pric, their relics, their prestige, and its ancient glory from
their hill-set cathedral. Yes, Don Jordy would be coming. He always had
a new jest each evening--a merry man and a loyal, Don Jordy. Claire
liked him, his rosy monk's face, and twinkling light-blue eyes.

Then, presently, the Alcalde Jean-Marie would come climbing up, the
abundantly-vowelled Provencal speech, sweet and slow, dropping like
honey from his lips. It was fun to tease Jean-Marie. He took such a long
time to get ready his retorts. He was like the big, blundering,
good-natured humble-bees aforesaid--you could always be far away before
he got ready to be angry. Then, like them, he would go muttering and
grumbling away, large and dusty, and--not too clever.

The Professor also; he would not stay long, she knew, down at the castle
with that very learned man from Madrid. Nor yet with the great ladies.
He would rather be listening to his friend, little Claire Agnew, reading
the Genevan Testament, while he compared Calvin's rendering with the
original Greek, or perhaps merely sitting silent on their favourite
knoll above the blue Mediterranean, watching the white town, the grey
and gold castle walls, and the whirling sails of Jean-Marie's windmills.

Yes, they would all be coming back, some one of them at least; or, if
not, there would at least be the Senora and the kicking goats. It was
better to be kicked than to be bored, and _ennuyee_, and sickened with
the measured immeasurable "tick-tack" of time, as it was doled emptily
out by the big-bellied Provencal clock in the kitchen-corner.

At La Masane above Collioure, Claire suffered from the weariness of
riches, the embarrassment of choice. In a little forsaken village, with
her father busied about his affairs, she would have been well content
all day with no more than her needlework and her Genevan Bible. There
were maps in that, and a beautiful plan of the ark, so that she could
discuss with herself where to put each of the animals. But at La Masane,
with four people eager to do her pleasure, the maiden picked and chose
as if culling flowers among the clover meadows.

So Claire went out, and stood a long minute. Her hand went up to her
brow, and she looked abroad on her new world. She could hear where to
find the Senora. She loved the Senora. But then the Senora and the goats
she had always with her. On the whole, she preferred the men--any of the
men--to amuse her, and, yes, of course, to instruct