Marie | Page 6

child. Come right along with me,
my dear. Alone, are ye, and night coming on!"
"That's right, Abby!" cried De Arthenay, with feverish eagerness. "Yes,

yes, take her home with you and make her comfortable. She is a
stranger, and has no friends, so she says. I--I'll see you in the morning
about her. Take her! take her in where she will be comfortable, and
I'll--"
"I'll pay you well for it," was what he was going to say, but Abby's
quiet look stopped the words on his lips. Why should he pay her for
taking care of a stranger, of whom he knew no more than she did;
whom he had never seen till this moment?--why, indeed! and she was
as well able to pay for the young woman's keep as he was to say the
least. All this De Arthenay saw, or fancied he saw, in Abby Rock's
glance. He turned away, muttering something about seeing them in the
morning; then, with an abrupt bow, which yet was not without grace,
he strode swiftly down the street and took his way home.
CHAPTER III.
ABBY ROCK.
If Abby Rock's kitchen was not heaven, it seemed very near it to Marie
that evening. She found herself suddenly in an atmosphere of peace and
comfort of which her life had heretofore known nothing. The evening
had fallen chill outside, but here all was warm and light and cheerful,
and the warmth and cheer seemed to be embodied in the person of the
woman who moved quickly to and fro, stirring the fire, putting the
kettle on the hob (for those were the days of the open fire, of crane and
kettle, and picturesque, if not convenient, housekeeping), drawing a
chair up near the cheerful blaze. Marie felt herself enfolded with
comfort. A shawl was thrown over her shoulders; she was lifted like a
child, and placed in the chair by the fireside; and now, as she sat in a
dream, fearing every moment to wake and find herself back in the old
life again, a cup of tea, hot and fragrant, was set before her, and the
handkerchief tenderly loosened from her neck, while a kind voice bade
her drink, for it would do her good.
"You look beat out, and that's the fact," said Abby Rock. "To-morrow
you shall tell me all about it, but you no need to say a single word

to-night, only just set still and rest ye. I'm a lone woman here. I buried
my mother last June, and I'm right glad to have company once in a
while. Abby Rock, my name is; and perhaps if you'd tell me yours, we
should feel more comfortable like, when we come to sit down to supper.
What do you say?"
Her glance was so kind, her voice so cordial and hearty, that Marie
could have knelt down to thank her. "I am Marie," she said, smiling
back into the kind eyes. "Only Marie, nossing else."
"Maree!" repeated Abby Rock. "Well, it's a pretty name, sure enough;
has a sound of 'Mary' in it, too, and that was my mother's name. But
what was your father's name, or your mother's, if so be your father ain't
living now?"
Marie shook her head. "I never know!" she said. "All the days I lived
with Mere Jeanne in the village, far away, oh, far, over the sea."
"Over the sea?" said Abby. "You mean the bay, don't you,--some of
those French settlements down along the shore?"
But Marie meant the sea, it appeared; for her village was in France, in
Eretagne, and there she had lived till the day when Mere Jeanne died,
and she was left alone, with no-one belonging to her. Mere Jeanne was
not her mother, no! nor yet her grandmother,--only her mother's aunt,
but good, Abby must understand, good as an angel, good as Abby
herself. And when she was dead, there was only her son, Jeannot, and
he had married a devil,--but yes!--as Abby exclaimed, and held up her
hands in reproof,--truly a devil of the worst kind; and one day, when
Jeannot was away, this wife had sold her, Marie, to another devil, Le
Boss, who made the tours in the country for to sing and to play. And he
had brought her away to this country, over very dreadful seas, where
one went down into the grave at every instant, and then up again to the
clouds, but leaving one's stomach behind one--ah, but terrible! Others
were with them, oh, yes!--This in response to Abby's question, for in
spite of her good resolutions, curiosity was taking possession of her,
and it was evidently a relief to Marie to pour out her little tale in a
sympathetic ear,--many others. La Patronne, the wife of Le