if I said ten Paters and ten Aves before Our Lady of Bon-Secours.
And then he gave me his blessing,--but no blankets and no stove and
no money. And I have not said ten Paters and Aves yet, because my
bones have ached too much all the week for me to walk up the hill to
Bon-Secours. And the blessing has been no use to me at all."

"Nor is it likely to be!" scoffed Martine--"I thought you had given
up all that Church-nonsense long ago."

"Nay--nay--not altogether,"--murmured the old woman timidly--"I am
very old,--and one never knows--there may be truth in some of it. It
is the burning and the roasting in hell that I think of,--you know
that is very likely to happen, Martine!--because you see, in this
life we have nothing but trouble,--so whoever made us must like to
see us suffering;--it must be a pleasure to God, and so it is sure
to go on and on always. And I am afraid!--and if a candle now and
then to St. Joseph would help matters, I am not the one to grudge
it,--it is better to burn a candle than burn one's self!"

Martine laughed loudly, but made no answer. She could not waste her
time arguing against the ridiculous superstitions of an old creature
who was so steeped in ignorance as to think that a votive candle
could rescue her soul from a possible hell. She went on knitting in
silence till a sudden shadow came between her and the sunlight, and
a girl's voice, harsh, yet with a certain broken sweetness in it,
said--

"A fine morning's killing, aye! All their necks wrung,--all dead
birds! Once they could fly--fly and swim! Fly and swim! All dead
now--and sold cheap in the open market!"