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Eighteen, an' face lak de—w'at 's de good?Dere 's no use tryin' explainDe way she 's lookin', dat girl Marie—But affer it pass, de rain,An' sun come out of de cloud behin',An' laugh on de sky wance more—Wall! dat is de way her eye it shineW'en she see me upon de door.
An' dere she 's workin' de ole-tam sash,De fines' wan, too, for sure."Who is it for, ma belle Marie—You 're makin' de nice ceinture?Come out an' sit on de shore below,For watchin' dem draw de net,Ketchin' de feesh," an' she answer, "No,De job is n't finish yet;
"Stan' up, Narcisse, an' we 'll see de fit.Dat sash it was mak' for you,For de ole wan 's gettin' on, you know,An' o' course it 'll never doIf de boy I marry can't go an' spen'W'at dey 're callin' de weddin' tourWit' me, for visitin' all hees frien',An' not have a nice ceinture."
An' den she measure dat sash on me,An' I fin' it so long an' wideI pass it aroun' her, an' dere we stan',De two of us bote inside—"Could n't be better, ma chère Marie,Dat sash it is fit so well—It jus' suit you, an' it jus' suit me,An' bote togeder, ma belle."
So I wear it off on de weddin' tourAn' long after dat also,An' never a minute I 'm carin' howDe win' of de winter blow—Don't matter de cole an' frosty night—Don't matter de stormy day,So long as I 'm feex up close an' tightWit' de ole ceinture fleché.
An' w'ere 's de woman can beat her now,Ma own leetle girl Marie?For we 're marry to-day jus' feefty yearAn' never a change I see—But wan t'ing strange, dough I try ma bes'For measure dat girl wance more,She say—"Go off wit' de foolishness,Or pass on de outside door.
"You know well enough dat sash get tightOut on de snow an' wetDrivin' along on ev'ry place,Den how can it fit me yet?Shows w'at a fool you be, Narcisse,W'enever you go to town;Better look out, or I call de pries'For makin' you stan' aroun'."
But me, I 'm sure it was never change,Dat sash on de feefty year—An' I can't understan' to-day at all,W'at 's makin' it seem so queer—De sash is de sam', an' woman too,Can't fool me, I know too well—But woman, of course dey offen doSome funny t'ing—you can't tell!
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A stranger might say if he see heem drink till he almos' fall,"Doctor lak dat for sick folk, he 's never no use at all,"But wait till you hear de story dey 're tellin' about heem yet,An' see if you don't hear somet'ing, mebbe you won't forget.
Twenty odd year she 's marry, Belzemire Lafreniere,An' oh! but she 's feelin' lonesome 'cos never a sign is dere—Purty long tam for waitin', but poor leetle BelzemireShe 's bad enough now for pay up all of dem twenty year.
Call heem de oldes' doctor, call heem de younges' wan,Bring dem along, no matter if ev'ry dollar 's gone—T'ree of dem can't do not'ing, workin' for two days dere,She was a very sick woman, Belzemire Lafreniere.
Pierre he was cryin', cryin' out on de barn behin',Neighbors tryin' to kip heem goin' right off hees min',W'en somebody say, "Las' winter, ma wife she is nearly go,An' who do you t'ink is save her? ev'ry wan surely know.
"Drink? does he drink de w'isky? don't care I 'm hees only frien',Dere 's only wan answer comin'. Wall! leetle bit now an' denDoctor Hilaire he tak' it, but if it was me or youLeevin' on Beausejour dere, w'at are you goin' to do?
"An' so you may t'ank de w'isky, 'cos w'ere 'll he be to-dayIf he never is drinkin' not'ing? Many a mile awayOff on de great beeg city, makin' de money quick,W'ere ev'ry wan want de doctor w'enever he 's leetle sick.
"Remember de way to get heem is tell heem it's bad, bad case,Or Doctor Hilaire you 'll never see heem upon dis place!Tell heem dere 's two life waitin', an' sure to be comin' dieUnless he is hurry quicker dan ever de bird can fly.
"T'orty mile crick is runnin' over de road, I 'm sure,But if you can fin' de crossin' you 'll ketch heem at Beausejour.Sober or drunk, no matter, bring heem along you mus',For Doctor Hilaire 's de only man of de lot for us."
Out wit' de quickes' horse den, Ste. Genevieve has got,An' if ever you show your paces, now is de tam to trot—Johnnie Dufresne is drivin', w'at! never hear tell of heem,Off on de Yankee circus, an' han'le a ten-horse team?
Dat was de lonesome journey over de mountain high,Down w'ere de w'ite fog risin' show w'ere de swamp is lie,An' drive as he can de faster, an' furder away he get,Johnnie can hear dat woman closer an' closer yet.
Offen he tell about it, not'ing he never doGeev' heem de funny feelin' Johnnie is goin' t'roo,But he is sure of wan t'ing, if Belzemire 's comin' die,Poor woman, she 'd never foller affer heem wit' her cry.
Dat is de t'ing is cheer heem, knowin' she is n't gone,So he answer de voice a-callin', tellin' her to hol' on,Till he bring her de help she 's needin' if only she wait a w'ileDat is de way he 's doin' all of dem t'orty mile—
Lucky he was to-night, too, for place on de crick he got,Search on de light of day-tam, he could n't fin' better spot,But jus' as it happen', mebbe acre or two below,Is place w'ere de ole mail-driver 's drownin' a year ago.
W'ere is de road? he got it, an' very soon BeausejourOff on de hillside lyin', dere she is, small an' poor,Lookin' so lak starvation might a' been t'roo de war,An' dere, on de bar-room sleepin', de man he is lookin' for.
Drunk? he is worse dan ever—poor leetle man! too bad!Lissen to not'ing neider, but Johnnie is feel so gladKetchin' heem dere so easy, 'fore he can answer, "No"—He 's tyin' heem on de buggy, an' off on de road he go—
Half o' de journey 's over, half o' de night is pass,W'en Doctor Hilaire stop swearin', an' start to get quiet at las'—Don't do any good ax Johnnie lettin' heem loose again,For if any man tak' de chances, would n't be Johnnie Dufresne.
Hooraw for de black horse trotter! hooraw for de feller drive!An' wan leetle cheer for Belzemire dat 's kipin' herse'f aliveTill Johnnie is bring de doctor, an' carry heem on de doorAn' loosen heem out as sober as never he was before.
Quiet inside de house now, quiet de outside too,Look at each oder smokin', dat 's about all we do;An' jus' as we feel, ba tonder! no use, we mus' talk or die,Dere on de house we 're hearin' poor leetle baby's cry.
Dat 's all, but enough for makin' tear comin' down de face,An' Pierre, if you only see heem jumpin' aroun' de placeYou 'd t'ink of a colt in spring-tam—den off on de barn we goW'ere somebody got de bottle for drinkin' de healt', you know.
Takin' it too moche w'isky, is purty hard job to cure,But only for poor ole w'isky, village of BeausejourCan never have such a doctor, an' dat 's w'y it aint no tamTalk very moche agin it, but fill her up jus' de sam'.
An' drink to de baby's moder, here 's to de baby too,An' Doctor Hilaire, anoder, beeger dan all, for you.For sober or drunk, no matter, so long as he understan'It's very bad case is waitin', Doctor Hilaire 's de man.
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Dere 's some lak dory, an' some lak bass,An' plaintee dey mus' have trout—An' w'ite feesh too, dere 's quite a fewNot satisfy do widout—Very fon' of sucker some folk is, too,But for me, you can go an' cutDe w'ole of dem t'roo w'at you call menu,So long as I get barbotte—Ho! Ho! for me it 's de nice barbotte.
No fuss to ketch heem—no row at all,De sam' as you have wit' bass—Never can tell if you hook heem well,An' mebbe he 's gone at las'!An' trout, wall! any wan 's ketchin' troutDey got to be purty smart—But leetle bull-pout, don't have to look out,For dem feller got no heart—Good t'ing, dey ain't got no heart
Dat 's wan of de reason I lak heem too—For all you have got to doIs takin' your pole on de feeshin' holeAn' anchor de ole canoe—Den spit on de worm for luck, an' passDe leetle hook up de gut,An' drop it down slow, jus' a minute or so,An' pull up de nice barbotte,Ha! Ha! de fine leetle fat barbotte.
Pleasan' to lissen upon de springDe leetle bird sing hees song,Wile you watch de line an' look out for signOf mooshrat swimmin' along;Den tak' it easy an' smoke de pipe,An' w'ere is de man has gotMore fun dan you on de ole canoeW'en dey 're bitin', de nice barbotte—De nice leetle fat barbotte.
No runnin' aroun' on de crick for heem,No jompin' upon de air,Makin' you sweat till your shirt is wetAn' sorry you 're comin' dere—Foolin' away wit' de rod an' lineMebbe de affernoon—For sure as he bite he 's dere all right,An' you 're ketchin' heem very soon—Yass sir! you 're gettin' heem purty soon.
Den tak' heem off home wit' a dozen moreAn' skin heem so quick you can,Fry heem wit' lard, an' you 'll fin' it hardTo say if dere 's on de panSuch feesh as dat on de worl' beforeSince Adam, you know, is shutOut of de gate w'en he 's comin' home late,As de nice leetle fat barbotte—Dat 's true, de nice leetle sweet barbotte.
Lyrics and melody of "The Rossignol"Lyrics and melody of "The Rossignol"
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Jus' as de sun is tryin'Climb on de summer skyTwo leetle bird come flyin'Over de mountain high—Over de mountain, over de mountain,Hear dem call,Hear dem call—poor leetle rossignol!
Out of de nes' togeder,Broder an' sister too,Out on de summer wedderW'en de w'ole worl' is new—Over de mountain, over de mountain,Hear dem call,Hear dem call—poor leetle rossignol!
No leetle heart was lighter,No leetle bird so gay,Never de sun look brighterDan he is look to-day—Over de mountain, over de mountain,Hear dem call,Hear dem call—poor leetle rossignol!
W'y are dey leave de nes' dereW'ere dey was still belong?Better to stay an' res' dereUntil de wing is strong.Over de mountain, over de mountain,Hear dem call,Hear dem call—poor leetle rossignol!
W'at is dat watchin' dere nowUp on de maple tall,Better look out, tak' care now,Poor leetle rossignol,Over de mountain, over de mountain,Hear dem call,Hear dem call—poor leetle rossignol!
Here dey are comin' near heemSingin' deir way along—How can dey know to fear heemPoor leetle bird so young—Over de mountain, over de mountain,Hear dem call,Hear dem call—poor leetle rossignol!
Moder won't hear you cryin',W'at is de use to call,W'en he is comin' flyin'Quick as de star is fall?Over de mountain, over de mountain,Hear dem call,Hear dem call—poor leetle rossignol?
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Up w'ere de nes' is lyin',High on de cedar bough,W'ere de young hawk was cryin'Soon will be quiet now.Over de mountain, over de mountain,Hear heem call,Hear heem call—poor leetle rossignol!
If he had only kissed her,Poor leetle rossignol!But he was los' hees sister,An' it 's alone he call—Over de mountain, over de mountain,Hear heem call,Hear heem call—poor leetle rossignol!
Only a day of gladness,Only a day of song,Only a night of sadnessLastin' de w'ole life long.Over de mountain, over de mountain,Hear heem call,Hear heem call—poor leetle rossignol!
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A quiet boy was Joe Bedotte,An' no sign anyw'ereOf anyt'ing at all he gotIs up to ordinaire—An' w'en de teacher tell heem goAn' tak' a holiday,For wake heem up, becos' he 's slow,Poor Joe would only say,"Wall! meb-be."
Don't bodder no wan on de schoolUnless dey bodder heem,But all de scholar t'ink he 's foolOr walkin' on a dream—So w'en dey 're closin' on de springOf course dey 're moche surpriseDat Joe is takin' ev'ry-t'ingOf w'at you call de prize.
"Don't bodder no wan on de school
Unless dey bodder heem.""Don't bodder no wan on de schoolUnless dey bodder heem."
"Don't bodder no wan on de school
Unless dey bodder heem.""Don't bodder no wan on de schoolUnless dey bodder heem."
An' den de teacher say, "Jo-seph,I know you 're workin' hard—Becos' w'en I am pass mese'fI see you on de yardA-splittin' wood—no doubt you stayAn' study half de night?"An' Joe he spik de sam' ole waySo quiet an' polite,"Wall! meb-be."
Hees fader an' hees moder dieAn' lef' heem dere aloneWit' chil'ren small enough to cry,An' farm all rock an' stone—But Joe is fader, moder too,An' work bote day an' nightAn' clear de place—dat 's w'at he do,An' bring dem up all right.
De Curé say, "Jo-seph, you knowLe bon Dieu 's very good—He feed de small bird on de snow,De caribou on de wood—But you deserve some credit too—I spik of dis before."So Joe he dunno w'at to doAn' only say wance more,"Wall! meb-be."
An' Joe he leev' for many yearAn' helpin' ev'ry wanUpon de parish far an' nearTill all hees money 's gone—An' den de Curé come againWit' tear-drop on hees eye—He know for sure poor Joe, hees frien',Is well prepare to die.
"Wall! Joe, de work you done will tellW'en you get up above—De good God he will treat you wellAn' geev' you all hees love.De poor an' sick down here below,I 'm sure dey 'll not forget,"An' w'at you t'ink he say, poor Joe,Drawin' hees only breat'?"Wall! meb-be."
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Las' night dey 're passin', de golden plover,Dis mornin' I 'm seein' de bluebird's wing,So if not'ing go wrong, de winter 's over,An' not very long till we got de spring.
An' nex' t'ing de reever she 'll start a-hummin',An' den you 'll hear it, de song an' laugh,Is tellin' de news, de boys are comin'Home again on de saw-log raf'.
All very well for see dem swingin'Roun' de beeg islan' dere on de bay,Nice t'ing too, for to hear dem singin','Cos it mak' me t'ink of de good ole day.
An' me—I could lissen dem song forever,But it is n't so pleasan' w'en evenin' fall,An' dey 're lookin' for place to stay, an' neverSnub de raf' on ma place at all—-
Dat 's de fine cove if dey only know it—Hard to fin' better on St. Maurice,Up de reever or down below it,An' house on de hill only leetle piece.
W'at is de reason den, w'en dey fin' demRaf' comin' near me, dey all get scare,An' pull lak de devil was close behin' dem,An' 'way down de reever to Joe Belair?
Two mile more, wit' de rock an' stone dere,An' water so shallow can't float canoe,But ev'ry boy of de gang, he 's goin' dere,Even de cook, an' de captain too—
W'at is de reason, I lak to know—me—Ma own leetle cove 's lyin' empty dere,An' nobody stop till dey go below me,Snubbin' de raf' on Joe Belair?
Not'ing lak dat twenty year ago, sir,W'en voyageurs' comin' from up above,Dere 's only wan place us feller know, sir,W'en dey 're goin' ashore, an' dat's de cove.
An' dere on door of de house she 's stan'nin'To welcome us back, Madame Baribeau,An' Pierre hese'f, he was on de lan'nin',Ready for ketchin' de rope we t'row.
An' oh! de girl use to mak' us crazy—For many a fine girl Pierre has got—Right on de jomp too—never lazy,But Sophie 's de fines' wan of de lot.
Me—I was only a comon feller,An' love—wall! jus' lak de leetle calf,An' it's true, I 'm sure, w'at dey offen tell her,I 'm de uglies' man on boar' de raf'.
But Sophie 's so nice an' good shese'f too,De uglies' man upon all de worl'Forget hees face an' forget hese'f too,T'ree minute affer he see dat girl—
An' dat 's de reason de chance is better,For you must n't be t'ink of you'se'f at all,But t'ink of de girl if you want to get her,An' so we 're marry upon de fall.
An' purty soon den dey all get started,For marryin' fever come so strongW'en de firse wan go, dat dey 're broken-heartedAn' tak' mos' anyt'ing come along.
So Joe Belair, w'en hees house is buil' dere,He go down de reever wit' Eugenie,An' place I settle on top de hill dere,De ole man geev' it to Sophie an' me.
An' along dey come, wan foller de oder,Dozen o' girl—not a boy at all—Never a girl tak' affer de moder,But all lak de fader, beeg an' small—
A dozen o' girl, of course, no wonderA few of dem look lak me—sapree!But w'en dey 're comin' dat way, ba tonder!She 's jus' a leetle too moche for me.
An' Joe Belair, he was down below me,Funny t'ing too, he is ketch also,Ev'ryt'ing girl—how it come dunno—me—But dey 're all lak de familee Baribeau—
Growin' up purty de sam' de moder—An' soon as dey know it along de shoreDe boys stop comin', an' never bodderFor snub de raf' on ma place no more—
So w'at is de chance ma girl she 's gettin',Don't care w'ere I look, none at all I see,No use, I s'pose, kipin' on a-frettin',Dough it's very hard case poor man lak me.
W'at 'll I do for bring dem here,—me?Can't be blowin' dem to de moon—Or buil' a dam on de reever near meFor fear we 're sure to be drownin' soon.
To-night I can hear hees darn ole fiddle,Playin' away on Joe Belair—Can hear heem holler, "Pass down de middleAn' dance on your partner over dere."
"To-night I can hear hees darn ole fiddle,
Playin' away on Joe Belair.""To-night I can hear hees darn ole fiddle,Playin' away on Joe Belair."
"To-night I can hear hees darn ole fiddle,
Playin' away on Joe Belair.""To-night I can hear hees darn ole fiddle,Playin' away on Joe Belair."
Pleasan' t'ing too, for to smell de w'iskyOff on de leetle back room—bâ oui—Helpin' de ole folk mak' dem frisky,Very pleasan' for dem, but not for me—
Oh! it mak' me mad, an' I 'm tire tryin'To show how I feel, an' it 's hard to tell—So I 'll geev' it up, for dere 's no good cryin';'Sides w'at is de use of a two-mile smell?
Non!—I don't go dere if dey all invite me,Or de worl' itse'f—she come to an' en'.De Bishop hese'f, ba Gosh! can write me,But Jo-seph Belair, he 's no more ma frien'
Can't fin' me dere if de sky come down, sir,I rader ma girl she would never dance—But far away, off on de Yankee town, sir,I 'll tak' dem w'ere mebbe dey have a chance.
An' reever an' cove, dough I 'll not forget dem,An' voyageurs too, an' Joe Belair,Can do w'at dey lak, an' me—I 'll let demGo w'ere dey want to, for I don't care.
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A rainy day in camp! how you draw the blankets closer,As the big drops patter, patter on the shingles overhead,How you shudder when recalling your wife's "You ought to know, sir,That it 's dangerous and improper to smoke a pipe in bed."
A rainy day in camp! is it possible to find better?Tho' the lake is like a caldron, and aloft the thunder rolls;Yet the old canoe is safely on the shore where you can let herStay as long as Jupiter Pluvius in the clouds is punching holes.
A rainy day in camp! and the latest publicationThat the mice have left unnibbled, tells you all about "Eclipse,"How the Derby fell before him, how he beat equine creation,But the story yields to slumber with the pipe between your lips.
Wake again and turn the pages, where they speak of Lester WallackAnd the heroes of the buskin over thirty years ago—Then in case the damp surroundings cause an inconvenient colic,What 's the matter with the treatment neutralizing H2O?
A rainy day in camp! what an interesting collection,In this magazine so ancient, of items small and great—The History of the Negro, illustrating every section,So different from the present White House Colored Fashion Plate!
A rainy day in camp! and you wonder how the C. P.And the G. T. competition will affect the Golden West—But these problematic matters only tend to make you sleepy,And again beneath the blankets, like a babe you sink to rest.
Cometh now the giant moose heads, that no eye of man can number—Every rain-drop on the roof-tree is a plunging three-pound trout—Till a musk ox in a snow-drift turns and butts you out of slumber,And you wake to hear Bateese say, "Dat 's too bad,de fire 's gone out."
A rainy night in camp! with the blazing logs before us,Let the wolf howl in the forest and the loon scream on the lake,Turn them loose, the wild performers of Nature's Opera ChorusAnd ask if Civilization can sweeter music make.
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I see Josette on de car to-day,Leetle Josette Couture,An' it 's easy tellin' she 's been awayOn market of Bonsecour—'Cos dere 's de blueberry on de pailWit' more t'ing lyin' about—An' dere 's de basket wit' de tailOf de chicken stickin' out.
Ev'ry conductor along de roadHelp her de bes' he can,An' I see dem sweat wit' de heavy load,Many a beeg, strong man—But it 's differen' t'ing w'en she tak' hol',Leavin' dem watchin' dere—For wedder de win' blow hot or coleJosette never turn a hair.
Wonderful woman for seexty-five—Smart leetle woman sure!An' if he 's wantin' to kip aliveOn church of de BonsecourDe pries' he mus' rise 'fore de rooster crow,Or mebbe he 'll be too lateFor seein' dere on de street below,Josette comin' in de gate.
An' half of de mornin' she don't spen' dereHangin' aroun' de pew—Bodderin' God wid de long, long prayer—For bote of dem got to doPlaintee work 'fore de day's gone by,An' well she know—Josette—No matter how busy an' hard she try,De work 's never finish yet.
An' well he know it, de habitant,Who is it ketch heem, w'enHe 's drivin' along from St. Laurent—For it 's easier bargain den—'Cos if de habitant only soleDe whole of hees load dat way—Of course he 's savin' de market tollAn' not'ing at all to pay.
Dey call her ole maid, but I can't tell—me—De chil'ren she has got:No fader, no moder, dat 's way dey be—You never see such a lot—An' if you ax how she fin' de clothesAn' food for de young wan dere—She say: "Wit' de help of God, I s'pose;An' de leetle shop down stair."
Comin' an' goin' mos' all de tam,Helpin' dem all along,Jus' lak de ole sheep watch de lambTill dey are beeg an' strong—Not'ing lak dat I be seein' yet,An' it 's hard to beat for sure—She say: "Wit' de help of God, I s'pose;An' de leetle shop down stair."
"So dat 's de reason dey call Josette
Leetle sister of de poor.""So dat 's de reason dey call JosetteLeetle sister of de poor."
"So dat 's de reason dey call Josette
Leetle sister of de poor.""So dat 's de reason dey call JosetteLeetle sister of de poor."
Comin' an' goin' mos' all de tam,Helpin' dem all along,Jus' lak de ole sheep watch de lambTill dey are beeg an' strong—Not'ing lak dat I be seein' yet,An' it 's hard to beat for sure—So dat 's de reason dey call JosetteLeetle Sister of de poor.
JosetteJosette
JosetteJosette
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Joe Boucher was a frien' of mine,Joe Boucher was a happy man,Till he tell a young girl he 'd lak to fin'Some nice leetle wife for hees new cabane.Now he 's los' hees life too,All on account of de wife too,An' I know you 'll be sorry 'bout dat poor feller,I know you 'll be sorry for Joe Boucher.
De nam' dat girl she 's Azeel-daw,An' purty good worker, too, dey say—She don't lose chance for a brave garçon,An' so she marry Joe Boucher.Now he 's los' hees life too,All on account of de wife too,An' I know you 'll be sorry 'bout dat poor feller,I know you 'll be sorry for Joe Boucher.
Den off on de wood poor Joe he lef',An' w'en he 's home wit' de bird in spring,An' fin' leetle feller jus' lak hese'f,Mebbe Joe don't dance an' Joe don't sing!Now he 's los' hees life too,All on account of hees wife too,An' I know you 'll be sorry 'bout dat poor feller,I know you 'll be sorry for Joe Boucher.
Dat 's all very well till de fall come along,An' Joe got to go on de bush encore,But w'en he come back he sing no song,For dere was two leetle baby more.Now he 's los' hees life too,All on account of de wife too,An' I know you 'll be sorry 'bout dat poor feller,I know you 'll be sorry for Joe Boucher.
He don't say not'ing, but he t'ink beeg lot,An' won't tak' a drink for two, t'ree day,But not moche money poor Joe he got,So off on de reever he 's goin' away.Now he 's los' hees life too,All on account of de wife too,An' I know you 'll be sorry 'bout dat poor feller,I know you 'll be sorry for Joe Boucher.
W'en May come along dat beau garçonHe 's only gettin' anoder scare—For he know by de smile on Azeel-dawShe got t'ree fine new baby dere.Now he 's los' hees life too,All on account of de wife too,An' I know you 'll be sorry 'bout dat poor feller,I know you 'll be sorry for Joe Boucher.
So he kill hese'f dead, dat beau garçonHe work so hard for de familee,An' he say, "Too bad, but Azeel-daw,I 'm sorry she marry poor man lak me."Now he 's los' hees life too,All on account of hees wife too,An' I know you 'll be sorry 'bout dat poor feller,I know you 'll be sorry for Joe Boucher.
Now I know very well dat all poor manHe tak' some chance w'en he get marie,So he better look out all de bes' he can,Or he 'll be ketch lak Joe Boucher—Now he 's los' hees life too,All on account of de wife too,An' I know you 'll be sorry 'bout dat poor feller,I know you 'll be sorry for Joe Boucher.