But to return to Monsieur Penoyer, as Carrie called him.  His stay was prolonged beyond the Sabbath, and on Tuesday I was sent to Captain Howard’s on an errand.  I found Aunt Eunice in the kitchen, her round, rosy face, always suggestive of seed cake and plum pudding, flushed with exertion, her sleeves tucked up and her arms buried in a large wooden bowl of dough, which she said was going to be made into loaves of ’lection cake, as Carrie was to have a party to-morrow, and I had come just in time to carry invitations to my sisters.

Carrie was in the parlor, and attracted by the sound of music, I drew near the door, when Aunt Eunice kindly bade me enter.  I did so, and was presented to Monsieur Penoyer.  At first I was shy of him, for I remembered that Sally had said, “he don’t know nothin’,” and this in my estimation was the worst crime of which he could be guilty.  Gradually my timidity gave way, and when, at Carrie’s request, he played and sang for me, I was perfectly delighted, although I understood not a word he said.

When he finished Carrie told him I was a little poet, and then repeated some foolish lines I had once written about her eyes.  It was a very handsome set of teeth which he showed, as he said, “Magnifique!  Tree bien! She be another grand Dr. Wattts!”

I knew not who Dr. Watts was, but on one point my mind was made up—­Monsieur Penoyer knew a great deal!  Ere I left Carrie commissioned me to invite my sisters to her party on the morrow, and as I was leaving the room Mr. Penoyer said, “Ma chere, Carrie, why vous no invite a petite girl!”

Accordingly I was invited, with no earthly prospect, however, of mother’s letting me go.  And she didn’t either; so next day, after Juliet and Anna were gone, I went out behind the smokehouse and cried until I got sleepy, and a headache too; then, wishing to make mother think I had run away, I crept carefully up-stairs to Bill’s room, where I slept until Sally’s sharp eyes ferreted me out, saying, “they were all scared to death about me, and had looked for me high and low,” up in the garret and down in the well, I supposed.  Concluding they were plagued enough, I condescended to go down-stairs, and have my head bathed in camphor and my feet parboiled in hot water; then I went to bed and dreamed of white teeth, curling mustaches and “Parlez vous Francais.”

Of what occurred at the party I will tell you as was told to me.  All the elite of Rice Corner were there, of course, and as each new arrival entered the parlor, M. Penoyer eyed them coolly through an opera glass.  Sister Anna returned his inspection with the worst face she could well make up, for which I half-blamed her and half didn’t, as I felt sure I should have done the same under like circumstances.

When all the invited guests had arrived except myself (alas, no one asked why I tarried), there ensued an awkward silence, broken only by the parrot-like chatter of M. Penoyer, who seemed determined to talk nothing but French, although Carrie understood him but little better than did the rest.  At last he was posted up to the piano.