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Updated: July 7, 2025
Yet he sighed once too as Portugais opened the door and came into the room. "Well done, Jo!" said he. "You have 'em?" "Yes, M'sieu'. A good suit, and I believe they'll fit. Old Trudel says it's the best suit he's made in a year. I'm afraid he'll not make many more suits, old Trudel. "He's very bad. When he goes there'll be no tailor ah, old Trudel will be missed for sure, M'sieu'!"
"Six packets," she said. "Six, and a few sheets over." "I will take it all. But keep it for me, for a week, or perhaps a fortnight, will you?" He did not need all this paper to write letters upon, yet he meant to buy all the paper of this sort that the shop contained. But he must get money from Louis Trudel he would speak about it to-morrow.
"But for you, Rosalie?" asked the Cure. "But for me. I saw Louis Trudel raise an iron against Monsieur that day in the shop. It made me nervous I thought he was mad. So I watched. That night I saw a light in the tailor-shop late. I thought it strange. I went over and peeped through the cracks of the shutters. I saw old Louis at the fire with the little cross, red-hot. I knew he meant trouble.
"Santa Claus will never come to you any more if you talk like that; he is quite true, I know. Trudel saw him come in last year when she was in bed, and she heard him filling our stockings. Of course she did not dare to turn round and look at him," said Lottchen. "I don't say it isn't nice to believe such things," said Hermann conscientiously, "but it isn't true; it's superstitious.
Louis Trudel had heard the Cure's words, and in his place at the rear of the church he smiled sourly to himself. In due time the little cross should be returned, but it had work to do first. He did not take the holy communion this Easter day, or go to confession as was his wont.
I shall sit here and sketch the tree," said mother. "Do draw him," said Trudel, whose blue eyes were open wider than usual. "Him! Whom do you mean?" said mother. "Why, the tree man, of course." "Hum," said mother mysteriously, "we'll see," and she settled herself down to sketch. The children collected huge acorns, and laid them on a leaf in the hollow tree.
The one person beside the Cure, Jo Portugais, and Louis Trudel, to whom M'sieu' talked much, was the postmaster, who sometimes met him of an evening as he was taking the air. More than once he had walked behind the wheel-chair and pushed it some distance, making the little crippled man gossip of village matters.
Would you like some wood wine?" "Not if it is dirty water with caterpillars in it," said Trudel. "O dear no, it is purified and refined; it is most delicious." So saying, she handed each of them a large acorn cup full; and they drank the contents. "It does taste nice, dear fairy," said the children, "like what we make ourselves at a doll's feast. May we ask you for some more?"
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."
Then just as Lottchen's legs were beginning to ache badly, and she was nearly crying, he helped them on by telling the story of the assassination of Julius Cæsar. Trudel had read about it in her history-book at school; but it was written in such dreadfully historical language that she had not understood the story; she found it thrillingly interesting as father told it.
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