[To Him That Hath by Ralph Connor]@TWC D-Link book
To Him That Hath

CHAPTER II
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"Huh! When did you last eat?
Come! No lying!" "Two day," said Perrotte, fighting for breath and nerve.
"Here, boy," shouted Maitland to a chore lad slouching by, "jump for that cook house and fetch a cup of coffee, and be quick." The boss' tone injected energy into the gawky lad.

In three minutes Perrotte was seated on a pile of slabs, drinking a cup of coffee; in five minutes more he stood up, ready for "(h)anny man, (h)anny ting." But Maitland took him to the cook.
"Fill this man up," he said, "and then show him where to sleep.

And, Perrotte, to-morrow morning at seven you be at the tail of the saw." "Oui, by gar! Perrotte be dere.

And you got one good man TOO-day, for sure." That was fifteen years ago, and, barring certain "jubilations," Perrotte made good his prophecy.

He brought up from the Ottawa his Irish wife, a clever woman with her tongue but a housekeeper that scandalised her thrifty, tidy, French-Canadian mother-in-law, and his two children, a boy and a girl.


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