'Ain't ye afeard he'll give ye the slip ?" Madelon made no reply.

There was a rattle of dishes in the pantry.
Old Luke waited a moment; then raised his shrill, infantile voice again.

"If this feller gives ye the slip, ye can jest hang up yer fiddle; ye won't git t'other one back.

Parson Fair's gal's got 'nough fine feathers comin' from Boston to fit out the Queen of England, they say." Madelon said nothing.
"D'ye hear ?" called old Luke; but he got no reply.

"Dexter Beers says a hull passel of stuff come up from Boston on the stage yesterday.
Saturday," persisted old Luke, "Mis' Beers she see an eend of blue satin a-stickin' out of one of the bundles." Old Luke waited again, with sharp eyes on the pantry.