keg worried by scurries of wind. Dogs
and children always fell in love with Crailey at first sight, and he
never failed to receive them in the spirit of their approach. Now the
mongrel, at his touch, immediately turned himself over and lay upon the
pavement with all paws in air, to say: "Great lord, magnificent in the
graciousness which deigns to cast a glimpse upon this abject cluster of
ribs, I perceive that your heart is too gentle to kick me in my present
helplessness; yet do with me as you will."

"I doubt if you've breakfasted, brother," Crailey responded aloud,
rubbing the dog's head softly with the tip of his boot. "Will you share
the meagre fare of one who is a poet, should be a lawyer, but is about
to become a soldier? Eh, but a corporal! Rise, my friend. Up! and be
in your own small self a whole Corporal's Guard! And if your Corporal
doesn't come home from the wars, perhaps you'll remember him kindly?
Think?"

He made a vivacious gesture, the small animal sprang into the air,
convoluted with gratitude and new love, while Crailey, laughing softly,
led the way to the hotel. There, while he ate sparsely himself, he
provided munificently for his new acquaintance, and recommended him,
with an accompaniment of silver, to the good offices of the Rouen House
kitchen. After that, out into the sunshine again he went, with elastic
step, and a merry word and a laugh for everyone he met. At the old
English gardener's he bought four or five bouquets, and carried them on
a round of visits of farewell to as many old ladies who had been kind to
him. This done, leaving his laughter and his flowers behind him, he
went to Fanchon and spent part of the afternoon bringing forth cunning
arguments cheerily, to prove to her that General Taylor would be in the
Mexican capital before the volunteers reached New Orleans, and urging
upon her his belief that they would all be back in Rouen before the
summer was gone.

But Fanchon could only sob and whisper, "Hush, hush!" in the dim room
where they sat, the windows darkened so that, after he had gone, he
should not remember how red her eyes were, and the purple depths under
them, and thus forget how pretty she had been at her best. After a time,
finding that the more he tried to cheer her, the more brokenly she wept,
he grew silent, only stroking her head, while the summer sounds came
in through the window: the mill-whir of locusts, the small monotone of
distant farm-bells, the laughter