eyed laundress with a rather soiled cap and apron, stuck out its
composite arms in vain from the bench where it sat all askew,
drooping its head forlornly over a dustpan,--and Henri's drum,
wherewith he was wont to wake alarming echoes out of the dreamy and
historical streets of Rouen, lay on its side neglected and
ingloriously silent. And, as before said, peace reigned in the
Patoux household,--even the entrance of Papa Patoux himself, fresh
from his celery beds, and smelling of the earth earthy, created no
particular diversion. He was a very little, very cheery, round man,
was Papa Patoux; he had no ideas at all in his bullet head save that
he judged everything to be very well managed in the Universe, and
that he, considered simply as Patoux, was lucky in his life and
labours,--also that it was an easy thing to grow celery, provided
God's blessing was on the soil. For the rest, he took small care; he
knew that the world wagged in different ways in different climates,-
-he read his half-penny journal daily, and professed to be
interested in the political situation just for the fun of the thing,
but in reality he thought the French Senate a pack of fools, and
wondered what they meant by always talking so much about nothing. He
believed in "La Patrie" to a certain extent,--but he would have very
much objected if "La Patrie" had interfered with his celery. Roughly
sneaking, he understood that France was a nation, and that he was a
Frenchman; and that if any enemies should presume to come into the
country, it would be necessary to take up a musket and fight them
out again, and defend wife, children, and celery-beds till the last
breath was out of his body. Further than this simple and primitive
idea of patriotism he did not go. He never bothered himself about
dissentient shades of opinion, or quarrels among opposing parties.
When he had to send his children to the Government school, the first
thing he asked was whether they would be taught their religion