around, I just couldn't have stood having her hear everything that we did. She knows too much already,--sometimes I think a great deal more than we do,--about all this, and I'm glad to get ahead of her on something. Anyhow, this is what Louis told us:"This morning was the limit," he began. "I thought I'd take a spell at working on that little motor-boat I'm building in the old feed-room at the back of the barn. I haven't done much at it lately, because the weather's been so cold. But to-day was mild, and I thought I could make a lot of progress. You know I've saved up enough of my pocket-money for the engine, and I'm going to send for it next month. Well, what must Monsieur do, but trail out to the barn after me. I couldn't very well prevent him, so I let him come along, but I didn't explain what I was doing there till we got into the room.

And, if you'll believe it, no sooner did he lay eyes on that cedar hull, and realize that it was my work, than he flew into a towering passion. He stamped around the room, muttering a lot of things in French that even I couldn't understand, though I caught the expression, 'The blood of that mechanic--always--always!' repeated several times. I was simply speechless with astonishment, and just stood staring at him open-mouthed.

All of a sudden he raised his cane and hit the boat a horrible whack right on the gunwale. It made a dent that I don't suppose any amount of tinkering or painting will ever remove. Then I 'saw red,' as they say. The idea of his presuming to do such a beastly thing! I just rushed at him, tore the cane from his hand, and threw it straight through the window. It smashed the glass and sash and everything. And I shouted, 'How dare you! How dare you!' I guess I was really too furious to think what I was doing. But it had the strangest effect on Monsieur."

He stopped suddenly, and his face, from being a brick-red with anger, went perfectly white. He drew himself up in a sort of military way, as stiff as a poker, and then bowed very low and made a military salute. 'I beg a thousand pardons, Monsieur. I am deeply sorry!' he said. I asked him what in the world he meant, anyway, but he only kept repeating that he was 'deeply humiliated at his fit of temper,' and begged me to think no more of it. Then I asked him if he didn't approve of my making the boat, and he said, 'No; that I was cut out for something better than that laborer's work.'

"That remark made me madder than ever, and I asked him if it was not a good piece of work, and oughtn't any one to be proud of doing a thing like that so well. He only replied 

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