as I took out my note-book to record one or two impressions, that he
would do it justice.

"No, momma," I was immediately compelled to exclaim, "you mustn't look
over my shoulder. It is paralysing to the imagination."

"Then I won't, dear. But oh, if you could only describe it as it is! The
ruined chateaux, tree-embosomed----" Momma paused.

"The gray church spires, from which at eventide the Angelus comes
pealing--or stealing," she continued. "Perhaps 'stealing' is better."

"Above all the poplars--the poplars are very characteristic, dear. And
the women toilers in the sunset fields garnering up the golden grain.
You might exclaim, 'Why are they always in blue?' Have you got that
down?"

"They were making hay," poppa corrected. "But I suppose the public won't
know the difference, any more than you did."

Momma leaned forward, clasping her smelling-bottle, and looked out of
the window with a smile of exaltation.

"The cows," she went on, "the proud-legged Norman cows standing
knee-deep in the quiet pools. Have you got the cows down, dear?"

The Senator, at the other window, looked across disparagingly, hard at
work on his beard. He said nothing, but after a time abruptly thrust his
hands in his pockets, and his feet out in front of him in a manner which
expressed absolute dissent. When momma said she thought she would try to