The Cursed Patois | Page 2

don't know," sheepishly responded his partner.
"A Dutchman ought to have more sense than to load up with a lot of cursed patois. Nothing but French and Indian! We'll have to put the precious dears in the sleeping-tent, and bunk down ourselves with blankets in the other. Did you air the blankets good this morning, Frank?"
"They vos veil aired."
"You're a soft mark, Frank! One of us will have to marry Joe La France's widow--that's what it will come to!" Brown slapped the water in violent disgust, but Puttany blushed a dark and modest red.
Men of their class rarely have vision or any kind of foresight. They live in the present and plan no farther than their horizon, being, like children, overpowered by visible things. But the Irish Canadian had lived many lives as lake sailor and lumberman, and he had a shrewd eye and quick humor. It was he who had devised the conveniences of the camp, and who delicately and skilfully prepared the meals so that the two fared like epicures; while Puttany did the scullery-work, and was superior only at deerstalking.
The perfume of coffee presently sifted abroad, and the table was brought out and set under the evening sky. Lockers gave up their store of bread and pastry made by the capable hands of the camp housekeeper. The woman, their guest, sat watching him move from cook-tent to table, and Puttany lounged on the dog-kennel, whittling a stick.
"Frank," said his partner, with sudden authority, "you take the kid down to the water and scrub him."
"All over?" whispered Puttany, in confusion.
"No--just his hands and top. Supper is ready to put on."
The docile mother heard her child yelling and blubbering under generous douches while nurse's duty was performed by one of her entertainers, and she smiled in proof that her faith was grounded on their righteousness. She was indeed a mere girl. Her short scarlet upper lip showed her teeth with piquant innocence. As much a creature of the woods as a doe, her lot had been that primitive struggle which knows nothing about the amenities and proprieties of civilization. This Brown could clearly see, and he addressed her with the same protecting patronage he would have used with the child.
"What's your kid's name?"
"Grégoire, but he call himself Gougou. Me, I am Fran?oise La France."
"Yes, I know that..You have had a hard time since Joe died."
"I been anxion"--she clasped her hands and looked pleadingly at him--"I been very anxion!"
"Well, you're all right now."
"You let me do de mend'? I can sew. I use' learn to sew when I have t'ing to sew on."
"Jerusalem! look at them shirts on the line! We have more clothes to sew on than any dude at the hotels. And if that isn't enough, I'll make Puttany strip and stay in the brush while you do his clothes."
Fran?oise widened her smile.
"I've been thinking we'll have to build you a house right over there." Her entertainer indicated the shore behind her.
"Oppos'?" exclaimed Fran?oise, turning with pleased interest. Even in her husband's lifetime little thought had ever been taken for her.
"Yes, directly opposite. We can fix it up snug like our winter camp at the other end of the lake."
"Have you two camp?"
"Yes--a winter camp and a summer camp. But we have stayed comfortably here in the cook-tent until the thermometer went fourteen degrees below zero. We'll sleep in it till we get your house done, and you can take the tent. If there are no parties wanting guides, we might as well begin it in the morning."
"But," faltered Fran?oise, "afterw'iles when de ice is t'ick, and you go to de hudder camp--"
"Oh, we'll take care of you," he promised. "You and Gougou will go with us. We couldn't leave you on this side."
"In de dark nights," shuddered Fran?oise.
"You needn't be afraid, any time. When we are off during the day we always leave Jess and Jim to guard the camp. Jess is a Scotch collie and Jim is a blood-hound. He's there in the kennel. Neither man nor varmint would have any chance with them."
"I been use' to live alone when my husban' is away, M'sieu' Brownee. I not 'fraid like you t'ink. But if Gougou be cold and hongry."
"Now that's enough," said Brown, with gentle severity. "Gougou will never be cold and hungry again while there's a stick of wood to be cut on the shores of this lake, or any game to bag, or a 'lunge to spear through the ice. We get about two days' lumbering a week down by St. Ignace. No use to work more than two days a week," he explained, jocosely. "That gives us enough to live on; and everybody around here owes us from fifty to a hundred dollars back pay for work, anyhow. I've bought this ground, twenty acres