The things we do!

An old man, brown, bent
and wrinkled, was digging about the shrubbery, perhaps preparing
some of the plants for their winter sleep. He was clad in leather
and linsey, and seemed ancient as the hills. He resumed his song.
Josephine leaned out from the casement and softly joined in the
refrain:
"Rendez-moi ma patrie, ou laissez-moi mourir!"
[Illustration: An old man, brown, bent and wrinkled]
The old man dropped his spade. "_Mon Dieu_!" he exclaimed, and
looked all about, around, then at last up.
"Ah! _Bon jour_, Mademoiselle!" he said, smiling and taking off his
old fur cap. "You spik also my language, Mademoiselle?"
"_Mais oui_, Monsieur," rejoined Josephine; and addressed him
further in a few sentences on trivial topics. Then, suddenly
resolved, she stepped out of her own room, passed softly down the
stair, out through the wide central hall, and so, having
encountered no one, joined the ancient man on the lawn. It chanced
he had been at labor directly in front of one of the barred lower
windows.


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