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Updated: June 12, 2025
"But if your mother lives there, that's your home, isn't it?" said Sam the respectable. Bela shrugged. "She got stay wit' her 'osban'," she replied. "He no good. He w'at you call 'obo!" "What did you leave for?" asked Sam. She frowned at the difficulty of explaining this in English. "Those people are poor an' foolish, an' dirty people," she said. "They not lak me ver' moch.
"To-morrow if the sun shine we cross the lake," he said amiably. "While we paddle I tell you many more things. We pass by Nine-Mile Point lak we goin' somewhere else. Not let on we thinkin' of them at all. They will call us ashore, and we stay jus' little while. You mus' look at them at all. You do everyt'ing I say, I get you good 'osban'."
My mot'er's 'osban' is a hobo." She looked at his chin again. "Bishop Lajeunesse not scrape his chin," she stated. "Got long hair, so. He is fine man." Sam, not knowing exactly what to say, remained silent. He found it difficult to accommodate himself to a conversational Bela. She was much changed in the morning light from the inscrutable figure of the fire-side.
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