most well. This doctor, now ..."

Chapdelaine broke out, quite beside himself:--"This doctor is not
a bit of use, and I shall tell him so plainly, myself. He came here,
he gave her a drop of some miserable stuff worth nothing at all in
the bottom of a cup, and he is off to sleep in the village as if his
pay was earned! Not a thing has he done but tire out my horse, but
he shall not have a copper from me, not a single copper..."

Eutrope's face was very grave, and he shook his head as he
declared:--"Neither have I any faith in doctors. Now if we had only
thought of fetching a bone-setter--such a man as Tit'Sebe of
St. Felicien ..." Every face was turned to him and the tears ceased
flowing.

"Tit'Sebe!" exclaimed Maria. "And you think he could help in a case
like this?" Both Eutrope and Chapdelaine hastened to avow their
trust in him.

"There is no doubt whatever that Tit'Sebe can make people well. He
was never through the schools, but he knows how to cure. You heard
of Nazaire Gaudreau who fell from the top of a barn and broke his
back. The doctors came to see him, and the best they could do was to
give the Latin name for his hurt and say that he was going to die.
Then they went and fetched Tit'Sebe, and Tit'Sebe cured him." Every
one of them knew the healer's repute and hope sprang up again in
their hearts.

"Tit'Sebe is a first-rate man, and a man who knows how to make sick
people well. Moreover he is not greedy for money. You go and you
fetch him, you pay him for his time, and he cures you. It was he who
put little Romeo Boilly on his legs again after being run over by a
wagon loaded with planks."

The sick woman had relapsed into stupor, and was moaning feebly with
her eyes closed.

"I will go and get him if you like," suggested Eutrope.

"But what will you do for a horse?" asked Maria. "The doctor has
Charles Eugene at Honfleur."

Chapdelaine clenched his fist in wrath and swore through his
teeth:--"The old rascal!"

Eutrope thought a moment before speaking. "It makes no difference. I
will go just the same. If I walk to Honfleur, I shall easily find
someone there who will lend me a horse and sleigh--Racicot, or
perhaps old Neron."

"It is thirty-five miles from here to St. Felicien and the roads
are heavy."

"I will go just the same."

He, departed forthwith, thinking as he went at a jog-trot over the
snow of the grateful look that Maria had given him. The family made
ready for the night, computi