nny!
The man got a bottle in his hat, and that break, and run all over him,
and he say, oh, he say all things what you think of. But Monsieur
George was so 'shamed, he go away and hide, and not for a week we see
him again. Le Boss think that man poison him, and he goes to beat him;
but that same day Monsieur George come back, and stop outside the tent
and call us all to come out. And when we come, he run back, and say,
'Look here, what I do!' and he jump, and go clean over the tent, and
not touch him wiz his foot. Yes, I saw it: very fine dog, Monsieur
George! But Coquelicot, he have more thinking than Monsieur George.
He very claiver, Coquelicot! Some of zem think him a witch, but I
think not that. He have minds, that was all. But his legs so short,
and that make him hate Monsieur George."

"My legs are short," objected Petie, stretching out a pair of plump
calves, "but that doesn't make me hate people."

"Ah, but if you see a little boy what can walk over the roof of the
house, you want the same to do it, _n'est-ce-pas_?" cried Marie. "You
try, and try, and when you cannot jump, you think that not a so nize
little boy as when his legs were short. So boy, so dog. Coquelicot,
all his life he want to jump like Monsieur George, and all his life he
cannot jump at all. You say to him, 'Coquelicot, are you foolishness?
you can do feefty things and George not one of zem: you can read the
letters, and find the things in the pocket, and play the ins_tru_ment,
and sing the tune to make die people of laughing, yet you are not
_con_tent. Let him have in peace his legs, Monsieur George, then!'
But no! and every time Monsieur George come down from the great jump,
Coquelicot is ready, and bite his legs so hard what he can."

Petie laughed outright. "I think that's awful funny!" he said. "I
say, Mis' De Arthenay, I'd like to seen him bite his legs. Did he
holler?"

"Monsieur George? He cry, and go to his bed. All the dogs, they
afraid of Coquelicot, because he have the minds. And he, Coquelicot,
he fear nossing, except Madame when she is angry."

"Who was she?" asked Petie,--"a big dog?"

"Ah, dog, no!" cried Marie, her face flushing. "Madame my violon, my
life, my pleasure, my friend. Ah, _mon Dieu_, what friend have I?"
Her breast heaved, and she broke into a wild fit of crying, forgetting
the child by her side, forgetting everything in the world save the
hunger at her heart for the one creature to whom s