lowers are strong for that; they talk to the angels in the
night."
What use was it to argue with a little idiot like this? Indeed, peasants
never do argue; they use abuse.
It is their only form of logic.
They used it to Bebee, rating her soundly, as became people who were old
enough to be her grandmothers, and who knew that she had been raked out
of their own pond, and had no more real place in creation than a water
rat, as one might say.
The women were kindly, and had never thrown this truth against her
before, and in fact, to be a foundling was no sort of disgrace to their
sight; but anger is like wine, and makes the depths of the mind shine
clear, and all the mud that is in the depths stink in the light; and in
their wrath at not sharing Antoine's legacy, the good souls said bitter
things that in calm moments they would no more have uttered than they
would have taken up a knife to slit her throat.
They talked themselves hoarse with impatience and chagrin, and went
backwards over the threshold, their wooden shoes and their shrill voices
keeping a clattering chorus. By this time it was evening; the sun had
gone off the floor, and the bird had done singing.
Bebee stood in the same place, hardening her little heart, whilst big and
bitter tears swelled into her eyes, and fell on the soft fur of the
sleeping cat.
She only very vaguely understood why it was in any sense shameful to have
been raked out of the water-lilies like a drowning field mouse, as they
had said it was.
She and Antoine had often talked of that summer morning when he had found
her there among the leaves, and Bebee and he had laughed over it gayly,
and she had been quite proud in her innocent fashion that she had had a
fairy and the flowers for her mother and godmothers, which Antoine always
told her was the case beyond any manner of doubt. Even Father Francis,
hearing the pretty harmless fiction, had never deemed it his duty to
disturb her pleasure in it, being a good, cheerful old man, who thought
that woe and wisdom both come soon enough to bow young shoulders and
to silver young curls without his interference.
Bebee had always thought it quite a fine thing to have been born of
water-lilies, with the sun for her father, and when people in Brussels
had asked her of her parentage, seeing her stand in the market with a
certain look on her that was not like other children, had always gravely
answered in the purest good faith,--
"My m
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