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Updated: June 2, 2025
It did not seem any stranger to Jenieve than many things which were called natural, such as the morning miracles in the eastern sky, and the growth of the boys, her dear torments. To Jenieve's serious eyes, trained by her grandmother, it was not as strange as the sight of Mama Lalotte, a child in maturity, always craving amusement, and easily led by any chance hand.
If tobacco failed him, he scraped and dried willow peelings, and called them kinnickinnick. This worthy relation had worked no increase in Jenieve's home except an increase of children. He frequently yelled around the crescent bay, brandishing his silk hat in the exaltation of rum.
Jenieve struck on Jean Bati' McClure's door, and faced his wife, speechless, pointing to the schooner ploughing southward. "Yes, she's gone," said Jean Bati' McClure's wife, "and the boys with her." The confidante came out on the step, and tried to lay her hand on Jenieve's shoulder, but the girl moved backward from her. "Now let me tell you, it is a good thing for you, Jenieve Lalotte.
"Do you take up for him, Mama Lalotte, in spite of me?" In the girl's rich brunette face the scarlet of the cheeks deepened. "Am I not more to you than Michel Pensonneau or any other engagé? He is old; he is past forty. Would I call him old if he were no more than twenty?" "Every one cannot be only twenty and a young agent," retorted her elder; and Jenieve's ears and throat reddened, also.
But all of them, and curious women peeping from their houses on the beach, particularly Jean Bati' McClure's wife, could see that Michel Pensonneau was walking with Mama Lalotte. This sight struck cold down Jenieve's spine. Mama Lalotte was really the heaviest charge she had.
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