g a small case from his pocket,
from which he extracted a neat little meerschaum pipe, and began to fill
it with tobacco.

Again Emma had occasion to open the safety-valve of another little
explosive laugh; but before anything further could be said, they came in
sight of Antoine Grennon's cottage.

It was prettily situated beneath a clump of pines. A small stream,
spanned by a rustic bridge, danced past it. Under the shadow of the
bridge they saw Madame engaged in washing linen. She had a washing-tub,
of course, but instead of putting the linen into this she put herself in
it, after having made an island of it by placing it a few inches deep in
the stream. Thus she could kneel and get at the water conveniently
without wetting her knees or skirts. On a sloping slab of wood she
manipulated the linen with such instrumentality as cold water, soap, a
wooden mallet and a hard brush. Beside her, in a miniature tub, her
little daughter conducted a miniature washing.

The three travellers, looking over the bridge, could witness the
operation without being themselves observed.

"It is a lively process," remarked Lewis, as Madame seized a mass of
linen with great vigour, and caused it to fall on the sloping plank with
a sounding slap.

Madame was an exceedingly handsome and well-made woman, turned thirty,
and much inclined to _embonpoint_. Her daughter was turned three, and
still more inclined to the same condition. Their rounded, well-shaped,
and muscular arms, acted very much in the same way, only Madame's vigour
was a good deal more intense and persistent--too much so, perhaps, for
the fabrics with which she had to deal; but if the said fabrics
possessed the smallest degree of consciousness, they could not have had
the heart to complain of rough treatment from such neat though strong
hands, while being smiled upon by such a pretty, though decisive
countenance.

"It is dreadfully rough treatment," said Emma, whose domestic-economical
spirit was rather shocked.

"Terrible!" exclaimed Nita, as Madame gripped another article of apparel
and beat it with her mallet as though it had been the skull of her
bitterest enemy, while soap-suds and water spurted from it as if they
had been that enemy's brains.

"And she washes, I believe, for our hotel," said Emma, with a slightly
troubled expression. Perhaps a thought of her work-box and buttons
flashed across her mind at the moment.

"You are right," said Lewis, with a