"Whatever are you doing, Lottchen?" "Oh, mother, there are such heaps of people here this afternoon, and there are not enough waitresses to serve them; so Trudel and I are helping. Trudel has got such a lot of tips already; she has bought chocolate with the money. Do tell her to divide it fairly with me!" Mother looked round.

"I know nothing of the cross," he said quietly. "You're the only heretic in the place. You've done it. Who are you? What are you doing here in Chaudiere?" "Working at my trade," was Charley's quiet answer. He looked towards Louis Trudel, as though to see how he took this ugly charge. Old Louis responded at once. "Get away with you, Filion Lacasse," he croaked. "Don't come here with your twaddle.

"So there is, he is smiling and bowing to us, let's go and visit him," said Trudel, always enterprising. Lottchen hung back, feeling a little afraid; she was always on the look-out for the unexpected, and yet was surprised when something really happened. "Come along, darling," said Trudel, grasping her smaller sister by the hand.

It was the voice of Louis Trudel, sharp and piercing: "Don't you believe in God and the Son of God?" "God knows!" answered Charley slowly in reply an involuntary exclamation of helplessness, an automatic phrase deflected from its first significance to meet a casual need of the mind. Yet it seemed like satire, like a sardonic, even vulgar, humour.

Yet none in Chaudiere but knew that she had lived a blameless life faithful, friendly, a loving and devoted mother, whose health had been broken by sleepless attendance at sick-beds by night, while doing her daily work at the house of the late Louis Trudel. "I will answer for the way you have done your duty, Margot," said the Cure. "You have been a good daughter of the Church."

You know quite well, Trudel, who Santa Claus really is." Trudel was silent; she was ten years old, and she had her doubts. "But I've seen a tree man to-day," said Lotty. The boys laughed. "Don't try to stuff us up with such nonsense; we're not so green as your tree man," they said. Gustel, the maid, came in, and joined in the conversation. She supported the boys' view.

These Hermann and Fritz had made themselves with the aid, I believe, of the Herr Baron. They had a long stick and punted about in them on the water, and they managed them quite cleverly. To Trudel and Lottchen they seemed to suggest Robinson Crusoe and all sorts of fine adventures.

In the first place, the Cure seemed satisfied; secondly, he minded his own business. Also, he was working for Louis Trudel for nothing. These things Jo Portugais diligently impressed on the minds of all who would listen.

I wouldn't work for Louis Trudel if he give me five dollars a day." "Tiens! the man that work for Louis Trudel work for the Church, for all old Louis makes goes to the Church in the end that is his will. The Notary knows," said Maximilian Cour. "See there, now," interposed Mrs. Flynn, pointing across the street to the tailor-shop.

She meant to tell the truth about Louis Trudel, and show how good this man was, who stood charged with an imaginary crime. But she met the warning eye of the man himself, calm and resolute, she saw the suffering in the face, endured with what composure! and she felt instantly that she must obey him, and that who could tell? his plan might be the best in the end. She looked at the Cure anxiously.