when you're in trouble come to me. You're not a man, and it's a man's
place to help a woman, all the more when she's a fine and good little
stand-by like you."

He forced a smile, turned upon his heel, and threaded his way through the
square, keeping a look-out for his father. This he could do easily, for
he was the tallest man in the Vier Marchi by at least three inches.

Carterette, oblivious of all else, stood gazing after him. She was only
recalled to herself by Dormy Jamais. He was diligently cooking her
Jersey wonders, now and then turning his eyes up at her--eyes which were
like spots of greyish, yellowish light in a face of putty and flour;
without eyelashes, without eyebrows, a little like a fish's, something
like a monkey's. They were never still. They were set in the face like
little round glow worms in a mould of clay. They burned on night and
day--no man had ever seen Dormy Jamais asleep.

Carterette did not resent his officiousness. He had a kind of kennel in
her father's boat-house, and he was devoted to her. More than all else,
Dormy Jamaas was clean. His clothes were mostly rags, but they were
comely, compact rags. When he washed them no one seemed to know, but no
languid young gentleman lounging where the sun was warmest in the Vier
Marchi was better laundered.

As Carterette turned round to him he was twirling a cake on the wooden
fork, and trolling:

"Caderoussel he has a coat,
All lined with paper brown;
And only when it freezes hard