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Updated: May 31, 2025
At length he mustered courage to touch his friend's arm softly with his little hand. "I didn't go to do it!" he said. "Don't ye cry, Mis' De Arthenay! I don't know what I did, but I didn't go to do it, nohow." Marie turned and looked at him, and smiled through her tears. "Dear little Petie!" she said, stroking the curly head, "you done nossing, little Petie. It was the honger, no more!
"Who came with you?" De Arthenay continued. "Who are your folks?" Marie shook her head, and a light crept into her eyes as she thought of Le Boss. "I have nobodies'" she said. "I am with myself, sauf le violon; I mean, wiz my fiddle. Monsieur likes not music, no?" She looked wistfully at him, and something seemed to rise up in the man's throat and choke him.
She saw little of the neighbours at first. The women looked rather askance at her, and thought her little better than a fool, even if she had contrived to make one of Jacques De Arthenay. She never seemed to understand their talk, and had a way of looking past them, as if unaware of their presence, that was disconcerting, when one thought well of oneself.
When the bewildered child could clear her eyes from the mist of fright that clouded them, Le Boss was lying on the ground; and towering over him like an avenging spirit, his blue eyes aflame, his strong hands clenched for another blow, stood Jacques De Arthenay. Just what happened next, Marie never quite knew. Words were said as in a dream.
It would be cowardly to drop the burden on Abby's shoulders, she only a woman like the rest of them, even if she had somewhat more sense. So Jacques De Arthenay sat by his fire till it was cold and dead, a miserable and a wrathful man; and he too slept little that night.
She moved slightly, swayed on her seat; her fingers beat time, as did the slender, well-shaped foot which peeped from under her scant blue skirt. Suddenly De Arthenay stopped short, and tapped sharply on his fiddle, while the dancers, breathless and exhausted, fell back by the roadside again. Stepping out from the porch, he made a low bow to Miss Vesta.
The best day's work Reuel Green has ever done was to die and leave that money to Lovina." "Why, Vesta!" said Miss Rejoice's soft voice; "how you do talk!" "Well, it's true!" Miss Vesta replied. "And you know it, Rejoice, my dear, as well as I do. Any other news in Joppa, Mr. De Arthenay? I haven't heard from over there for a long time."
The skipper had by no means over praised his cook, who turned them out a better dinner than any that they had eaten since the troubles began, with the exception only of those they had had at Arthenay. "He takes a pride in it," the captain said, "and you will never get good work done in any line, unless by a man who does so.
"Better luck to-morrow, Miss Vesta! better luck tomorrow! There's One has her in charge, and He didn't need us to-day; that's all, my dear." God help thee, De Arthenay! God speed and prosper thee, Rosin the Beau! But is not another name more fitting even than the fantastic one of his adoption?
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