He wondered if she would speak to him. He feared she might have mistaken him for a Western drummer, in which event he knew that she would not; for the women of the country caution their daughters against speaking to strangers on the trains. But the girl was not one to mistake an Acadian farmer for a Western traveling man. She was not born in Avoyelles parish for nothing.
“I wouldn' want anything to happen to it," she said.
"It's all right w'ere it is,” he assured her, following the direction of her glance, that was fastened upon the bundle.
“The las' time I came over to Foché's ball I got caught in the rain on my way up to my cousin's house, an' my dress! I' vous réponds! it was a sight. Li'le mo', I would miss the ball. As it was, the dress looked like I'd wo' it weeks without doin'-up."
"No fear of rain to-day," he reassured her, glancing out at the sky, “but you can have my umbrella if it does rain; you jus' as well take it as not."
"Oh, no! I wrap' the dress roun' in toilecirée this time. You goin' to Foché's ball?
