Chapter 15
15. The French Family Tilda Jane stood entranced. This was not the Dilsen cottage. The coachman had made a mistake.
She stood staring in the window, for this was a sight that pleased her above all other sights. Here was another family—a happy family, evidently, all gathered around a cheerful fire in a good-sized living-room. There were an old grandfather in the corner smoking a pipe, an old woman beside him with
a white cap on her head, a middle-aged man cleaning a gun by the light of a lamp on the table, a middle-aged woman knitting a stocking, and a cluster of children of all ages about the grandfather, grandmother, father and mother. Mingled with the crackling of the open fire was a very gay clatter of tongues speaking in some foreign language, and one boy's voice soared above the rest in the words of a song
that Tilda Jane was afterward to learn. She gazed at them until the sense of increasing cold checked her rapture and made her move door and wrap on it. It was immediately opened by a brown-eyed child and held far back as if she were expected to enter.
"'Can you tell me where Mr. Hobart Dilson lives?' "'Way, mam'selle,' murmured the child, bashfully hanging her head. "'But enter, it is cold,' called the mother, rising and coming forward, stocking in hand. Tilda Jane felt drawn toward this alluring family circle, and one minute later was sitting in a chair on its circumference.
"'But come in, doggy,' said the mother gently to poacher, who stood hesitating on the threshold. He came in, and was greeted silently and politely by two respectable currs that rose from the hearthstone for the purpose. Then he lay down beside them and gratefully extended his limbs to the fire. Tilda Jane sat for a minute looking about her without speaking.
These people were not staring at her, but they were all stealing occasional curious glances in her direction. "'I'm looking for Hobart Dilson's,' she said bluntly. "'But I guess there ain't no such person, for the nearer I get the more he seems to run off.'
The mother of the family smiled, and Tilda Jane gazed in admiration at the soft black eyes under the firm brows. "'I can tell you, mademoiselle, he is near by, even next door.' "'Oh!' murmured Tilda Jane. Then she fell into meditation.
These people were foreigners, poor, too, evidently, though perfectly neat and clean. She wondered how they got into the country. "'You are immigrants?' she said at last inquiringly. "'French,' said the woman. "'Casian French, sent from our country long ago.
Our people went back. We returned to earn our little money. Too many people where we lived.' "'Did you come through Vanceborough?' asked Tilda Jane. The woman's liquid eyes appealed to her husband.
He shrugged his shoulders, looked down the barrel of his gun, and said, "'It is a long time ago we come. I do not know.' "'Maybe they weren't so particular,' observed Tilda Jane. "'Let them do,' came in a sepulchral voice from the fireplace.
Tilda Jane stared at the old grandfather, who had taken his pipe from his mouth to utter the phrase, and was now putting it back. The house-mother addressed her. "'Do not fear, mademoiselle. It is the only English he knows.
He means—all right. Do not anxious yourself. Be calm. Very calm.' "'Does he?'
murmured Tilda Jane. And she added unwillingly, "'I must be going.' "'Delay yourself a little,' urged the woman, and her pitying eyes ran over the girl's drooping figure.
"'The children go to make corn hot. Marie?' and a stream of foreign syllables trickled and gurgled from her lips, delighting and fascinating her caller. A little maid danced from the fireplace to one of the tiny pigeonhole rooms opening from and presently came back with a bag of corn and a popper.
"'And a glass of milk for mademoiselle,' said the woman to another child. Tilda Jane was presently sipping her milk, eating a piece of dark brown bread, and gazing dreamily at the fire. Why could she not linger in this pleasant home? "'You know, Mr. Dilson,' she said, rousing herself with an effort, and turning to her
hostess. "'But yes, we have lived next to him for so many years.' "'Do you think I can keep house for him?' asked Tilda Jane wistfully. The woman hesitated, laid her knitting on her lap, and thoughtfully smoothed her tweed dress.
"'You are young for that, mademoiselle, yet,' and she scrutinized Tilda Jane's dark, composed, almost severe face. "'If a girl could do it, I should think, yes, you can. He is sick, poor man. He walks not well at all.
It makes him—' "'Like the evil one,' muttered her husband, clutching his gun more tightly. "'If he was a crow, I would shoot.' "'Let him do,' came in guttural tones from Grandfather's corner. The woman laughed merrily, and all anxiety faded from her face.
"'Hartu, grand-père! It makes me feel good, so good. No one can make us feel bad if we feel not bad ourselves. Dilsen is sick. He is not happy.
Let us not be sick too. Let us be happy. Allons, mes enfants, escalers!' And then followed more smooth syllables that Tilda Jane did not understand. She soon saw, however, that an order had been given to butter and salt the corn, and presently
she was shyly but sweetly offered some by the French children. Even Poacher and Gippi had some kernels laid before them, and in the midst of her concern as to Mr. Dilsen's behaviour, her heart swelled with gratitude to think that she should have such good neighbours. Here all was gentleness and peace.
She had never seen so kind a woman, such amiable children. Did they ever quarrel and slap each other?' she wondered. "'It's getting late, ain't it?' she exclaimed at last, with uneasiness. I must go,' and she rose quickly.
"'But you can stay all night if you desire,' said the woman, motioning toward the pigeon-holes. "'Stay, and go next door in the morning.' "'No, no, I must not,' said Tilda Jane very hastily, through fear that she might yield to so pleasant a temptation. "'But can I drop in and see you by spells?'
"'But yes, yes, certainly. Come often,' said the woman. "'Come at any hour,' she said under her breath, and seizing Tilda Jane's hand in her own. "'If it is not agreeable there at any time, run here.' "'I'm obliged to you,' said Tilda Jane gratefully.
"'Much obliged. And if you want any floors scrubbed or anything done, just you run over and get me. I'll come.' And with a sturdy nod of her head she took her dogs and slipped out into the darkness. "'If agreeable, leave your dogs here till morning,' called the woman after her.
The little girl shook her head. "'I guess he'd better see him right off. Good night, and thank you.' The woman clasped her hands, and, looking up at the sky before she went into the house, murmured in her own language,
"'Holy one, guard her from that terrible rage!'
