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Updated: May 3, 2025
Perhaps he had been reading aloud, as he was fond of doing in the evenings, some denunciatory passage from the psalms or the prophets. "Mary," he would say, turning to her, as she sat with her knitting in the corner, "what do you think of that passage?" "I think him horreebl'," Marie would answer. "Why do you read of such things, Jacques!
He know so much, that make him able for the bad, see, like for the good. Yes! Sometime, he steal the sugar; sometime he come in when we make music, and make wiz us yells, and spoil the music; sometime he make the horreebl' faces at the poppies and make scream them with fear." "Kin poppies scream?" asked Petie, opening great eyes of wonder. "My! ourn can't.
"And then," Marie went on, "Lisette, she is the poppies' mother, and she hear them, and she come wiz yells, too, and try to drive Coquelicot, but he take her wiz his teeth and shake her, and throw her away, and go on to make faces, and all is horreebl' noise, to wake deads.
Not black and horreebl', no! but red, all red, wiz gold on him, and in his side pictures, all bright and preetty, and good words, good ones, what make the good feel in my side. Yes, that is the Bible I have liked." "Mary, I tell you it was no Bible, unless it was this very one. They bind it in any colour they like, don't you see, child? It isn't the cover that makes the book.
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