"I don't see that. But if you won't talk, I'll believe you think so."

The Notary shook his head. "I've not been talking for an hour, I've no
fever, and I want to say some things. When I've said them, I'll feel
better--voila! I want to make the amende honorable. I once thought
you were this and that--I won't say what I thought you. I said you
interfered--giving advice to people, as you did to Filion Lacasse,
and taking the bread out of my mouth. I said that!"

He paused, raised himself on his elbow, smoothed back his grizzled hair
behind his ears, looked at himself in the mirror opposite with
satisfaction, and added oracularly: "But how prone is the mind of man to
judge amiss! You have put bread into my mouth--no, no, Monsieur, you
shall hear me! As well as doing your own work, you have done my business
since my accident as well as a lawyer could do it; and you've given every
penny to my wife."

"As for the work I've done," answered Charley, "it was nothing--you
notaries have easy times. You may take your turn with my shears and
needle one day."

With a dash of patronage true to his nature, "You are wonderful for a
tailor," the Notary rejoined. Charley laughed--seldom, if ever, had he
laughed since coming to Chaudiere. It was, however, a curious fact that
he took a real pleasure in the work he did with his hands. In making
clothes for habitant farmers, and their sons and their sons' sons, and
jackets for their wives and daughters, he had had the keenest pleasure
of his life.

He had taken his earnings with pride, if not with exultation. He knew