As the sun rose, Margot came out of her own room, fresh from her that had washed all away, as the good sleep had also all perplexities. Happy at all times, she was most so at morning, when, to her nature-loving eyes, the world seemed to have been made anew and doubly beautiful. The gay little melodies she had picked up from Pierre, or Angelique—who had been a sweet singer in her day—and now again from Adrian, were always on her lips at such an hour, and were dear beyond expression to her uncle’s ears.
But this morning she seemed to be singing them to the empty air. There was nobody in the living room, nor in the “study-library,” as the called the room [Pg 121]of books, nor even in the kitchen. That was oddest of all! For there, at least, should Angelique have been, frying, or , or , as the case might be. Yet the coffee stood simmering, at one corner of the and a bowl of eggs waited ready for the omelet which Angelique could make to perfection.
“Why, how still it is! As if everybody had gone away and left the island alone.”
She ran to the door and called: “Adrian!”
No answer.
“Pierre! Angelique! Where is everybody?”
Then she saw Angelique coming down the slope and ran to meet her. With one hand the woman carried a brimming pail of milk and with the other dragged by his collar the reluctant form of Reynard, who appeared as guilty and as if he had been born a slave not free. To make matters more difficult, Meroude was surreptitiously herself to a breakfast from the pail [Pg 122]and ruining its contents for other uses.
“Oh! the plague of a life with such beasts! And him the worst o’ they all. The ver’ next time my Pierre goes cross-lake, that fox goes or I do! There’s no room on the island for the two of us. No. Indeed no. The harm comes of takin’ in folks and beasties and friendin’ them ’at don’t deserve it. What now, think you?”
Margot had run the faster, as soon as she poor Reynard’s state, and had taken him under her own protection, which immediately restored him to his natural pride and noble bearing.
“I think nothing evil of my pet, believe that! See the beauty now! That’s the difference between harsh words and loving ones. If you’d only treat the ‘beasties’ as well as you do me, Angelique dear, you’d have less cause for scolding. What I think now is—speckled rooster. Right?”
“Aye. Dead as dead; and the feathers [Pg 123]still stickin’ to the villain’s . What’s the life of such to that o’ good ? Pst! Meroude! Scat! Well, if it’s milk you will, milk you shall!” and, turning angrily about, Snowfoot’s mistress dashed the entire contents of her pail over the annoying cat.
Margot laughed till the tears came. “Why, Angelique! only the other day, in that old ‘Book of Beauty’ uncle has, I read how a Queen of Naples, and some Parisian beauties, used baths of milk for their ; but poor Meroude’s a hopeless case, I fear.”
Angelique’s took on a grim expression. “Mistress Meroude’s got a day’s job to clean herself, the greedy. It’s not her nose’ll go in the pail another mornin’. No. No, indeed.”
“And it was so full. Yet that’s the same Snowfoot who was to give us no more, because of the broken glass. Angelique, where’s uncle?”
[Pg 124]
“How should I tell? Am I set to spy the master’s ins and outs?”
“Funny Angelique! You’re not set to do it, but you can usually tell them. And where’s Adrian? I’ve called and called, but nobody answers. I can’t guess where they all are. Even Pierre is out of sight, and he’s mostly to be found at the kitchen door when meal time comes.”
“There, there, child. You can ask more questions than old Angelique can answer. But the breakfast. That’s a good thought. So be. Whisk in and mix the cakes for the master’s eatin’. ’Tis he, foolish man, finds they have better from Margot’s fingers than mine. Simple one, with all his wisdom.”
“It’s love gives them savor, sweet Angelique! and the desire to see me a proper housewife. I wonder why he cares about that, since you are here to do such things.”
“Ah! The ‘I wonders!’ and the ‘Is its?’ of a maid! They set the head awhirl. The [Pg 125]batter cakes, my child. I see the master comin’ down the hill this minute.”
Margot paused long enough to Tom, the eagle, who met her on the path, then sped indoors, leaving Reynard to his own devices and Angelique’s not too tender mercies. But she put all her energy into the task assigned her and proudly placed a plate of her uncle’s favorite dainty before him when he took his seat at table. Till then she had not noticed its altered arrangement, and even her ’s : “Well done, little housekeeper!” could not the sudden fear that her.
“Why, what does it mean? Where is Adrian? Where Pierre? Why are only dishes for three?”
“Pst! my child! Hast been askin’ questions in the sleep? Sure, you have ever since your eyes flew open. Say your grace and eat your meat, and let the master rest.”
“Yes, darling. Angelique is wise. Eat [Pg 126]your breakfast as usual, and I will tell you all—that you should know.”
“But, I cannot eat. It chokes me. It seems so still and strange and empty. As I should think it might be, were somebody dead.”
Angelique’s patience was . Not only was her loyal heart tried by her master’s troubles, but she had had added to accomplish. During all that summer two strong and, at least one, willing lads had been at hand to do the various chores to all country homes, however . That morning she had brought in her own supply of fire-wood, filled her buckets from the spring, attended the , fed the oxen, milked Snowfoot, over the of Reynard and grieved at the untimely death of the speckled rooster: “When he would have made such a lovely fricasee, yes. Indeed, ’twas a sinful waste!”
Though none of these tasks were new or to her, she had not performed them [Pg 127]during the past weeks, save and except the care of her............