ellect there already? Sho'ly! Miss Jacqueline,
though, likes the father of her grandfather the best. He never was
noble, technically I mean. His was the nobility of heart, and he'd have
scorned to be tagged. He just baked bread, and fed most half of Saint
Antoine for nothing at times, while the Dauphin at Versailles was
throwing cakes to the swans. Howsoever," Mr. Boone added hastily, as sop
to his softness for princes, "I reckon that there Dauphin was noble too.
Both of 'em fed the hungry mouths that were nearest."

"But," demanded Driscoll, "doesn't her title carry some sort of a--a
compensation?"

"Not a red sou. The majorat--that's the male line--died out with her
father, which means that the annuity died out too."

"W'y, Great Scot, she's----"

"She's tired and disheartened, that's what she is, and she's going back
to Paris, and you--" Boone paused, and glared at his companion, "--and
you mean to let her!"

Old Demijohn felt a spur kicked against his flank, and he lifted his
fore feet and sped as the wind. It was fully an hour later when Meagre
Shanks caught up with horse and rider again. Rather, he met them coming
back. His conversation was guileless, at first.

"Do you know, Din," he began, "those two girls are only half educated?
Yes sir, gastronomically, they are positively illiterate, and it's a
shame! W'y, they don't know hot biscuits and molasses. They don't know
buttermilk. They don't know yams. Nor paw-paws, nor persimmons. They
don't even know watermelon. Now isn't France a backward place?"

"Don't, Shanks!" Driscoll begged. "You'll have me heading for Missouri
in a minute. You didn't, uh, mention peach cobbler?"

"_And_ peach cobbler, big as an acre covered with snow. And just
think, it's roastin' ea'ah time up there now, _now_!" How Daniel's
voice did mellow under a tender sentiment! "And to think," he went on,
"of the marchioness living on in such ignorance! It's a thing that's
just got to be remedied, Jack."

"Then suppose you take her to Missouri," growled his friend, "and let me
alone."

"_I_ take _her_? Oh come now, Din, I see I've got to tell you
something which is--" The Troubadour's accents grew low and fond, and
the other man respected them, with something between a smile and a sigh
for his own case. "Which is--well, nobody's noticed it, but the fact is
that Buh'the, that Miss Buh'the----"

"Dan," interrupted Driscoll severely, "you're not going to tell me any
secret. You mean tha