What if she had left camp of her own will? She was so quiet, one could not be sure of her thoughts. Brown was sure of his thoughts. He grinned in the lonely landscape, seeing himself as he had appeared on recent Sundays, in his best turtle-tail neck-tie mounted on velvet. “I've got it bad,” he confessed. Stooping to Jim's collar while the dog whined and strained, he passed a cabin. And there Jim relaxed in the search and turned around. The moon stood high enough to make a wan fairy daylight. Gougou, like a gnome, started from the ground to meet them, and the dog at once lay down and fawned at his feet. More slowly approaching from the cabin, Brown saw Françoise, still carrying in her hand the bundle of her belongings brought from camp. In the shadow of the house a man watched the encounter, and a sift of rank tobacco smoke hinted the pipes of fathers and sons resting from the day's labor on the cabin door-sill or the sward. Voices of children could be heard, and other dogs gave mouth, so that Brown laid severe commands on Jim before he could tremblingly speak to Françoise. “Oh, M'sieu' Brownee, I t'ink maybe you come!” “But, Françoise, what made you leave?” “It is my husban's brudder. I not know what to do! He bring us to dese folks to stay all night till de cars go.” “Why didn't he show himself to us, and take you like a man?” “Oh, M'sieu' Brownee--he say de priest hexcommunicate me--to live--so--in de camp! It is not my fault--and I t'ink about you and M'sieu' Put-tanee--and Gougou he bite his honcle, and kick and scream!” “Damn the uncle!” swore Brown, deeply. “Oh, I been so anxion!” sobbed Françoise. “We must be married right off,” said Brown. “I'll fix your brother-in-law. Françoise, will yon have me for your husband?” “Me, M'sieu' Brownee?” “Yes, you--you cursed sweet patois!” “M'sieu' Brownee, you may call me de cursed patois. I not know anyt'ings. But when André La France take me away, oh, I t'ink I die! Let me honly be Françoise to do your mend'! I be 'appier to honly look at you dan some womans who 'ave 'usban'!” “Françoise, kiss me--kiss me!” His voice broke with a sob. “If you loved me you would have me!” “M'sieu' Brownee, I ado' you!” Suddenly giving way to passionate weeping, and to all the tenderness which nature teaches even barbarians to repress, she abandoned herself to his arms. End of Project Gutenberg's The Cursed Patois, by Mary Hartwell Catherwood