f
news, had spied us far off, and ran down to the shore to meet us.

"Patrique! Patrique!" they shouted in English, to make their importance
as great as possible in my eyes. "Come 'ome kveek; yo' 'ouse ees hall
burn'!"

"W'at!" cried Patrick. "MONJEE!" And he drove the canoe ashore, leaped
out, and ran up the bank toward the village as if he were mad. The other
men followed him, leaving me with the boys to unload the canoes and pull
them up on the sand, where the waves would not chafe them.

This took some time, and the boys helped me willingly. "Eet ees not need
to 'urry, m'sieu'," they assured me; "dat 'ouse to Patrique Moullarque
ees hall burn' seence t'ree hour. Not'ing lef' bot de hash."

As soon as possible, however, I piled up the stuff, covered it with one
of the tents, and leaving it in charge of the steadiest of the boys,
took the road to the village and the site of the Maison Mullarkey.

It had vanished completely: the walls of squared logs were gone; the
low, curved roof had fallen; the door-step with the morning-glory vines
climbing up beside it had sunken out of sight; nothing remained but
the dome of the clay oven at the back of the house, and a heap of
smouldering embers.

Patrick sat beside his wife on a flat stone that had formerly supported
the corner of the porch. His shoulder was close to Angelique's--so close
that it looked almost as if he must have had his arm around her a moment
before I came up. His passion and grief had calmed themselves down now,
and he was quite tranquil. In his left hand he held the cake of Virginia
leaf, in his right a knife. He was cutting off delicate slivers of the
tobacco, which he rolled together with a circular motion between his
palms. Then he pulled his pipe from his pocket and filled the bowl with
great deliberation.

"What a misfortune!" I cried. "The pretty house is gone. I am so sorry,
Patrick. And the box of money on the mantel-piece, that is gone, too, I
fear--all your savings. What a terrible misfortune! How did it happen?"

"I cannot tell," he answered rather slowly. "It is the good God. And he
has left me my Angelique. Also, m'sieu', you see"--here he went over to
the pile of ashes, and pulled out a fragment of charred wood with a
live coal at the end--"you see"--puff, puff--"he has given me"--puff,
puff--"a light for my pipe again"--puff, puff, puff!

The fragrant, friendly smoke was pouring out now in full volume. It
enwreathed his head like dri