ut if he heard this welcome he did not heed it, and Margot stood
amazed at the ridiculous scene upon which she had entered.

There was Angelique, still arrayed in her own flower-bedecked bonnet
and her mistress' India shawl, being whirled about the big kitchen in
a crazy sort of waltz which seemed to suit the son's excited mood. Her
bonnet sat rakishly on one side and the rich shawl dragged over the
floor, which, fortunately, was too clean to harm it; but amidst her
enforced exercises, the mother continued to aim those resounding blows
at her son's great ears. Sometimes they hit the mark, but at others
fell harmlessly upon his broad shoulders. In any case, they seemed not
to disturb him but rather to add to the homelikeness of his return.

At length, however, he released his irate parent and held out his hand
to Margot.

"Done the old lady heap of good. How's things? How's the menagerie?
and the master?"

"Hey? Where's the manners I've always taught you? Askin' for the
master last when 'tis he is always first. Yes. Yes, indeed. But,
Pierre, 'twas nigh no master at all you came home to. He's been at
death's door for weeks. Even yet----"

Then Angelique turned and saw Margot, whose presence she had not
before observed. But she rallied instantly, turning her sentence into
a brisk command:

"Even yet, the churnin' not done and it goin' on to measure nine
o'clock. Get to the dasher, lad, and tie this big apron round your
neck. Then change that dirty shirt. That a child of mine should wear
such filthy things. Pouf! you were always the torment; that is so."

"Just the same, Angelique, dear, your eyes are shining like stars, and
you are happier than you have been a single minute since that bad boy
of yours paddled away in the night. If he's to churn I'm to sit beside
him and hear all his long story first. Come on, Pierre! Oh! how good
it is to have you back!"

It was, also, most delightful to the mother, even though her happiness
expressed itself in a peculiar way, by grumbling and scolding as she
had not done once since real trouble fell upon that home, with the
illness of its master.

The churn stood outside the kitchen door, for Angelique would allow no
chance of spilled cream on her scoured boards; so Margot settled
herself on the door-step and listened while the wanderer gave her a
long and detailed account of his journey. Meanwhile, and at every few
minutes, his mother would step to his side, take the dasher fr