"All right," responded monsieur at last, "Sophie gets the acres and the
house in her dot."

"You won't give young Vanne Castine a chance?" asked the notary. "The
mortgage is for four hundred dollars and the place is worth seven
hundred!"

No one replied. "Very well, my Israelites," added Shangois, bending over
the contract.

An hour later, Nicolas Lavilette was in the big storeroom of the
farmhouse, which was reached by a covered passage from the hall between
the kitchen and the dining-room. In his off-hand way he was getting out
some flour, dried fruit and preserves for the cook, who stood near as he
loaded up her arms. He laughingly thrust a string of green peppers under
her chin, and added a couple of sprigs of summer-savoury, then suddenly
turned round, with a start, for a peculiar low whistle came to him
through the half-open window. It was followed by heavy stertorous
breathing.

He turned back again to the cook, gaily took her by the shoulders, and
pushed her to the door. Closing it behind her, he shot the bolt and ran
back to the window. As he did so, a hand appeared on the windowsill,
and a face followed the hand.

"Ha! Nicolas Lavilette, is that you? So, you know my leetla whistle
again!"

Nicolas's brow darkened. In old days he and this same Vanne Castine had
been in many a scrape together, and Vanne, the elder, had always borne