id, staring at it; "but perhaps
I could do no better with it even if I worked longer."

Marie-Louise's eyes, puzzled, anxious, on Jean's face, shifted to the
little clay figure--and their expression changed instantly.

"But, Jean!" she cried, clasping her hands. "But, Jean, that is not a
_poupee_ you have made there. It--it will never do at all! Ninon
Lachance would break the arms off at the first minute, and it is too
_charmante_ for that. Oh, but, Jean, it--it is _adorable_!"

Jean was inspecting the figure in a curiously abstracted way, as though
he had never seen it before, turning his head now to this side, now to
that, and turning the clay around and around in his hands to examine it
from all angles, while a heightened colour crept into his face and dyed
his cheeks. It was a small figure, hardly a foot and a half in
height--the figure of a fisherwoman, barefooted, in short skirts, the
clothes as though windswept clinging close around her limbs, her arms
stretched out as to the sea. He laughed a little unnaturally.

"Well, then, since it will not do for Ninon Lachance, and you like it,
Marie-Louise," he said a little self-consciously; "it is for you."

"For me--Jean? Really for me?" she asked happily.

"And why not?" said Jean. "Since it _is_ you."

"Me!"--she looked at him in a prettily bewildered way.

"But, yes," said Jean, holding the figure off at arm's length. "See,
it is a beacon--the welcome of the fisherman home from the sea. And
are you not that, Marie-Louise, and will you not stand on the shore at
evening and hold out your arms for me as I pull home in the boat? Are
you not the beacon, Marie-Louise--for me?"

Her hand stole over one of his and pressed it, but it was a moment
before she spoke.

"I will pray to the _bon Dieu_ to make me that, Jean--always," she said
softly.

He drew her close to him.

"It is the luck of Jean Laparde!" he whispered tenderly.

They sat for a little time in silence--then Jean sprang sharply to his
feet.

"_Ma foi_, Marie-Louise!" he called out in sudden consternation,
glancing at the sun. "I did not know we had been here so long." He
picked up the little clay figure hastily, placed it in the basket,
threw his coat, that was on the ground, over it, and, swinging the
basket to the crook of his arm, held out his hand to Marie-Louise.
"Come, _petite_, we will hurry back."

It was not far across the fields and down the little rise to the road
that p