He looked at the little quick-moving form, grayish white in the starlight, with the dark copper vessel balanced on her head, going to and fro betwixt the well and the garden.
"You did not go to the pilgrimage, poor little one!" he said across the sweetbrier hedge.

"Nay, that was too bad; work, work, work--thy pretty back should not be bent double yet.

You want a holiday, Bebee; well, the Fete Dieu is near.

Jeannot shall take you, and maybe I can find a few sous for gingerbread and merry-go-rounds.

You sit dull in the market all day; you want a feast." Bebee colored behind the hedge, and ran in and brought three new-laid eggs that she had left in the flour-bin in the early morning, and thrust them on him through a break in the brier.