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 worthy Mrs. Métrailleur, mildly interested. “It’s a pity you don’t want no housekeeper, Mr. Philippe—not but what I know Mrs. Brown does for you, an’ she’s as good as the next two, as they say. On’y you’d understand the old lady’s ways, an’ her lingo, an’ they’re both beyond me, I’m sure. Been sick quite a long time, ain’t you? You must mind an’ take good care o’ yourself now—look as if you could do with a real good old feedin’ up, so you do—an’ that reminds me, gran’ma, your dinner will be all dried; I put it in the oven; Susy an’ I done ours. You won’t come in an’ have a bite with her, Mr. Philippe, I s’pose? I’d make you a real good cup o’ tea. . . . Well, you must drop in some other time, then, an’ have a chat with gran’ma. We’d be pleased to see you any time, I’m sure. Joseph, he was sayin’ on’y at breakfast what a lot he thought o’ you. Come on, gran’ma. Bless you, she don’t take in more than half a word at a time o’ what I say! Goodbye, Mr. Philippe.”

“Come on, gran’ma!” repeated Susy, officiously. “An’ why ever in the world didn’t you go an’ put a hat on, instead of that silly old hankey?” she added loudly as they went away—resolved that Mr. Philippe should see there was one member of the family knew what was proper, anyhow. Susy was universally reckoned “a pretty smart little girl.”

Philippe watched the three of them thoughtfully, as they crossed the paddock and entered Métrailleur’s back-door; he sat thinking for a minute or two longer, and then he too left the velvety paddock, and went back down the street. Like the poor old Nanette, he also was late for dinner; and Mrs. Brown, although she would not dare to scold, he