Trois beaux canards s'en bout baignant,
En roulant ma boule.
Eouli, roulant, ma boule rou"
Here Grange came in, and she thrust an arm through his; dancing the wild free step with flung-back head and knees bent.
"Rouli, roulant; ma boule roulant
En roulant ma boule roulant.
En . . . roulant ma boule."
She loosed Grange as suddenly as she had caught him; tossed Eustace into his astonished arms, and stood with hands on hips, swaying and buzzing the air between laughing lips.
"My," said Grange, and let his son slide out of his arms. "I guess you're feelin' good, Andree."
"Wah, wah," said Moosta, with her little eyes puzzled. "I mak' say dey burree O'Hara"
Andree wheeled and her big eyes shot fire.
"Tais'-vous," she screamed. "Shut up! There is not O'Hara any more. He is gone. We forget him. Ça, ça. We no speak of death. It is stupid. C'est abominable. I hate you, Moosta."
"Sakes; you've sure got your temper still," said Grange with a strangled giggle.
"Bah! That is not to be angry," said Andree indifferently.
She walked back to the table and went on with her soup. Presently she glanced up with the wild-animal look gone out of her eyes before demureness.
"Now I am come home I will wait at table in the dining-room," she said in her best English.
Grange and his wife crossed troubled glances. Then Moosta spoke.
"Tapwa. You no like s'pose 3ey go off rud.e wit you, Andree."
"Sure." Grange caught the suggestion eagerly. "You let that right alone, Andree. There's some raises pertickler Cain o' times. I tell you it's fierce."
