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 with its stopper made of silver buttons cut from a peasant’s jacket and soldered together—and after brimming each glass, seated himself and took his meal with the others, bowing them out when breakfast was over—hat in hand—as if they were ambassadors of a foreign court—gentleman and peasant, as he is—while they, full to their eyelids, stumbled up into their several carts, their women climbing in after.

And a great day it was for an out-door meal or for anything else one’s soul longed for—and they have these days in Normandy in October, when the fire is out in the Marmouset, the air a caress, and a hunger for the vanished summer comes over you. So soothing was the touch of the autumn air, and so lovely the tones of the autumn sky, that Louis hauled out a sketch-box from beneath a pile of canvases, and tucking one of them under his arm, disappeared through the big gate in the direction of the old church. Brierley took down his gun, and, calling Peter, strolled out of the court-yard promising to be back at luncheon, while Herbert, who had risen at dawn and walked to Houlgate to bid The Engineer good-by, dragged out an easy-chair from the “Gal-