pper the young folks from the village will drop in and spend the
evening. It is only fair that Maria should have a little more
amusement before you drag her off into your woods up there."

"She has had plenty of gaiety at St. Prime; singing and games almost
every night. We are greatly obliged to you, but I am going to put
the horse in immediately after dinner so as to get home in good
time."

Old Nazaire Larouche spoke of the morning's sermon which had struck
him as well reasoned and fine; then after a spell of silence he
exclaimed abruptly--"Have you baked?"

His amazed sister-in-law gaped at him for a moment before it stole
upon her that this was his way of asking for bread. A little later
he attacked her with another question:--"Is your pump working
well?"

Which signified that there was no water on the table. Azalma rose to
get it, and behind her back the old fellow sent a sly wink in the
direction of Maria. "I assault her with parables," chuckled he.
"It's politer."

On the plank walls of the house were pasted old newspapers, and
calendars hung there such as the manufacturers of farm implements or
grain merchants scatter abroad, and also prints of a religious
character; a representation in crudest colour and almost innocent of
perspective of the basilica at Ste. Anne de Beaupre--, a likeness
of Pope Pius X.; a chromo where the palely-smiling Virgin Mary
disclosed her bleeding heart encircled with a golden nimbus.

"This is nicer than our house," thought Maria to herself. Nazaire
Larouche kept directing attention to his wants with dark sayings:--"Was
your pig very lean?" he demanded; or perhaps:--"Fond of maple
sugar, are you? I never get enough of it ..."

And then Azalma would help him to a second slice of pork or fetch
the cake of maple sugar from the cupboard. When she wearied of these
strange table-manners and bade him help himself in the usual
fashion, he smoothed her ruffled temper with good-humoured excuses,
"Quite right. Quite right. I won't do it again; but you always loved
a joke, Azalma. When you have youngsters like me at dinner you must
look for a little nonsense."

Maria smiled to think how like he was to her father; both tall and
broad, with grizzled hair, their faces tanned to the colour of
leather, and, shining from their eyes, the quenchless spirit of
youth which keeps alive in the countryman of Quebec his imperishable
simple-heartedness.

They took the road almost as soon as the meal