Bebee was only a little foundling who ran about in wooden shoes; but she
had the "dog's soul" in her--the soul that will follow faithfully though
to receive a curse, that will defend loyally though to meet a blow, and
that will die mutely loving to the last.
She went home, how she never knew; and without the delay of a moment
packed up a change of linen, and fed the fowls and took the key of the
hut down to old Jehan's cabin. The old man was only half-witted by reason
of his affliction for his dead daughter, but he was shrewd enough to
understand what she wanted of him, and honest enough to do it.
"I am going into the city," she said to him: "and if I am not back
to-night, will you feed the starling and the hens, and water the flowers
for me?"
Old Jehan put his head out of his lattice: it was seven in the evening,
and he was going to bed.
"What are you after, little one?" he asked: going to show the fine
buckles at a students' ball? Nay, fie; that is not like you."
"I am going to--pray--dear Jehan," she answered, with a sob in her throat
and the first falsehood she ever had told.
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