make sure that Black Boy should not
make off while he was inside.

Aunt Jeanne's brown old face creased up into something like a very large
wink as we went up the path, and she said softly, "First pig in trough gets
first bite. You'll enjoy a cup of coffee at all events, mon gars. Seems to
me there are two Black Boys out there, n'es c' pas?"

And if such coffee as Jeanne Falla made, with milk warm from the cow, could
have been curdled by sour looks, young Torode had surely not found his cup
to his liking.

His ill-humour was not simply ill-concealed, it was barely kept within
bounds, and was, to say the least of it, but poor return for Aunt Jeanne's
double hospitality. But Aunt Jeanne, far from resenting it, seemed
actually to enjoy the sight, and as a matter of fact, I believe she was
hoping eagerly that Carette would come down in time to partake of it also.

She chatted gaily about her party, and plumed herself on its success.

"We did it all our own two selves, the little one and I. Nothing like
washing your own shirt, if you want it well done," brimmed she.

"It couldn't have been better, Aunt Jeanne. And as for the gache--it was
simply delicious."

"Crais b'en! If there's one thing I can do, it's make gache. And it's not
all finished yet," and she went to the press and brought out a cake like a
cartwheel, and cut it into spokes.

"There are not many things you can't do, it seems to me, Aunt Jeanne," I
said. "That cider was uncommonly good too."

"Ma fe, when you've learned to make cider for the Guernsey men you can make
it for most folks, I trow.... It's a tired man you'll be to-night, Phil,
mon gars. We were just turning in, the little one and I, when we heard a
horse snuffle outside, and nothing would satisfy her but she must up and
peep out of the window, and she said, 'Why, there's Phil Carre standing on
the knoll. Mon Gyu, what does he want there at this time of day?' And I
said, 'Come away into bed, child, and don't catch your death of cold.
You're half asleep and dreaming. There's no one out there.' 'Yes, there
is,' said she, 'and it's Phil Carre. I know his shape.' But I was sleepy,
and I said, 'Well, he'll keep till morning anyway, and if you don't get
some sleep you'll look like a boiled owl, and there'll be no riding for
you, miss, Phil Carre or no Phil Carre.'" All of which was gall and
wormwood to young Torode, as Jeanne Falla quite well knew and intended.

And presently Carette came down, lo