“I did not understand at first--when Madame Maillet told me,” she confessed, with a smile. “Old Etienne came at noon to tell her and she has told it to me. It is very sad--but yet it is comical when I look at you. But as I look at you I understand better. You have a good heart. I can see!” “I am only a strolling stranger--here to-day and there to-morrow,” protested Farr. “I think the heat must have affected my head. It has been very warm lately. But when I saw her--” He choked suddenly. “Oh, it is easy to understand,” said the girl, reassuringly. A mist of tears came across her big eyes, though her mouth did not lose the wistful smile. “The poor folks help one another--and they understand.” “It wouldn't be right to give her to an orphanage,” insisted Farr. “She has missed too much already. Of course I don't pretend to know what a little girl needs--but I am willing to be told.” “I will tell you and I will help.” “I think old Etienne and I need you in the partnership--as adviser. I thank you.” Then came the old Canadian, his wrinkled face tender with solicitous interest, and he chuckled when he welcomed the new member of the firm. “Ah, Mam'selle Zelie she shall help us the very much in what we do not know,” he informed the young man, and continued, while the dark eyes flashed protest: “I am of the Tadousac country, and she is a good girl, for I have know her all the years since I trot her on my knee when she much small as the petite Rosemarie. I can tell you how she dance down the meadows in the ring-a-rosy play and how she--” “Phut! Your tongue is as long as your rake and it goes reaching down into other folks' affairs, old Etienne! What cares this strange gentleman for what happened in Tadousac? Go use your key instead of your tongue. Unlock your little door so that Rosemarie may walk on the cool grass beside the canal.” The old man grinned and started away. “We're going out where the birds will sing good night to you,” Farr told the child and lifted her off his knees. But at the door she stopped and turned to Zelie Dionne, who had not risen. “Come, play-mamma!” “I will wait here till you come back, Rosemarie.” But the child was coaxingly insistent, holding out her hand. “I think it is because she has been so lonely all her life,” suggested Farr. “Now that she has found friends she wants them to be with her in her little pleasures. May I presume enough to add my invitation to hers?” She came and the child walked between them, holding their hands. “One papa and my play-mamma!” she said, looking up at them in turn. Mother Maillet came to the kitchen door and waved adieu with her dish-towel. “Ah, the family!” she cried. “Yesterday it was not--to-day it is. And grandpere marching off ahead!” “Old folks and children--they say embarrassing things,” remarked Farr when they were on their way. “One must be silly along with them to be disturbed by such chatter,” said Zelie Dionne, tartly.