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not risen. "Come, play-mamma!" "I will wait here till you come back, Rosemarie." But the child was coaxingly insistent, holding out her hand. "I think it is because she has been so lonely all her life," suggested Farr. "Now that she has found friends she wants them to be with her in her little pleasures. May I presume enough to add my invitation to hers?" She came and the child walked between them, holding their hands. "One papa and my play-mamma!" she said, looking up at them in turn. Mother Maillet came to the kitchen door and waved adieu with her dish-towel. "Ah, the family!" she cried. "Yesterday it was not--to-day it is. And grandpere marching off ahead!" "Old folks and children--they say embarrassing things," remarked Farr when they were on their way. "One must be silly along with them to be disturbed by such chatter," said Zelie Dionne, tartly. They followed old Etienne through his little door and walked along the canal bank where the waters were still and glassy, for the big gates had been closed and power lay motionless and locked in the sullen depths till morning. The sunset behind the big mills glowed redly through the myriad windows. They walked slowly because little Rosemarie found marvels for childish eyes at every step, and even the cool carpet of the grass provided unfailing delight as she set slow and cautious footsteps into its yielding luxuriance. The old man plodded ahead, muttering and frowning as he peered down at the flotsam in the motionless waters. The silence between the two who accompanied the child continued a long time and Farr found it oppressive. "I have never been in Canada," he said. "I am sorry you did not care to have Etienne talk about your home. I would like to know more about that country." "He was talking about me instead of my home in Tadousac. I am not so important that I am to be talked about." "Where is Tadousac?" Her vivacity returned, her dark eyes glowed. "Ah, m'sieu', you should go there. It is in the country of the good habitants where the St. Lawrence and the Saguenay meet. And now, as the sun is setting, the people are resting under the wide eaves of the little white houses, looking up where the hills are all so blue, or off across the wide bay. The white houses are very small and they crowd along the road, and the farms are narrow, and there is not much money in the homespun clothes or in the old clock, but the good world is wide
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