square. "No, no, no, not a speck on my tongue!" he said. "What I can't
do of my own will is not worth doing. It's too foolish, to yield to the
shadow of an old appetite. I play this game alone--here in Chaudiere."

He looked out and down. The sweet sun of early spring was shining
hard, and the snow was beginning to pack, to hang like a blanket on the
branches, to lie like a soft coverlet over all the forest and the fields.
Far away on the frozen river were saplings stuck up to show where the ice
was safe--a long line of poles from shore to shore--and carioles were
hurrying across to the village. Being market-day, the place was alive
with the cheerful commerce of the habitant. The bell of the parish
church was ringing. The sound of it came up distantly and peacefully.
Charley drew a long breath, turned away to a pail of water, filled a
dipper half full, and drank it off gaspingly. Then he returned to the
window with a look of relief.

"That does it," he said. "The horrible thing is gone again--out of my
brain and out of my throat."

As he stood there, Jo came up the hill with a bundle in his arms.
Charley watched him for a moment, half whimsically, half curiously. Yet
he sighed once too as Portugais opened the door and came into the room.
"Well done, Jo!" said he. "You have 'em?"

"Yes, M'sieu'. A good suit, and I believe they'll fit. Old Trudel says
it's the best suit he's made in a year. I'm afraid he'll not make many
more suits, old Trudel.

"He's very bad. When he goes there'll be no tailor--ah, old Trudel will
be missed for sure, M'sieu'!"