woman
saying. "Ve do h'all ve can, sure! It ees a gladness to see de yong
lady an' heem pretty face, all red vid de cole. Come by de fire, mees.
Celestine 'ere she pull aff your beeg Dutch stockin'. Dey no belong
you, sure. Colette, push heem chair near for de lady. Hippolyte, put
couple steeks now on ze fire. Mees, I 'ope you mak' yourself to home
now. Monsieur Hugo, you stop for to h'eat a bite vid us. Ve haf' in de
shed still one big quarter from de _orignal_, de beeg mose vat my man
he shoot two veeks ago. Und dere pleanty _patates_, pleanty pork, all
you vant."

"No, thank you ever so much, I--I think I'd better be going. It will
be dark pretty soon. I know perfectly well that you will take
excellent care of Miss Nelson and so I think I'll say good-by now."

Some of the children trooped around him, disappointed, and Mrs.
Papineau came nearer, eying him curiously. Suddenly her keen eyes
caught something and she pointed with a finger.

"Vat de mattaire vid you h'arm?" she asked, excitedly. "'Ow you get
'urted?"

"Oh! That! That's nothing," he answered, drawing back. "'Tisn't worth
bothering about. Good-night!"

"You no be one beeg fool, Monsieur Hugo!" she ordered him, masterfully.
"Now you sit down an' let me look heem arm right avay quick. Ven de
cole strike heem he get bad sure, dat h'arm."

In spite of his objections she laid violent hands on him, insisting on
pulling off his coat, whereupon a dark patch had spread. She also drew
off the heavy sweater he wore underneath it, which was stained even
more deeply. When she sought to roll up the sleeve of his flannel
shirt it would not go up high enough, but the remedy was close at
hand, in the form of a pair of scissors, and she swiftly ripped up a
seam. On the outer part of the shoulder she revealed a rather large
and jagged wound that was all smeared with blood, which still oozed
from it slowly.

"Who go an' shoot you?" she asked angrily. "I see de 'ole in de coat
an' de sweater. I know some one shoot. Vat for he shoot?"

"Well, it was just a silly little accident with a pistol," he
acknowledged with much embarrassment. "It--it won't be anything after
it's washed off. It feels all right enough and I wish you wouldn't
bother about it. I'll attend to it after I get home. It--it's stopped
hurting now."

But he was compelled to submit to the washing of his injury and to the
application of some sort of a dressing which Mrs. Papineau appeared to
put on rathe