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Suddenly her keen eyes caught something and she pointed with a finger. "Vat de mattaire vid you h'arm?" she asked, excitedly. "'Ow you get 'urted?" "Oh! That! That's nothing," he answered, drawing back. "'Tisn't worth bothering about. Good-night!" "You no be one beeg fool, Monsieur Hugo!" she ordered him, masterfully. "Now you sit down an' let me look heem arm right avay quick.
"Maybe heem be all right soon," she confided hopefully to Madge, while she mixed dough in a pan. "But heem one beeg fool man all de same." "I I can hardly believe that," objected the girl. "Why do you think so?" "All mans is beeg fools ven dey is 'urted or seek, my dear. Dey don't know nodings 'ow to tak' care for heemselves. Dey don't never haf sense dat vay.
"Py de looks off tem togs I tink you ban in some hurry, no?" "Uh huh! I come to telegraph for de docteur. Hugo heem 'urted h'awful bad. Look lak' heem die, mebbe." Stefan bellowed out an oath and began running towards his house at a tremendous gait. Papineau jumped on his toboggan and followed, only catching up after they had gone a couple of hundred yards.
The dear dog bain't 'urted not a 'air of him. 'E cum frolicking in that friendly I sometimes wonders if there do be anyone as William 'ud ever bite. 'E ain't much of a watchdog, I fear." "He nearly bit someone this afternoon," Meg said. "Well, I'm not sorry to yer it. It don't do for man nor beast to be too trustful not in this world it don't." At the drive gate Miles was standing. Mrs.
Here it looked as if quiet order, cheerful obedience, willingness on the part of all, were ingrained in the people. Indeed, it was ever so different. By this time the rough table was set and Mrs. Papineau deplored the fact that Hugo had not consented to remain. "Heem is 'urted more as vat he tink," she confided to the girl. "To-morrow somebody go to de leetle shack an' fin' 'ow he is.
'Is toes'll 'urt till they're rotted away in the ground. An' 'e tells as 'ow 'is sister's holdest boy got 'is leg hamputated, poor soul! an' 'ow 'is toes 'urted till they was took an' buried an' rotted away. Some doctors don't bury 'em, an' they do say," and here Mrs. Fallows' voice dropped quite to a whisper, "as 'ow that keeps 'em sore all the longer.
"W'ere you is 'urted?" But while she was asking her question she had found the gash and was growing alarmed at its ugliness, when Raoul, having made everything fast, came in with: "Wat's de mattah, 'Sieur Frowenfel'? w'at's de mattah wid you? Oo done dat, 'Sieur Frowen fel'?"
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