Part 26 (1/2)

”Yes, some women are,” Christine said, ”but men look after them and say, 'What big, gawky women!' and you don't want to be looked after. If people did so, they would see that you didn't walk one bit like a woman, and that your shoulders were very wide, and your arms very strong, and--

”Oh no! It wouldn't do at all. I must think it over.

”I suppose you want that great blue-coated bear to go?” and she nodded at Tim Doyle who--not being able to speak a word of her language--was always indulging in the most absurd pantomime of love and devotion; causing screams of laughter to the merry German girl.

”Yes, Tim must go too, Christine.”

”Ha, ha!” laughed the girl. ”Fancy him as a woman.”

”What is she saying about me, Mister Percy?”

”She says you would make a very pretty woman, Tim.”

”Tare and ages, Mister Percy,” Tim said, taking it quite seriously, ”how could I do it, at all? I'd have to shave off all my beautiful beard and mustaches and, even then, I doubt if you would mistake me for a woman.”

The boys screamed with laughter, and translated the Irishman's speech to Christine; who laughed so that her mother came into the room.

”Look here, children,” she said, smiling, ”I don't want to know what you are talking about. If anything of any sort happens, I may be asked questions; and I don't want to have to tell stories. I can't help hearing, if you leave the door open, and laugh so--indeed, all the neighborhood might hear it; so please shut the door, in future.”

So saying, she again went back to her work in the next room.

”Goodbye, I'm going, too,” Christine said. ”I will think it over, by tomorrow morning, and tell you what you are to do.”

The next morning, the boys were very anxious to hear Christine's proposals; for although they had quite made up their minds to try their own plan, if hers was not feasible, still they felt that, with her knowledge of the country, she was likely, at any rate, to give them good advice.

Until she had cleared away breakfast, Christine said nothing. Then she took out her knitting, and sat against the window.

”Now,” she began, ”I will tell you what I have thought of. It would be easy enough, if it was not for him. He's so big, and so red, and he doesn't speak German.

”Oh dear, he's very tiresome!” and she shook her head at Tim; who smiled, laid his hand on his breast, and endeavored to look affecting.

Christine laughed.

”The only thing I can think of, for him, is that he shall go out as a Jew peddler; with one of their broad hats, and a tray of little trinkets. He might pa.s.s, if none of the soldiers took it into their heads to buy.”

The proposition was translated to Tim Doyle.

”Is it me, your honor--me, Tim Doyle, a good Catholic, and come of honest people--that's to turn myself into a haythin Jew?” the Irishman burst out, with great indignation. ”It was bad enough that I should be made into a woman, but a haythin Jew! I put it to your honors, it's nayther sinsible nor dacent.”

The boys went off in screams of laughter. Christine laughed for a moment, too, when they translated Tim's speech to her; and then looked indignant that the proposition, which had cost her so much thought, should be so scornfully rejected.

Tim saw the look, and at once went on, persuasively:

”Sure now, darlint Miss Christine, don't be angry wid me, out of your bright blue eyes! But is it raisonable--is it natural to ask a Christian man to make a haythin Jew of himself? Would you like it, yourself?”

When the boys could stop laughing, they translated Tim's appeal.

”Did you ever see such an absurd man?” she said, laughing. ”As if it could make any difference to his religion. Tell him I am a good Catholic, too, but I should not mind dressing up as a Jewess.”

”Sure, thin, darlint,” Tim exclaimed, when her speech was translated, ”I will go as a Jew, directly, if you'll go with me and be my Jewess.”

Christine laughed, blushed, shook her head and said, ”Nonsense!”