Her glance was so kind, her voice so cordial and hearty, that Marie
could have knelt down to thank her. "I am Marie," she said, smiling
back into the kind eyes. "Only Marie, nossing else."

"Maree!" repeated Abby Rock. "Well, it's a pretty name, sure enough;
has a sound of 'Mary' in it, too, and that was my mother's name. But
what was your father's name, or your mother's, if so be your father
ain't living now?"

Marie shook her head. "I never know!" she said. "All the days I lived
with Mere Jeanne in the village, far away, oh, far, over the sea."

"Over the sea?" said Abby. "You mean the bay, don't you,--some of
those French settlements down along the shore?"

But Marie meant the sea, it appeared; for her village was in France, in
Eretagne, and there she had lived till the day when Mere Jeanne died,
and she was left alone, with no-one belonging to her. Mere Jeanne was
not her mother, no! nor yet her grandmother,--only her mother's aunt,
but good, Abby must understand, good as an angel, good as Abby herself.
And when she was dead, there was only her son, Jeannot, and he had
married a devil,--but yes!--as Abby exclaimed, and held up her hands in
reproof,--truly a devil of the worst kind; and one day, when Jeannot
was away, this wife had sold her, Marie, to another devil, Le Boss, who
made the tours in the country for to sing and to play. And he had
brought her away to this country, over very dreadful seas, where one
went down into the grave at every instant, and then up again to the
clouds, but leaving one's stomach behind one--ah, but terrible! Others
were with them, oh, yes!--This in response to Abby's question, for in
spite of her good resolutions, curiosity was taking possession of her,