Part 31 (1/2)

Mrs. Nimmo's manner was one that would have checked confidences in an ordinary child. It made Narcisse more eager to justify himself. ”Why does my mother cry every night?” he asked, suddenly.

”How can I tell?” answered Mrs. Nimmo, peevishly.

”I hear a noise in the night, like trees in a storm,” said Narcisse, tragically, and, drawing himself up, he fetched a tremendous sigh from the pit of his little stomach; ”then I put up my hand so,”--and leaning over, he placed three fingers on Mrs. Nimmo's eyelids,--”and my mother's face is quite wet, like leaves in the rain.”

Mrs. Nimmo did not reply, and he went on with alarming abruptness. ”She cries for the Englishman. I also cried, and one night I got out of bed.

It was very fine; there was the night sun in the sky,--you know, madame, there is a night sun and a day sun--”

”Yes, I know.”

”I went creeping, creeping to the wharf like a fly on a tree. I was not afraid, for I carried your son in my hand, and he says only babies cry when they are alone.”

”And then,--” said Mrs. Nimmo.

”Oh, the beautiful stone!” cried Narcisse, his volatile fancy attracted by a sparkling ring on Mrs. Nimmo's finger.

She sighed, and allowed him to handle it for a moment. ”I have just put it on again, little boy. I have been in mourning for the last two years.

Tell me about your going to the boat.”

”There is nothing to tell,” said Narcisse; ”it was a very little boat.”

”Whose boat was it?”

”The blacksmith's.”

”How did you get it off from the wharf?”

”Like this,” and bending over, he began to fumble with the strings of her nightcap, tying and untying until he tickled her throat and made her laugh irresistibly and push him away. ”There was no knife,” he said, ”or I would have cut it.”

”But you did wrong to take the blacksmith's boat.”

Narcisse's face flushed, yet he was too happy to become annoyed with her. ”When the Englishman is there, I am good, and my mother does not cry. Let him go back with me.”

”And what shall I do?”

Narcisse was plainly embarra.s.sed. At last he said, earnestly, ”Remain, madame, with the black man, who will take care of you. When does the Englishman arrive?”

”I do not know; run away now, I want to dress.”

”You have here a fine bathroom,” said Narcisse, sauntering across the room to an open door. ”When am I to have my bath?”

”Does your mother give you one every day?”

”Yes, madame, at night, before I go to bed. Do you not know the screen in our room, and the little tub, and the dish with the soap that smells so nice? I must scour myself hard in order to be clean.”

”I am glad to hear that. I will send a tub to your room.”

”But I like this, madame.”