looked from one to the
other, and all she could do was to clasp her hands and smile. If she had
spoken, she would have cried. When they came to Father Antoine's
cottage, there he stood waiting at the gate, wearing his Sunday robes,
and behind him stood Marie, also in her best, and with her broad silver
necklace on, which the villagers had only two or three times seen her
wear. Marie had her hands behind her, and was trying to hold out her
narrow black petticoat on each side to hide something. Mysterious and
plaintive noises struggled through the woollen folds, and, at each
sound, Marie stamped her foot and exclaimed angrily:

"Bah! thou silly beast, be quiet! Wilt thou spoil all our sport?"

The procession halted before the house, and Father Antoine advanced,
bearing in his hands a gay wreath of flowers. The people had wished
that this should be placed on Hetty's head, but Father Antoine had
persuaded them to waive this part of the ceremony. He knew well that
this would be more than Hetty could bear. Holding the wreath in his
hands, therefore, he addressed a few words to Hetty, and then took his
place by her side. Now was Marie's moment of joy. Springing to one side
as quickly as her rheumatic old joints would permit, she revealed what
she had been trying to hide behind her scant petticoat. It was a white
lamb, decorated from ears to tail with knots of ribbon and with flowers.
The poor little thing tugged hard at the string by which it was held,
and shook its pretty head in restless impatience under its load of
finery, and bleated piteously: but for all that it was a very pretty
sight; and the broken English with which Marie, on behalf of the
villagers, presented the little creature to Hetty, was prettier still.
When they reached Hetty's gate, all the women who had hold of the long
pine wreath gave their places to men; and, in the twinkling of an eye,
the lithe vigorous fellows were on the fences, on the posts of the
porch, nailing the wreath in festoons everywhere; from the gateway to
the door in long swinging loops, above the porch, in festoons over the
windows, under the eaves, and hanging in long waving ends on the walls.
Then they hung upon the door the crown which Hetty had not worn, and the
little children set their gay pots of flowers on the window-sills and
around the porch; and all was a merry hubbub of voices and laughter.
Hetty grasped Father Antoine by the arm.

"Oh, do you speak to them, and thank them