"La, la," she said, with a whimsical
quirk of the head, and no apparent relevancy:
"Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,
Your house is on fire, and your children all gone."
The remedy was good. Tarboe's eyes came again to their natural
liveliness, and Bissonnette said:
"My throat's like a piece of sand-paper."
Tarboe handed over a brandy flask, after taking a pull himself, and then
sitting down on one of the kegs, he said: "It is as you see, and now
Angel Point very quick. To get it there safe, that's the thing!" Then,
scanning the sky closely: "It's for a handsome day, and the wind goes to
bear us up fine. Good! Well, for you, Bissonnette, there shall be a
thousand dollars, you shall have the Belle Chatelaine Inn and the little
lady at Point Pierrot. For the rest, you shall keep a quiet tongue, eh?
If not, my Bissonnette, we shall be the best of strangers, and you shall
not be happy. Hein?"
Bissonnette's eyes flashed. "The Belle Chatelaine? Good! That is
enough. My tongue is tied; I cannot speak; it is fastened with a
thousand pegs."
"Very good, a thousand gold pegs, and you shall never pull them. The
little lady will have you with them, not without; and unless you stand by
me, no one shall have you at any price--by God!"
He stood up, but Joan put out her hand. "You have been speaking, now it
is my turn.
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