Parpon, left behind, sat on the fence with his legs drawn up to his chin,
looking at Elise, till she turned and caught the provoking light of his
eye. She flushed, then was cool again, for she was put upon her mettle
by the suggestion of his glance.

"Come, lazy-bones," she said; "come fetch me currants from the garden."

"Come, mocking-bird," answered he; "come peck me on the cheek."

She tossed her head and struck straight home. "It isn't a game of pass
it on from gentleman to beetle."

"You think he's a gentleman?" he asked.

"As sure as I think you're a beetle."

He laughed, took off his cap, and patted himself on the head. "Parpon,
Parpon!" said he, "if Jean Malboir could see you now, he'd put his foot
on you and crush you--dirty beetle!"

At the mention of her father's name a change passed over Elise; for this
same Parpon, when all men else were afraid, had saved Jean Malboir's life
at a log chute in the hills. When he died, Parpon was nearer to him than
the priest, and he loved to hear the dwarf chant his wild rhythms of the
Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills, more than to listen to holy
prayers. Elise, who had a warm, impulsive nature, in keeping with her
black eyes and tossing hair, who was all fire and sun and heart and
temper, ran over and caught the dwarf round the neck, and kissed him on
the cheek, dashing the tears out of her eyes, as she said: