etter? Are you quite sure you are better
to-day?"

The little old withered woman, brown as a walnut and meagre as a rush,
took the currants, and smiled with a childish glee, and began to eat
them, blessing the child with each crumb she broke off the bread.

"Why had you not a grandmother of your own, my little one?" she mumbled.
"How good you would have been to her, Bebee!"

"Yes," said Bebee seriously, but her mind could not grasp the idea. It
was easier for her to believe the fanciful lily parentage of Antoine's
stories. "How much work have you done, Annemie? Oh, all that? all that?
But there is enough for a week. You work too early and too late, you dear
Annemie."

"Nay, Bebee, when one has to get one's bread that cannot be. But I am
afraid my eyes are failing. That rose now, is it well done?"

"Beautifully done. Would the Baes take them if they were not? You know he
is one that cuts every centime in four pieces."

"Ah! sharp enough, sharp enough, that is true. But I am always afraid of
my eyes. I do not see the flags out there so well as I used to do."

"Because the sun is so bright, Annemie; that is all. I myself, when I
have been sitting all day in the place in the light, the flowers look
pale to me. And you know it is not age with _me_, Annemie?"

The old woman and the young girl laughed together at that droll idea.

"You have a merry heart, dear little one," said old Annemie. "The saints
keep it to you always."

"May I tidy the room a little?"

"To be sure, dear, and thank you too. I have not much time, you see; and
somehow my back aches badly when I stoop."

"And it is so damp here for you, over all that water!" said Bebee as she
swept and dusted and set to rights the tiny place, and put in a little
broken pot a few sprays of honeysuckle and rosemary that she had brought
with her. "It is so damp here. You should have come and lived in my hut
with me, Annemie, and sat out under the vine all day, and looked after
the chickens for me when I was in the town. They are such mischievous
little souls; as soon as my back is turned one or other is sure to push
through the roof, and get out among the flower-beds. Will you never
change your mind, and live with me, Annemie? I am sure you would be
happy, and the starling says your name quite plain, and he is such a
funny bird to talk to; you never would tire of him. Will you never come?
It is so bright there, and green and sweet smelling; and to think you
neve