"All right," he said, turning away with a shrug of his shoulders. "Unpractical as ever, ain't you? Think it over, my son. Glad to have met you, Mr. Priest, and as I'm always busy I guess Dubois and I will start for home this afternoon." Jacqueline looked at me, and I shook my head. I didn't want Tom to witness it. But a word from Pere Antoine changed the hostile tenor of my thoughts to warm and human ones. "Messieurs," he said, "doubtless you know what day this is?" Tom started. "Why, good Lord, it--it's Christmas Day, isn't it?" he asked, a little sheepishly. "It's a bigger day for us," I said to Tom. He squinted at me in his shrewd manner; and then he got up from the table and wrung my hand. "Good luck to you both," he said. "Say, Mr. Dubois, I guess we can pitch our tent here to-night--don't you?" Alfred Dubois was grappling with our hands again; but his onset was less ferocious, because he had to loose us every now and then to slap me on the back and blow his nose. "If only _la petite Madeleine_ could be here!" he shouted. And I am sure that was his dinner voice I heard. THE END End of Project Gutenberg's Jacqueline of Golden River, by H. M. Egbert