diddle-diddle Chichester church in
Chichester church-yard!" says Barty.

"Que'q' ca veut dire?"

"Il s'agit d'une eglise et d'un cimetiere!" says Barty--rather
sadly, with a wink at me.

"C'est pas gai! Que vilaine langue, hein? J' suis joliment content
que j' sais pas I'anglais, moi!" (It's not lively! What a beastly
language, eh? I'm precious glad _I_ don't know English.)

Then: "Demontre-moi un probleme de geometrie."

Barty would then do a simple problem out of Legendre (the French
Euclid), and M. Laferte would look on with deep interest and
admiration, but evidently no comprehension whatever. Then he would
take the pen himself, and draw a shapeless figure, with A's and B's
and C's and D's stuck all over it in impossible places, and quite at
hazard, and say:

"Demontre-moi que A + B est plus grand que C + D." It was mere
idiotic nonsense, and he didn't know better!

But Barty would manage to demonstrate it all the same, and M.
Laferte would sigh deeply, and exclaim, "C'est joliment beau, la
geometrie!"

Then: "Danse!"

And Barty danced "la Paladine," and did Scotch reels and Irish jigs
and break-downs of his own invention, amidst roars of laughter from
all the family.

Finally the gentlemen of the party went down to the river for a
swim--and old Laferte would sit on the bank and smoke his
brule-gueule, and throw carefully selected stones for Barty to dive
after--and feel he'd scored off Barty when the proper stone wasn't
found, and roar in his triumph. After which he would go and pick the
finest peach he could find, and peel it with his pocket-knife very
neatly, and when Barty was dressed, present it to him with a kindly
look in both eyes at once.

"Mange-moi ca--ca t' fera du bien!"

Then, suddenly: "Pourquoi q' tu n'aimes pas la chasse? t'as pas
peur, j'espere!" (Why don't you like shooting? you're not afraid, I
hope!)

[Illustration: LE PERE POLYPHEME]

"'Sais pas,'" said Josselin; "don't like killing things, I
suppose.'"

So Barty became quite indispensable to the happiness and comfort of
Pere Polypheme, as he called him, as well as of his amiable family.

On the 1st of September there was a grand breakfast in honor of the
partridges (not in the kitchen this time), and many guests were
invited; and Barty had to sing and talk and play the fool all
through breakfast; and got very tipsy, and had to be put to bed for
the rest of the day. It was no fault of his, and Madame Laferto
declared t