"She is right," said Pitou: "this delay is alarming."
"Hold your tongue, you timid creature; and let us read the doctor's treatise?" said the farmer: "It will not only make you larned, but manly."
Pitou stuck the book under his arm with so solemn a movement that it completed the winning of his protector's heart.
"Have you had your dinner?" asked he.
"No, sir," replied the youth.
"He was eating when he was driven from home," said the girl.
"Well, you go in and ask Mother Billet for the usual rations and to-morrow we will set you regularly to work."
With an eloquent look the orphan thanked him, and, conducted by Catherine, he entered the kitchen, governed by the absolute rule of Mother Billet.
CHAPTER IV.
LONG LEGS ARE GOOD FOR RUNNING
IF NOT FOR DANCING
Mistress Billet was a fat woman who honored her husband, delighted in her daughter and fed her field hands as no other housewife did for miles around. So there was a rush to be employed at Billet's.
Pitou appreciated his luck at the full value when he saw the golden loaf placed at his elbow, the pot of cider set on his right, and the chunk of mild-cured bacon before him. Since he lost his mother, five years before, the orphan had never enjoyed such cheer, even on a feast day.
He remembered, too, that his new duties of neatherd and shepherd had been fulfilled by gods and demigods.
Besides Mrs. Billet had the management of the kine and orders were not harsh from Catherine's mouth.
"You shall stay here," said she; "I have made father understand that you are good for a heap of things; for instance, you can keep the accounts – "
"Well, I know the four rules of arithmetic," said Pitou, proudly.
"You are one ahead of me. Here you stay."
"I am glad, for I could not live afar from you. Oh, I beg pardon, but that came from my heart."
"I do not bear you ill will for that," said Catherine; "it is not your fault if you like us here."
Poor young lambs, they say so much in so few words!
So Pitou did much of Catherine's work and she had more time to make pretty caps and "titivate herself up," to use her mother's words.
"I think you prettier without a cap on," he remarked.
"You may; but your taste is not the rule. I cannot go over to the town and dance without a cap on. That is all very well for fine ladies, who have the right to go bareheaded and wear powder on the hair."
"You beat them all without powder."
"Compliments again, did you learn to make them at Fortier's."
"No, he taught nothing like that."
"Dancing?"
"Lord help us – dancing at Fortier's! he made us cut capers at the end of the birch."
"So you do not know how to dance? Still you shall come along with me on Sunday, and see Master Isidor Charny dance: he is the best dancer of all the gentlemen round here."
"Who is he?"
"Owner of Boursiennes Manor. He will dance with me next Sunday."
Pitou's heart shrank without his knowing why.
"So you make yourself lovely to dance with him?" he inquired.
"With him and all the rest. You, too, if you like to learn."
Next day he applied himself to the new accomplishment and had to acknowledge that tuition is agreeable according to the tutor. In two hours he had a very good idea of the art.
"Ah, if you had taught me Latin, I don't believe I should have made so many mistakes," he sighed.
"But then you would be a priest and be shut up in an ugly old monastery where no women are allowed."
"That's so; well, I am not sorry I am not to be a priest."
At breakfast Billet reminded his new man that the reading of the Gilbert pamphlet was to take place in the barn at ten a. m. next day. That was the hour for mass, Pitou objected.
"Just why I pitch on it, to test my lads," replied the farmer.
Billet detested religious leaders as the apostles of tyranny, and seized the opportunity of setting up one altar against another.
His wife and daughter raising some remonstrance, he said that church was good enough for womanfolks, no doubt, and they might go and sleep away their time there; but it suited men to hear stronger stuff, or else the men should not work on his land.
Billet was a despot in his house; only Catherine ever coped with him and she was hushed when he frowned.
But she thought to gain something for Pitou on the occasion. She pointed out that the doctrines might suffer by the mouthpiece; that the reader was too shabby for the phrases to make a mark. So Pitou was agreeably surprised when Sunday morning came round to see the tailor enter while he was ruminating how he could "clean up," and lay on a chair a coat and breeches of sky blue cloth and a long waistcoat of white and pink stripes. At the same time a housemaid came in to put on another chair opposite the first, a shirt and a neckcloth; if the former fitted, she was to make half-a-dozen.
It was the day for surprises: behind the two came the hatter who brought a three-cocked hat of the latest fashion so full of style and elegance that nothing better was worn in Villers Cotterets.
The only trouble was that the shoes were too small for Ange: the man had made them on the last of his son who was four years the senior of Pitou. This superiority of our friend made him proud for a space, but it was spoilt by his fear that he would have to go to the ball in his old shoes – which would mar the new suit. This uneasiness was of short duration. A pair of shoes sent for Father Billet were brought at the same time and they fitted Pitou – a fact kept hidden from Billet, who might not like his new man literally stepping into his own shoes.
When Pitou, dressed, hatted, shod and his hair dressed, looked at himself in the mirror, he did not know himself. He grinned approvingly and said, as he drew himself up to his full height:
"Fetch along your Master Charnys now!"
"My eyes," cried the farmer, admiring him as much as the women when he strutted into the main room: "you have turned out a strapper, my lad. I should like Aunt Angelique to see you thus togged out. She would want you home again."
"But, papa, she could not take him back, could she?"
"As long as he is a minor – unless she forfeited her right by driving him out."
"But the five years are over," said Pitou quickly, "for which Dr. Gilbert paid a thousand francs."
"There is a man for you!" exclaimed Billet: "just think that I am always hearing such good deeds of his. D'ye see, it is life and death for him!" and he raised his hand to heaven.
"He wanted me to learn a trade," went on the youth.
"Quite right of him. See how the best intentions are given a twist. A thousand francs are left to fit a lad for the battle of life, and they put him in a priest's school to make a psalm-singer of him. How much did your aunt give old Fortier?"
"Nothing."
"Then she pocketed Master Gilbert's money?"
"It is likely enough."
"Mark ye, Pitou, I have a bit of a hint to give you. When the old humbug of a saint cracks her whistle, look into the boxes, demijohns and old crocks, for she has been hiding her savings. But to business. Have you the Gilbert book?"
"Here, in my pocket."
"Have you thought the