s steady
at his work of gardening and haying; Marie, the elder, his wife,
washed and ironed and sewed and swept, and was a helper in many
households; now and then on Sunday they set off early in the morning
and walked to the manufacturing town whence they had come, to go to
mass; at the end of the summer, when they felt prosperous, they
sometimes hired a horse and wagon, and drove there with the child
between them. Dulham village was the brighter and better for their
presence, and the few old-fashioned houses that knew them treasured
them, and French Mary reigned over her kingdom with no revolt or
disaffection to the summer's end. She seemed to fulfill all the duties
of her childish life by some exquisite instinct and infallible sense
of fitness and propriety.

One September morning, after the first frost, the Captain and his
friends were sitting in the store with the door shut. The Captain was
the last comer.

"I've got bad news," he said, and they all turned toward him,
apprehensive and forewarned.

"Alexis says he's going right away" (regret was mingled with the joy
of having a piece of news to tell). "Yes, Alexis is going away; he's
packing up now, and has spoke for Foster's hay-cart to move his stuff
to the railroad."

"What makes him so foolish?" said Mr. Spooner.

"He says his folks expect him in Canada; he's got an aunt livin' there
that owns a good house and farm, and she's gettin' old and wants to
have him settled at home to take care of her."

"I've heard these French folks only desire to get forehanded a little,
and then they go right back where they come from," said some one, with
an air of disapproval.

"He says he'll send another man here; he knows somebody that will be
glad of the chance, but I don't seem to like the idea so well," said
Captain Weathers doubtfully. "We've all got so used to Alexis and his
wife; they know now where we keep every thing and have got to be so
handy. Strange they don't know when they're well off. I suppose it's
natural they should want to be with their own folks. Then there's the
little girl."

At this moment the store door was opened and French Mary came in. She
was dressed in her best and her eyes were shining.

"I go to Canada in ze cars!" she announced joyfully, and came dancing
down between the two long counters toward her regretful friends; they
had never seen her so charming.

Argument and regret were impossible--the forebodings of elderly men
and their