that thought."

Patrick paused for a moment, and rubbed his chin reflectively. Then he
continued:

"And perhaps it seems strange to you also, m'sieu', that a poor man
should be so hungry for children. It is not so everywhere: not in
America, I hear. But it is so with us in Canada. I know not a man so
poor that he would not feel richer for a child. I know not a man so
happy that he would not feel happier with a child in the house. It is
the best thing that the good God gives to us; something to work for;
something to play with. It makes a man more gentle and more strong. And
a woman,--her heart is like an empty nest, if she has not a child. It
was the darkest day that ever came to Angelique and me when our little
baby flew away, four years ago. But perhaps if we have not one of our
own, there is another somewhere, a little child of nobody, that belongs
to us, for the sake of the love of children. Jean Boucher, my wife's
cousin, at St. Joseph d'Alma, has taken two from the asylum. Two,
m'sieu', I assure you for as soon as one was twelve years old, he said
he wanted a baby, and so he went back again and got another. That is
what I should like to do."

"But, Pat," said I, "it is an expensive business, this raising of
children. You should think twice about it."

"Pardon, m'sieu'," answered Patrick; "I think a hundred times and always
the same way. It costs little more for three, or four, or five, in the
house than for two. The only thing is the money for the journey to the
city, the choice, the arrangement with the nuns. For that one must save.
And so I have thrown away the pipe. I smoke no more. The money of the
tobacco is for Quebec and for the little found child. I have already
eighteen piastres and twenty sous in the old box of cigars on the
chimney-piece at the house. This