oal and simple as a child, and
quite ignorant, having spent all his days in the great Soignies forests
making fagots when he was a little lad, and hewing down trees or burning
charcoal as he grew to manhood.

"Who was that seigneur with you last night, Bebee?" he asked, after a
long silence, watching her as she moved.

Bebee's eyes grew very soft, but they looked up frankly.

"I am not sure--I think he is a painter--a great painter prince, I
mean--as Rubes was in Antwerpen; he wanted roses the night before last in
the cathedral."

"But he was walking with you?"

"He was in the lane as I came home last night--yes."

"What does he give you for your roses?"

"Oh! he pays me well. How is your mother this day, Jeannot?"

"You do not like to talk of him?"

"Why should you want to talk of him? He is nothing to you."

"Did you really see him only two days ago, Bebee?"

"Oh, Jeannot! did I ever tell a falsehood? You would not say that to one
of your little sisters."

The forester swayed the gate to and fro drearily under his folded arms.

Bebee, not regarding him, cut her flowers, and filled her baskets, and
did her other work, and set a ladder against the hut and climbed on its
low roof to seek for eggs, the hens having green tastes sometimes for the
rushes and lichens of its thatch. She found two eggs, which she promised
herself to take to Annemie, and looking round as she sat on the edge of
the roof, with one foot on the highest rung of the ladder, saw that
Jeannot was still at the gate.

"You will be late in the forest, Jeannot," she cried to him. "It is such
a long, long way in and out. Why do you look so sulky? and you are
kicking the wicket to pieces."

"I do not like you to talk with strangers," said Jeannot, sullenly and
sadly.

Bebee laughed as she sat on the edge of the thatch, and looked at the
shining gray skies of the early day, and the dew-wet garden, and the
green fields beyond, with happy eyes that made the familiar scene
transfigured to her.

"Oh, Jeannot, what nonsense! As if I do not talk to a million strangers
every summer! as if I could ever sell a flower if I did not! You are
cross this morning; that is what it is."

"Do you know the man's name?" said Jeannot, suddenly.

Bebee felt her cheeks grow warm as with some noonday heat of sunshine.
She thought it was with anger against blundering Jeannot's curiosity.

"No! and what would his name be to us, if I did know it? I cannot ask