"May I go into the village to get my hair cut?" asked Sinclair of my
wife. "I'll promise to be back for tea."
Upon her assurance that Madame Mercier was lying down and was not at all
likely to appear, permission was granted. We do not generally allow
Sinclair to go out of the grounds at present. He is acting as the
central link which makes the continuance of the social life possible to
us. For I do not think that we could have undertaken (with our
deplorable ignorance of French) to entertain Belgian refugees at all had
he not been staying with us. As it is, it works beautifully, though
Madame Mercier and her two daughters speak no English, for Sinclair's
French is perfectly adequate.
It was during his absence that we learned that my neighbour, Andrew
Henderson, the dairy farmer, had also taken in a Belgian--a woman who
was to work on the farm during the winter.
"Here's another chance for you, Sinclair," said I, as he appeared at the
gate. "It looks as if you will have to call round every morning to
interpret and give 'em a good start for the day."
Sinclair was full of zeal and set off next day after breakfast. From the
drawing-room window we watched his triumphant entry into the farm-yard
at the foot of the hill. But he came back in a dejected frame of mind.
"She's called Suzanne," he told us, "and she's quite a nice-looking sort
of woman, and she handles a turnip-cutter like an expert; but she talks
nothing but Flemish."
"We might have thought of that," said the Reverend Henry. "Still, I
daresay they'll manage all right."
"On the contrary," said Sinclair. "Henderson sent Suzanne to get the
letters last night. She was gone a long, long time, and at last came
back with three live fowls in a sack. She had been chasing them round
the hen-house for all she was worth. Things can't go on like that, you
know."
The Reverend Henry had an idea. "The only way out of it," he said, "is
for you and Madame Mercier both to go. She knows Flemish."
"Yes, that's it," said I. "Henderson tells you what he wants; you hand
it on to Madame Mercier in French; she transmits it to Suzanne in
Flemish--and there you are!"
"Right-o!" said Sinclair. "We'll have a shot to-morrow morning."
Madame Mercier, who is a kindly, gentle creature, was most anxious to
help, and again we viewed the operations in the farm-yard. The Reverend
Henry got out his field-glasses (which have since been sent to Lord
ROBERTS) and we watched the little corps of interpreters getting to
work, while Suzanne, eager and expectant, like a hound on the leash,
waited, shovel in hand. But it all ended in confusion and head-shaking
and a dreary retreat up the hill. Madame Mercier seemed to be much
amused.
"We have decided to adjourn," said Sinclair. "The truth is, we were not
getting on at all. It looks as if you will have to come too."
"I was always afraid there were weak spots in you, after all, Sinclair,"
said the Reverend Henry. "It does not surprise me. You are all right in
table French or even in domestic, railway or restaurant French, but as
soon as we get outside of your beat into agricultural French----"
"It isn't that," said Sinclair. "I'm all right. It's that confounded
fellow, Henderson. I'm hanged if I can understand a word of his Scotch.
Never heard such a lingo in my life."
It is true that Henderson, who comes from some obscure district far
North even of this, is a little difficult to understand. I have found
him so myself.
"He said he wanted Suzanne to 'redd up the fauls,' as far as I could
gather. Well, I have no idea what the fauls are, and I don't see how she
is going to read them up in a language she doesn't understand. I had to
give him up. We can't get on without your help."
That afternoon the Interpretation Committee, now increased to four
active members, for Henry had insisted on coming too as referee, took up
its position in the farm-yard in the form of a chain, along which
communication was to pass from Henderson, through me, Sinclair and
Madame Mercier to Suzanne. It was a little embarrassing for Suzanne, but
she stood her ground well and waited in an admirably receptive mood,
while the various items percolated through. Henderson gave me in careful
detail the whole of his commands for her normal daily life, and
everything seemed to go splendidly. But I am afraid the thing must have
passed through too many hands before it reached its destination; for
Suzanne, after many cheerful nods, suddenly broke off and turned on her
heel. Then she secured an axe, which was lying against the bothy door,
and walked with a steady and fixed purpose, never turning her head, out
into the lane, through the gate and up the hill. We watched her
spellbound till she reached the horizon, and there saw her pause, roll
up her sleeves and furiously attack an old spruce tree.
It is impossible to say who was to blame. But it is clear that the
instructions (as the Frenchman said of BRAHMS' Variations) had been
_diablement changés en route_.
* * * * *