As they went, a man was going under the trees with a load of wood upon
his back. Bebee gave a little cry of recognition.
"Oh, look, that is Jeannot! How he will wonder to see me here!"
Flamen drew her a little downward, so that the forester passed onward
without perceiving them.
"Why do you do that?" said Bebee. "Shall I not speak to him?"
"Why? To have all your neighbors chatter of your feast in the forest? It
is not worth while."
"Ah, but I always tell them everything," said Bebee. whose imagination
had been already busy with the wonders that she would unfold to Mere
Krebs and the Varnhart children.
"Then you will see but little of me, my dear. Learn to be silent, Bebee.
It is a woman's first duty, though her hardest."
"Is it?"
She did not speak for some time. She could not imagine a state of
things in which she would not narrate the little daily miracles of her
life to the good old garrulous women and the little open-mouthed romps.
And yet--she lifted her eyes to his.
"I am glad you have told me that," she said. "Though indeed. I do not see
why one should not say what one does, yet--somehow--I do not like to talk
about you.
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