A LOVER IN HOMESPUN AND OTHER STORIES BY F. CLIFFORD SMITH SECOND EDITION TORONTO:WILLIAM BRIGGS29-33 Richmond St. WestMONTREAL: C. W. COATES. HALIFAX: S. F. HUESTIS. PHILADELPHIA: HENRY ALTEMUS. 1896 ENTERED, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the yearone thousand eight hundred and ninety-six, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, at theDepartment of Agriculture. To My Mother, WHO HAS TAKEN SUCH A WARM AND LOVINGINTEREST IN MY LITERARY ENDEAVORS, I DEDICATE MY BOOK OF CANADIAN STORIES. CONTENTS. Page A Lover in Homespun 7 The Faith that Removes Mountains 31 A Pair of Boots 50 A Prairie Episode 79 A Daughter of the Church 105 A Perilous Encounter 125 Le Loup-Garou 134 A Christmas Adventure 148 Narcisse's Friend 155 A Strange Presentiment 170 A Memorable Dinner 184 * * * * * A Lover in Homespun. Onesime Charest, farmer, of L'Orignal, was a happy man. As he drovethrough the quaint little French-Canadian village, on his way to therailway station, he was saluted by the villagers with much ceremony. Everyone knew perfectly well just what it was that was taking farmerCharest to the station this beautiful hazy afternoon. Over a week hadnow elapsed since he received the letter from his son Zotique, in theUnited States, saying he would be home on September 10th. Before the important communication had been in the village a day, itwas common property, and had been read and re-read until almost everysoul in the place knew it off by heart. The wanderer's return was to be made more momentous by Madame Charestinviting a large number of guests to a party, to be given by her theevening he returned. If these worthy people were in a joyous mood the night of the party, nature appeared equally so; for by the time the first hay-cart, withits burden of guests, drove up to the scene of the festivities, themoon, as though specially engaged to do duty on this honored occasion, stood right over farmer Charest's house, and with jovial countenancebeamed into the faces of the arriving guests, and threw such a kindlylight over the farmer's rough, nondescript garments as to make themlook almost like good, soft broadcloth. It also paid flatteringattention to Madame Charest, and so beautified her thin face andsilvered her grey hair, as she stood in the door and welcomed thearrivals, as to make the neighbors affirm--and that in a manner thatit would have been utterly useless to try and gainsay--that she lookedfar younger than she did ten years ago! The lion of the hour, of course, was the wanderer Zotique. He stood inthe main room of the house, the kitchen, near the long improvisedtable, with its burden of seductive viands, and shook hands with theguests without even the slightest tinge of the superiority which itwas thought he would, and that justly, assume. Notwithstanding his graciousness, however, he was looked upon with nolittle awe. He had grown so tall, got so broad-shouldered, become theowner of such a soft, curling moustache, and wore such fine clothesand white linen as to quite throw in the shade his elder brotherVital, and the other men present, who wore, as was customary on alloccasions--state or otherwise--the dark woollen suits and grey woollenshirts, with the long pointed, attached collars. Had Zotique not been a sensible fellow, he would surely have had hishead turned by the many flattering things said to him. It so chanced, too, that remarks were passed about him to his parentsand brother, _sotto voce_, which, strange as it may appear, managed insome unaccountable manner always to reach his ears. "He certainly has grown good-looking, very good-looking, " thoughtVital, as he hovered about his younger brother. Although he wassincerely glad to see him, he could not altogether drive away theshameful wish that he had been less handsome. When he thought of whatit was that gave rise to the wish, he felt ill at ease. Vital, in every way, was different from his tall younger brother. Hewas slimly built, scarcely the average height, and not prone to manywords. He was given to day-dreams, too, and often did suchabsent-minded things as to cause his father much mental perturbation, and at times to wish that he had not given him so much schooling, buthad trained him for a farmer instead of a school-teacher. Still he wasimmensely proud of his two sons, and as he saw them standing together, he decided that they looked far superior to the other farmers' sons, who had been given little or no education. The wanderer Zotique was only twenty-two years of age, while Vital hadturned thirty. As the minutes stole by, and the babel of tongues increased, it mighthave been noticed that both the brothers stole anxious glances at thedoor. Every time it opened they invariably turned to see who thearrival was. There must have been some weighty reasons for thefrequent disappointed looks which stole across their faces. At last the guests had nearly all arrived, and farmer Charest, hisgood-natured face all aglow, intimated by much hammering on the tablethat it was time they sat down to supper. There being no dissentingvoice to this popular proposition, a general move was made to thebenches ranged on both sides of the table. By a strange coincidence, Zotique and Vital, instead of going to the table with the others, gravitated toward the door. "Just thought I would have a look out; it is such a fine night, " saidZotique, as he took a long breath of fresh air. Vital looked at his robust brother in a queer, constrained manner, andsaid that it was indeed a beautiful evening. Now, instead of lookingup at the queen of the night, as one would naturally have expectedafter such flattering comments, they both, as though by commonconsent, treated her with the most marked disrespect, not once lookingtoward her, but bestowing all their attention on a certain littlewhitewashed cottage down the road, from a window of which streamed alight. "I think we had better go in, " said Zotique, presently, in a slightlydisappointed tone. "Yes, yes, Zotique, what you say is right; there never was a finernight, " answered Vital, dreamily, his eyes still fixed thoughtfully onthe cottage. He was in one of his absent moods, and had not heardwhat his brother had said. Zotique turned, looked sharply at him, and then broke into a heartylaugh. "You are as absent-minded as ever, Vital, " he said jestingly, as he seized him by the arm and marched him into the room. The guests were seated, but there was still room for four or fivemore. After jeering them both for being moon-gazers, farmer Charestcalled Zotique to come and sit by his side. Vital, thus being leftalone, wandered off to the foot of the table, and sat down by the sideof an old farmer, where there was plenty of room. What made him go sofar for a seat when there were others nearer, though not so roomy, will presently be seen. Hardly had he seated himself when he did anunaccountable thing. Sitting as close as he could get to the farmer onhis right, he stealthily ran his hand along the bench till it reachedhis neighbor on his left. The intervening space evidently wassatisfactory, for a look of content came over his face, and he turnedand looked once more expectantly at the door. Scarcely had the repast begun when the door was quickly opened, and ayoung woman, clad in a bewitching white dress, burst into the room. She was out of breath, and had evidently been running. "Do you know, Madame Charest, " she said laughingly, as she advanced, "the reason I am late is--because--well, because"--the color rushedinto her face as she hesitated for a few moments--"because it took meso long to dress. There, now, I have told you! Father said he wouldtell you all when he came just what did keep me, although I coaxed himnot to. Now I have spoiled the joke he was going to have on me, and wecan laugh at him. " This audacious thwarting of parental plans caused much laughter, during which Zotique sprang to his feet, and going over to where shewas standing, and laughing merrily, held out his hand and said, "Haveyou no word of welcome for me, Katie White?" She put her hand into the outstretched one, and looking up into hisface with her bright blue eyes, told him that she was very muchpleased to see him. Vital, who had seen her the very moment the door opened, had risenwith alacrity, and in the hope that she would see the vacant seat byhis side, was unconsciously crushing the hapless farmer on his rightinto a most uncomfortable position. The hopeful, expectant look onVital's face deserved far better recognition than it was awarded. Despite the fact that there was but little room where Zotique wassitting, the shameless, prevaricating fellow impressed upon her thatseats in that particular quarter were actually going begging. For a few moments Katie hesitated as though she hardly knew what todo. Absent-minded Vital was still standing and looking at her, hiswhole heart in his eyes. "Yes, I will sit next to you; it was very kind of you to take suchinterest in getting me a seat. " Poor Vital! As he heard these ominous words, saw her look up and smileat Zotique, and after great crushing sit down by his side, all thepleasure of eating left him entirely. As the good things began to disappear and tongues were loosened, unobtrusive Vital seemed to be entirely forgotten, except by theneighbor whom he had so cruelly crowded. Had it not been for thiskindly, unrevengeful soul, Vital's inner man would have been in asbeggarly a condition at the conclusion of the meal as at thebeginning. As it was, it received but scant attention. Seeing thepoverty of his plate, without asking leave, the farmer generouslyfilled it. This act of kindness brought Vital's thoughts to a sudden halt, andmade him feel ashamed of the interest he had been displaying in allthe young woman, seated at his brother's side, had been doing andsaying. With a firm determination no longer to slight his plate, heturned his attention to it, but had scarcely eaten two mouthfuls whenhis treacherous thoughts stole off to Katie again. Absently laying hisknife and fork down, he was soon unconscious of all that was going onaround him. His friendly neighbor decided it would be a most opportune time topass the salt, and thus give him another hint that he was losing muchvaluable time. "Oh, thank you, " said Vital, absently, as he took the salt andproceeded to distribute it over his meat in such reckless quantitiesas to completely entomb the latter. For a space the farmer lookedaghast, and then, with a mystified shake of his head, turned hisattention to his own affairs, and did not look at him again till thetime for speech-making had arrived. Then, to his consternation, he sawVital had not made the slightest effort to extricate the hapless meatfrom its strange covering. Besides the farmer, another person hadwitnessed the adventures of Vital's plate! After considerable solicitation and stimulating applause, farmerCharest rose to deliver the first speech. "As dare are, " he began inbroken English, "a few farmer here who not spick de French lanwige, Iwill try for spick a few words in Anglish. I know I not spick delanwige vary much, but my son Zotique, who just come from de States, he spick Anglish just so well as de Anglish, and so he mak you spichbetter dan I mak. " He turned and laid his hand affectionately on Zotique's head. Zotiquecolored at the unexpected compliment, and looking down into Miss KatieWhite's bright blue eyes, smiled, and shook his head deprecatingly. She looked up, smiled, and nodded her compact little head, as thoughshe thought the compliment was fully deserved. Vital, who had eyes for only one person in the room, saw the lookZotique gave her, and her apparent appreciation of it, and longed tobe out in the little garden at the back of the house. "I not mak some vary long spich, " went on the orator, "as I know datyou all rather have de dance. Den I see, too, dat my friend MagloireMeloche, down dare, he look many time at de fiddle he brought and hangon de wall. " This bantering allusion to the veteran fiddle-player ofthe district caused a hearty outburst of laughter and applause. "All I want for say, " continued the speaker, rubbing his hands brisklywith gratified pride, "is dat me and my _femme_ we both glad dat myson Zotique he come from de States to pay us de visit. My son he dowell in de States, where dare is vary much place for work. When hewrite to say dat he pay us de visit, my _femme_, she say she mak dislittle pleasure so dat you all see him. My son Zotique he now spick. " Had farmer Charest been a second "Mark Antony, " the recognition of hisoratorical ability could not have been more marked. Certain it is thatthat renowned orator could not have borne more becomingly the honorsshowered upon him. Very handsome Zotique looked as he rose, and he spoke in English whichfully justified the goodly remarks passed upon it by his father. Vital's heart beat fast with pride as he looked at his handsomebrother, until it occurred to him how insignificant Katie White mustthink him in comparison. Before Zotique had spoken many words, he had completely won the heartsof his hearers. Quite fluently he told them of the cities he hadvisited in the States, and how a grocery clerk's life was one much tobe desired. He interspersed little jokes in his speech, at which helaughed just as heartily and sincerely as his listeners. More thanonce he was on the point of concluding, when a glance at Katie White'ssweet face incited him to fresh efforts. It was a speech remembered and spoken of for many days. Before the dancing began, farmer Charest declared, despite theincreasing and obvious restlessness of Magloire Meloche to get at thefiddle, that they must have a speech, in English, from his eldest sonVital. "And my son Vital, he has mak me a good son, if he do like totink alone too much, and sometime do forgetful ting. " Veryaffectionate was the look he gave Vital, who had been with him always, and for whom it was not necessary to kill the fatted calf. If there was anything Vital was an adept at not doing, it was making aspeech in English. He was considered quite clever at playing the organin the little village church, singing the mass, teaching school, and ahundred other things, but at speaking English he was known as anarrant failure. For a few moments he stood struggling hard to regain his composure, and ardently wishing that Katie were at his side to inspire him as shehad inspired his brother. Finally, he launched forth, to the quietamusement of the few English farmers present. Truly, he took libertieswith the language seldom attempted even by French-Canadians, to whomthe Saxon tongue appears to have no terrors. Yet, had he spoken inDutch, he would have been listened to just as patiently, for allpresent knew and appreciated his quiet worth. After accomplishing thefeat of letting them know, at least half a dozen times, that he wasglad once more to see his brother with them, he got hopelesslywrecked, and gazed hard at his plate for inspiration. Finding nosuccor there, his thoughts again galloped off to the young woman whohad come late, where they evidently delighted to linger. A peacefulsmile stole over the speaker's worried face, and absently taking uphis fork he began to drum contentedly on the table with it, utterlyforgetful of those who were waiting anxiously for the remainder of hisremarks. With a broad smile, farmer Charest began to applaud loudly, receivinggenerous aid from the guests. This unexpected appreciation caused Vital to color painfully, wellintentioned though he knew the applause to be. The thought that Katiemust be again contrasting him with Zotique kept the crimson hue on hisface long after he sat down. The few remaining words which he spokewere in continued praise of his brother, of whose cleverness both heand his parents were very proud. After the clapping of hands had subsided, the table was carried awayto make room for the dancing. Feeling that he had utterly disgraced himself in Katie's eyes, Vitalwandered off to a quiet corner where he could see her withoutattracting attention. It seemed to him, once or twice, that she lookedover inquiringly in his direction, but the thought that it waspresumptuous of him to imagine she would think of him now, made himquickly decide that he had been mistaken as to the direction of herglances. He was also convinced now that he had made a still moreserious mistake when he allowed himself to hope that she hadcherished tender thoughts of the many walks they had taken along thequiet country road, and of the evenings he had spent with her. Fearing to be thought unsociable, he rose hastily, and was soontalking to the guests with unusual eagerness. His sudden lapses intothought, however, created the impression in the minds of some of hislisteners that he was laboring under suppressed excitement. At times, when he found himself drifting unconsciously toward Katie, it was amusing to see what a hasty retreat he would beat. As for Zotique, he had never enjoyed himself more. Scarcely for amoment did he leave Katie's side. Brightly he talked to her of theirschool-days and of the many pleasant parties they had met at before hewent away. When, presently, he asked her about a certain littlepresent which he had sent her a few months before, his voice grew verytender, as also indeed did his eyes. It took considerable questioningbefore she admitted that she had not parted with it. After this slightadmission he grew more chatty than ever, and failed to notice that hermanner was growing a little constrained. Finally the floor was cleared, and Magloire Meloche, with muchdignity, took down the doughty fiddle, seated himself, cast his eyescalmly over the expectant guests, and began slowly to tune up. Fromthe expression of his face, it was quite apparent that he had a keenappreciation of the important part he had been called upon to occupyin the evening's festivities. Besides constituting the entireorchestra, he was floor manager, and called out the figures. The gustowith which he cried out, "Swing your pardner! Now tak de hand allround, " etc. , and beat time with his huge moccasined foot, added in noinconsiderable degree to the excitement. It being well known that Vital did not dance, no comments were passedupon his absence. The poor fellow had tried to stay and watch thedancing, but the pain at his heart had grown so, on seeing Zotique'sarm around her waist, that he really could not endure it, and so hadgone out to the little garden at the back of the house, and wassitting on his favorite seat under a huge birch tree, whose thickfoliage the inquisitive moon could scarcely pierce. Through the open kitchen door there floated to him at intervals theplaying of the fiddle, and the commanding tones of Magloire Meloche. Finally the music ceased, and some of the dancers came out into thegarden to view the beauty of the night. Vital was just in the act ofrising, when a couple, whom he recognized as his brother and KatieWhite, came within a few yards of him. Where he sat, the shadows weretoo deep for them to see him. Before he could escape, they paused for a few moments near the outerbranches of the great birch, where the lavish moon beamed clear asnoonday. Their faces were distinctly revealed. Zotique's bore anintensely eager look, while Katie's was strangely agitated. They weretalking earnestly. Dreading they might think he was eaves-dropping, Vital was about to make his presence known, when they began slowly tomove away, and there fell upon his ears words that bereft him ofspeech. It was his brother's voice, low and pleading: "Before I wentaway I loved you, and I have loved you ever since. I was so anxious tosee you, that I came back. You are surprised at me telling youto-night; but I can only stay a few days. If you will only give meyour promise, I--" The voice died away in the distance. The shadows where Vital stood suddenly assumed a more sombre hue, andwidened and deepened and spread, until the whole garden was envelopedin a funereal pall. The ancient garden seat groaned audibly as he sank back heavily uponit; the shock drove the gathering blackness away. Never in his lifebefore had he been so sorely moved; his pale face had almost a ghastlyhue, while his hands shook painfully. He rose mechanically and passedout into the moonlight, and looked around absently. There was no onein sight, and all was quiet. He began to move in the direction of thehouse. He appeared to have forgotten all about the festivities; he wassimply weary, and was going home to rest. "Tak your pardners for de nex' waltz!" A moment of preliminaryscraping, then the tune, and finally the muffled scuffling of feetfell upon his ears. Then it all came back to him, and turninghurriedly, he walked away from the house to the far end of the garden. Resting his arms on the fence, he stood bathed in the moonlight, trying to think it all out calmly, and get courage to return and actas though nothing had happened. While he stood battling with hisrebellious heart, he might have noticed, had he been facing the house, a young woman, dressed in white, come to the door soon after the dancehad started, and look around the garden as if searching for someone. Finally her eyes travelled to the far end of the garden, where alonely, despondent-looking figure was standing, and then she startedeagerly forward. Very lovely was the color in her cheeks as she spedtoward him. As she was about to lay her hand on his arm she appearedto grow irresolute. She paused and looked back at the house as thoughmeditating upon the advisability of returning, and actually did take afew steps towards it, but again hesitated and looked back; thepathetic droop of his shoulders affected her keenly, and she stoleback to him again. Bending her little head till it was near his, shesaid softly: "Dreaming again, Vital?" The foolish fellow turned and looked at her as though he had utterlyabandoned all faith in the veracity of his hitherto faithful eyes:"Katie! Katie White!" he exclaimed. She laughed outright. "Yes, Katie White. Did you think it was myghost? Of course, if you are not glad to see me, and would rather bealone, I can go back to the house again. " Sly Katie! It was marvellous the way the look of misery fled from his face, whilethe sudden growth of his friendliness was nothing less thanastounding. Taking her little hand in his he shook it repeatedly, andimpressed upon her, over and over again, that he had never been moresurprised in his life. Suddenly she put on a most serious look, and leaning back against thefence, looked up into his face and said gravely: "Even if you don'tdance, Vital, I think it was a little rude of you to leave the housefor so long, and scarcely speak to anyone the whole evening. And theway you acted, too, at dinner, Vital! I can't understand it. " In the happiness of having Katie near him, he had forgotten all aboutthe scene he had witnessed near the great birch tree, and the dreadfulwords that had floated to him, and had almost stopped the beating ofhis heart. Of course, she was his brother's now. How foolishly he hadbeen acting, and how painful to her must have been his extravagant joyat seeing her. The reference she had made to the dinner made hishumiliation still keener to bear, for he thought she alluded to hisunhappy speech. The sudden flight of happiness from his face made her own grow grave, and she drew a little closer to him; but in his humiliation he did notnotice it. He thought she was haughtily waiting for him to speak. Inhis quaint halting English he began to tell her that he feared he hadbeen most discourteous. The truth was he had "not meant to stay awayso long, but had got thinking of--of--" "Thinking of what, Vital?" Was he mistaken? Was not that a kindly ring in her voice? It was hardto keep his eyes from her face. Then he thought of his brother, and hewas sure his ears had deceived him. After a painful pause, he answeredthat he had been thinking of many things. Not for a moment did hedream of letting her know that she had been the magnet around whichall his thoughts had revolved. Then he began to explain about thatspeech. Hardly had he begun to apologize for his lack of oratoricalability, when a pained expression swept across Katie's face, and shewas about to reproach him for thinking she would be so ungenerous asto upbraid him for such a thing, when a spirit of mischief entered herheart, and putting on a serious air she let him continue. He finallywound up by praising his brother's wonderful gift of speech. "Oh, yes, " she replied warmly, "Zotique is a great speaker, and such adancer!" She stole a swift glance at him. His eyes were still fixed onthe trees in the distance. A queer little smile stole around thecorners of her mouth. He admitted, with a valiant effort to throw alittle enthusiasm into his voice, that Zotique was indeed a granddancer. The smile, which was in no way scornful, deepened on her face. "And he is so polite to ladies, and takes such trouble to provide themwith seats at crowded tables, " Katie went on reflectively. He stole a hasty glance at her face, but quick as he was she wasquicker; the smile had vanished. He saw only a deeply thoughtfulexpression. To think of Katie praising Zotique for providing her with a seat! Ifshe only knew how she was wounding him! but he was sure she did not. He wondered what she would think if she only knew that the failure ofhis speech had been largely due to not having had the privilege ofproviding her with a seat. He thought of how anxiously he had watchedthe door for her, and how Zotique had upset all his plans by going sofearlessly up to her and taking her to the seat at his side. Hewondered she had not noticed how he had stood up all the time she hadbeen talking to his brother, and how in that way he had tried to gether to notice the generous vacant space at his side. There was nothingto be done now but to let Katie misunderstand him: to let her know thetrue state of his feelings would be treachery to Zotique. In a low voice he admitted Zotique's superiority over him also in thecapacity of politeness. It is wonderful how cruel maidens can be at times. In a tone in whichthere was just the slightest shade of reproach, Katie told him thatshe really had expected him to show her a little more attention, considering how very long they had been friends. Perhaps, however, hislack of attention had been due to his feeling unwell; she had seen howhe had hardly eaten anything. Ill-health would account, too, for thetremendous covering of salt he had put over his meat. Poor Vital! This was dreadful; she had misunderstood him ineverything. She would never know that his prodigality with the salthad been due to the perversity of his heart in longing for what itwould now never possess. Manfully he stuck to the thankless part hehad to play, and admitted that ill-health had something to do with hisstrange behavior. The trees were beginning to assume gigantic shapes and to get mixed upwith the horizon, and his eyes were aching. He was suffering keenly. Finally his eyes rested on the ground. A new trouble had arisen andwas torturing him: he thought it was his duty to congratulate her onher engagement with his brother. If he wished her happiness withoutwaiting for her to tell him about the engagement, she perhaps wouldsee that he was not quite so impolite as she had thought him. It washard to commence. Distressfully his hand caressed the rough fence. Katie glanced at him stealthily: the troubled look on his face smoteher to the heart. She was ashamed of her cruelty. Trying to piece his barren English so it would not offend, Vitalfinally told her how glad he was that she was going to be hisbrother's wife. He dwelt upon Zotique's manliness, and how he wasquite sure she would never be sorry that she had chosen him. She gazed at him in amazement. "Marry Zotique?" she queried, aghast. He thought her surprise was due to his knowledge of the engagement, sohe hastened, with much delicacy, to explain that he had not meant tolisten. Zotique, of course, had been very much in earnest and hadspoken a little loudly to her as they passed the birch tree; that washow he came to know so soon. As Katie noted Vital's innate tact and delicacy, and saw how bravelyhe was suffering, and knew that it was all due to her cruelty, herlips began to tremble pitifully, and her eyes filled with tears. Shetried hard not to break down, but her heart reproached her so fiercelythat there was no use struggling, and so resting her arms on the fenceshe buried her face in them, and burst into remorseful tears. Had the earth yawned and swallowed the trees in the distance, Vital'sconsternation could not have been greater. Had Katie laughed, he wouldnot have been surprised; but to break into such heart-rending sobs! Hewas by her side in an instant, his sensitive face all aglow withsympathy. Laying his hand lightly on her arm, he told her how sorry hewas for having caused her such bitter grief. He should have knownbetter, and not have mentioned her engagement until she had first toldhim of it. He only now realized how embarrassing his conversation musthave been to her. Instead of diminishing her sorrow, these kindly words caused Katie'sshoulders to heave still more quickly, and made the sobs more bitter. Miserably Vital stood by her side, utterly at a loss to know what todo; everything he had done and said had given her pain. For the firsttime in his life he wished he never had been born. He did not again attempt to speak, but stood quietly at her side. Atlast the sobs ceased, and then with downcast eyes Katie stepped to hisside and slipped her arm hesitatingly through his. The touch of herhand thrilled him. Thinking that she wanted him to take her back tothe house, and was too angry to speak to him, he turned, and with themoon full in their faces they began silently to walk toward the house. As they neared it, the sounds of the violin and the merry-making grewmore distinct. He thought of the happiness awaiting her there, and thebitterness for him, and his heart rebelled fiercely. Near the house, partly shaded by a friendly apple-tree, was a bench, where Vital often sat. When they reached it, Katie let go of his armand seated herself upon it. "She wants to be alone until she can compose herself to go into thehouse, " he thought, and was hurrying away, when she called to him. Heretraced his steps and stood before her. "Sit down, Vital. " This time he had not made a mistake; there was something in the toneof her voice which made him tremble with happiness. Willingly heobeyed the invitation. For a few moments she sat and twined her fingers together nervously. She knew how dear she was to him, and wanted to make amends. "I have been very cruel to you to-night, Vital, " she began in a low, uneven tone. Wrathfully he began to deny such an outrageous statement. "I thought you would like to know, " she continued, falteringly, whenhis indignation had somewhat subsided, "that you are mistaken in thatabout Zotique and me; we are not engaged. I--I--told him, no. " It washard to tell him this; but she had treated him so very badly and hadtaken such an unfair advantage of his trusting nature. The sudden relief from the restraint he had borne so long made himlose command of himself altogether. He sprang quickly to his feet, andlooking down at the fair averted face, said, with the love-lightbeaming in his eyes, "I love you, too, Katie. " It was only after thewords were spoken that he realized his amazing boldness. As he stoodabashed, a warm, sweet hand crept into his. The daring fellow held ittightly! "I can't tell you how glad I am that you love me, for I love you, too. " In the twinkling of an eye he was sitting by her side. "Once agin bow to de ladies!" And to think that he should ever havethought Magloire Meloche had a coarse voice, and that his fiddle wasalways out of tune! He had sorely maligned him. When they married, hedecided mentally, he should have Magloire play at the wedding. A laudable feeling of pity for the other little hand, which looked solonely on the bench there, caused him to reach over and takepossession of it, too. Then Katie made a full confession of herduplicity. She told him how she had seen the seat he had been savingfor her the moment she entered the kitchen, but had wilfully pretendednot to notice it in order to tease him. As for his speech, she wassure it had sounded as sweet to everyone at the table as it had toher, for they all knew that he had fully meant all the kindly thingshe had said about Zotique. His heart beat riotously as he heard hertell how badly she had been crowded at the table, and how all the timeshe had longed to be sitting next to him. When she declared she knewthe reason of his seasoning his food in such a remarkable manner, wasbecause she had not been by his side, he declared her to be a perfectmind-reader. "All tak hands for de last time!" The sonorous tones brought them downto earth once more. She started to her feet and caught his hand. "Quick! quick!" she said; "we must get into the house before the dancestops, or they will miss us and we shall be teased. " Hand in hand, like two happy children, they began to run. Aslaughingly they turned the corner of the house they ran straight intothe arms of a tall young man. They both uttered an exclamation, andlooked up. It was Zotique! Over Zotique's shoulder the shameless moon shone full into theirstartled faces. A child could have read their story. In the surpriseof the moment they forgot to unclasp hands. As he looked down at them an angry flush mounted to his brow, and thenwith a constrained nod Zotique stepped aside as though to continue hiswalk. But a closer look into Vital's face aroused a more generousspirit, and turning, he caught their clasped hands in his great ones, sympathetically pressed them, and without a word passed on. He wouldhave liked to wish them happiness, but his heart ached so! They entered the house just as Magloire took the fiddle from hisshoulder, and the dancers, with flushed faces, sat down to rest. Katiewas soon surrounded by a circle of admirers, and then, unnoticed, Vital slipped away, and hurried into the garden. Zotique was nowhere in sight, but Vital knew just where he would findhim. When he came to the great birch he stopped and peered in at thebench, where the shadows were deep: Zotique was there. Vital sat downby his side, and laying his hand on his brother's shoulder, said in alow voice, "You--cared--a great deal, Zotique?" "A great deal, Vital. " There was no reproach in the tone. "Zotique--I don't know what to say--I never was, as you know, a verygood hand at saying things. It was hard to think of you being here allalone. I--I--want you to know, Zotique, that I have not tried to actunderhanded. It all happened between us so suddenly, and so--so--" "Yes, I understand; don't worry about it, Vital, " he interrupted, --ina tone which eased Vital's heart more than any words could have done. They sat ever so long without speaking. Finally Zotique said quietly, "My coming back was all a mistake, Vital; I never thought you caredfor her in that way; you were always so quiet and absent-minded that Imisunderstood you. " He paused for a few moments and then went onunevenly: "After I get back--perhaps not just at once--I will writeand tell her how fortunate she is. " * * * * * The Faith that Removes Mountains. Just as the bells in the great towers of old Notre Dame Church, inMontreal, were striking the hour of ten, a gust of October wind, morefierce than its fellows, bore down upon the trees in the French Squarefronting the church, tore from them multitudes of leaves, brown andcrisp and dry, drove them past the ancient church, along Notre DameStreet, across the Champ de Mars to St. Dominique Street, and heapedthem sportively in the doorway of a quaint French-Canadian cottage. There huddling apprehensively together, the door opened, just as thewind with renewed vigor beat down upon them once more. For a fewmoments a weird, bent figure, crutch in hand, stood in the doorwaygasping for breath, her claw-like hands brushing away the leaves, which clung to her as if affrighted. The weight of years bore upon herso heavily that she scarcely had strength to close the door in theface of the riotous storm. As she stood panting and wheezing in thelittle parlor, into which the street door opened, she made aremarkable picture. She was clad in a dark, ill-fitting dress, fastened around the waist by a broad strip of faded yellow ribbon;about her neck the parchment-like skin hung in heavy folds, while herentire face was seamed over and over with deep wrinkles, giving it amarvellously aged appearance. At length her strength returned, and she muttered as she hobbledacross the room: "The storm is worse; I fear she cannot go outto-night. " Reaching an ancient door, from which the paint had fadedyears before, she turned the handle, when a strange sight wasrevealed. Kneeling before a plaster cast of the Virgin, with a stringof bone prayer-beads in her hands, was another aged woman. Ranged oneither side of the statue were two colored wax candles, lighting upthe face of the devout worshipper, whose hair the years had bleachedwhite as snow. She was twenty years younger than her crippled sister, who had defied death for nearly a hundred years. On seeing the image and the worshipper, the sister in the doorwaypainfully fell upon her knees, clasped her hands, and also began topray. Finally they both rose. Putting aside her beads, the youngersister--whom the neighbors called "Little Mother Soulard"--took up anancient-looking bonnet, which she proceeded to fasten by two immensestrings under her chin. She was short in stature and inclined to bestout; her face, though heavily lined, was still pleasing to look at. "Is it storming as badly as ever, Delmia?" she asked, turning to hersister, who stood watching her putting on her things with adissatisfied countenance. "The storm is worse than ever, " Delmia answered peevishly. "Do not goout to-night. You, too, are old, and it is a long way to theBonsecours Church. I fear the storm will be too much for you. " "But think, dear, " replied her sister, commiseratingly, "how our poornephew will be thinking of us in that dreadful place, and think, too, of her who was this day to have been his wife. They both sorely needmy prayers this night. I must--I must go, Delmia. " "But, " contended Delmia, persistently, bringing her crutch sharplydown on the floor, "why not pray here" (turning and looking at thestatue) "to the Virgin, instead of going out this fearful night topray to her in the church?" The Little Mother let the shawl she was drawing around her shouldersfall to the floor, as she heard the question, and walking over to hervenerable sister, said excitedly, as she grasped her by the arm: "Haveyou not heard, Delmia, of the wonderful answers to prayer that theVirgin has given in the Bonsecours Church? Only yesterday two moremiracles were reported. Madame Dubuc told me about them this morning. Two women who had been afflicted with lameness for years were fullyrestored to health, and they left their crutches in the church, wherethey can be seen by anyone. " Her excitement was infectious; the aged Delmia's eyes also began togleam with religious enthusiasm, while her trembling hand caused thecrutch to keep up a soft tattoo on the floor. "And guess why the Virgin answered their prayers, Delmia?" she went onin a hushed voice; "because they prayed in the church from midnightuntil daybreak. Nearly all the miracles that the Blessed Virgin hasperformed there have been for those who have denied themselves for herin this manner. The night is rough and she knows how old I am. Who cantell what she may do for me if I go out on a night like this to thechurch and pray to her?" "It is wonderful! wonderful! Blessed be the Virgin! It was wrong of meto tell you not to go. I spoke in ignorance. It may be that she willhear you, and cause a miracle to be worked, so that our nephew will berestored to us again. I cannot bear to think of him having to staythere for four long, long years. " "That would be too much to ask of the Virgin, " answered the LittleMother, in a voice as though she feared to pursue the thought, "but Iwill pray to her that he be comforted, and that little Marie berestored to health again. " As she spoke Mother Soulard glanced in thedirection of the little bedroom where hours ago she, who that day wasto have been a bride, had retired to rest. Poor Marie! On this woful night she had persisted in sleeping at theirhouse. Her parents had tried to soothe her, but she had grown soviolent that, stormy and all as it was, they could do nothing butbring her to her lover's home. She was now in the little bedroomwhich had been Ovide's since he was a boy, but which he had not sleptin for six months and would never sleep in again. Delmia turned her dimmed eyes in the direction of the room and saidwith a sigh of relief: "Marie seems to be sleeping well, sister!" As they stole, hand in hand, past the bedroom toward the street door, the Little Mother replied: "Sleep is the only thing that can save hernow. She has hardly slept at all since Ovide went away, and her reasonhas nearly all gone with sorrowing for him. Everything depends uponher sleeping to-night. Ah, such trouble! I must go and pray, sister. If Ovide only knew how she suffers, it would kill him. " Turning withhand on the door she added earnestly, "If you hear the slightest noisein the room, Delmia, go and soothe her, and tell her I won't be long. " "Had you not better open the door now, and look at her? She has beenasleep so long, " answered Delmia, uneasily. "No! no! Delmia; we might disturb her. " The next moment the dooropened, a gust of cold air swept into the room and she was gone. Ifshe only had glanced into the room to see if Marie was sleeping! The storm had grown more violent, and great clouds, ominous with rain, were now overcasting the sky. Her sister could hardly have reached thecorner of the street, when Delmia thought she heard a slight noise inthe bedroom. She bent her head and listened attentively. "It isnothing; my ears often deceive me now, " she mumbled as she laboriouslyseated herself on a maimed rocking-chair, which creaked dismally asshe rocked herself to and fro. Its querulous protestations preventedher hearing the sound of a falling window which came from thedirection of Marie's bedroom. "Yes, yes, " Delmia rambled on, "my hearing is very bad now. " Presentlyshe stopped, leaned her head toward the door and listened again. "Marie sleeps soundly, " she said with a tired, contented sigh. PoorDelmia! The strangely-clad figure, which had sprung through the window, crouched close to the side of the house, and with rapidly-beatingheart listened to hear if Delmia had heard the noise the treacheroussash had made as it fell behind her. She knew there was no danger ofthe Little Mother being aroused, for she was listening at the bedroomdoor and had heard her go out; she had only the aged Delmia to fear. There was no need for alarm; Delmia had not heard. The rays from the gas-lamp cast yellow flickering shadows on the laneand the side of the old brick house, and at intervals upon thecrouching figure. Suddenly Marie sprang to her feet and started torun; but before she had gone many steps, something white andcloud-like, which was fastened about her head, and which unperceivedby her, had become fastened in the window, caused her to haltabruptly. She caught the tremulous thing in her hands and gave it aquick pull; there was a sound of tearing and then she was free. As sheran across the sidewalk under the lamp, her strange attire wasdistinctly revealed; it was that of a bride! Strikingly grotesque inthe storm appeared her long white dress, flowing veil, and white kidshoes. On reaching the opposite side of the road, where the shadows weredeep, Marie paused and looked back at the little house which she hadso suspiciously left. Finding that she was not being pursued, sheturned, regardless of the storm, and began to walk toward the east, where lay, some six miles distant, the great penitentiary of St. Vincent de Paul. As she sped along in the shadow of the houses, shebegan to talk to herself like a pleased child. "This is ourwedding-day, and he will be so glad to see me, " she chattered. Suddenly the smile died out of her face, and she said anxiously: "Buthow shall I know him, now that they have changed his name?" She wrungher hands distressfully. Soon the smile returned to her round, sweetface, and she went on: "But he cannot have forgotten that this is ourwedding-day, and when he sees me, he is sure to know me. " * * * * * If tender-hearted little Mother Soulard had only known as shestruggled across the Champ de Mars, muttering prayers for Marie andher nephew Ovide, her strength must surely have failed her. She was soweak and worn that she fairly staggered across the Notre Dame and downBonsecours Street; but her strength revived and her heart grew lightagain, as she saw in the near distance the famed Bonsecours Church, bearing on its lofty roof the great statue of the Blessed Virgin, which, with arms outstretched toward the River St. Lawrence, welcomesto port those whose business it is to imperil their lives in deepwaters. Although the hour was late, several French-Canadian women were in thechurch, crouched at the feet of the marble statue of the Virgin, nearthe gorgeous altar. As the church door complainingly opened anddisclosed the wet, weary figure of little Mother Soulard, theworshippers, with that lack of curiosity so characteristic ofFrench-Canadian women when in church, did not look up, nor even appearto notice her as she crowded past them, and also knelt before thestatue that had given such wonderful answers to prayer. Devoutly shekissed the Virgin's feet. One by one, the seekers after health and happiness stole away, andpresently the Little Mother was all alone. Soon the only sounds thatbroke the intense silence were her loudly whispered supplications andthe clicking of her prayer-beads, which waked weird echoes in thegreat galleries and organ loft. Now it was Ovide, and anon Marie; over and over, again she poured outher heart for them. If the dear Mother would but put it into thehearts of the men who had sent Ovide, her nephew, from her--whom sheloved as a son--to give him his liberty! She was sure he had neverforged the note; it was cruel of them to have him kept in such anunhappy, disgraceful place. Even if he had fallen, might they not haveshown him mercy? Better than anyone else the Blessed Virgin knew, thateveryone needed mercy more than justice! Thus she pleaded, and in theinnocence of her own simple mind she condoned the evil the loved onehad done. As she continued to pray, her religious enthusiasm increased, until, at last, raising her bowed head, and looking up into the immobileface, carved in pitying lines, she cried despairfully: "Dear Mother, hear my prayers for them both! This was to have been theirwedding-day, and Marie is suffering so. She cannot sleep or eat, andthey say her sorrow may drive her mad, and that she will have to betaken to the house of the imbecile. Poor, poor Ovide, that wouldsurely break his heart!" Unable any longer to control her sorrow, she sprang to her feet, andclasping both her arms around the statue, pleaded in a voice whichstarted a thousand answering echoes: "Mother of us all, hearken to me. I know of the miracles thou hast wrought for those who have deniedthemselves for thee, and made sacrifices and done penance. And I willmake sacrifices and do penance if thou wilt but restore Ovide to meagain and give health to Marie. I will go on a pilgrimage to theTwelve Stations of the Cross, and pray at each of them; I will prayevery night for the souls in purgatory; I will go every day andcollect for the Little Sisters of the Poor. I--I--_Mon Dieu_, I willdo anything, anything, if thou wilt only answer my prayers. " Through utter exhaustion her arms slipped from the statue, at whosefeet she sank, sobbing like a child. Of a sudden her tears ceased, and her face lighted up with hope--thesermon that Father Benoit had preached about faith, the previousSabbath, had flashed across her mind. He had declared that to thosewho had faith nothing was impossible; faith could cause even mountainsto be removed--Christ himself had declared so. It was only throughthose who had great faith that the Virgin could perform mighty things. Vividly she recalled how the priest had pointed to the crutches in theglass case near the altar, and had told them that those who had leftthem forever behind, had been possessed of faith that nothing coulddaunt, and so had brought the blessing down. The "faith that could remove mountains!" How the words rang and rangin her ears! Soon her heart grew so light that she could have shoutedfor joy. "Of course, " she murmured with beaming eyes, "if I do notbelieve that she can do what I ask, how can she answer my prayers? Howsimple I have been, and how clear it all is to me now. I do believeand know that what I have asked will be granted, and that this verynight Ovide will be restored to me, and Marie's mind be made wellagain. " Again and again, out of the fulness of her heart, she kissedthe marble feet, and give thanks for the faith within her--the faiththat could remove mountains! Not for a moment did she stop to think what hard requests she hadmade. Fatigue and weariness now no longer beset her, and in glad eagernessto see her dear nephew again, and Marie, Mother Soulard fairly ranout of the dimly-lighted church, brushing against the shadowy pews asshe sped along the narrow aisles. So bound up was she in hernewly-found faith, that she scarcely noticed, on reaching the street, how heavily the rain was falling and how fierce the storm had grown. So boisterous, indeed, was the wind on the bleak Champ de Mars thatagain and again she had to halt for breath. "I can imagine I see them, " she thought, as she struggled on, "sittingin the parlor together with Delmia. How surprised Delmia must havebeen when Ovide walked in! and how Marie must have cried and kissedhim! But the miracle will soon be known to all the neighbors, and willbe told of in the churches, too. They shall be married in church byFather Benoit, because it was through his sermon the miracle wasbrought about. Ah, what a blessed day this will always be to me!" As she turned the corner of St. Dominique Street and saw her house, with the yellow glare of the street-lamp still upon it, she caught herold, dripping black dress in her hands, drew it in above her ankles, and began to run, painfully. "_Mon Dieu!_ At last, at last!" shepanted. Delmia, who had fallen asleep in her chair, sprang hastily to her feetas the street-door was burst open, and uttered a startled cry onseeing her sister standing in the doorway, looking with dazedexpression around the parlor, the water pouring in great streams fromher dress, which she still unconsciously held. "Where are they? Where are they, Delmia?" she asked, stretching outher hand for support. The heavy fatigue she had borne seemed to comeback to her all at once. In her surprise and haste to reach the door, the bent and palsiedDelmia let the crutch slip from her hand, and as she fell heavilyafter it, and lay struggling to regain her feet again, she looked likesome distorted creature of fancy. The sodden, pitiful figure in the door seemed not to have seen her. "Ovide! Ovide!" she called brokenly, staring blankly around the room. At last Delmia reached her side. Very gently she drew her into thehouse and closed the door. "Has Ovide not come, then?" she asked again, as she sank on the crazyrocking-chair. "Is Ovide coming?" asked her sister, wonderingly. The blood rushed back to the Little Mother's face, and she rosehastily. "How very foolish I am to-night, " she said, trying to bebrave. "I had forgotten that he may not have had time to get here yet;but he is coming, Delmia, surely coming. I have prayed to the Virgin, and the miracle is sure to be performed. I have the faith now, Delmia. " Her poor old face quivered with hope and fear. Across her bosom, shemade the sign of the cross. "I did not mean to doubt, " she saidpenitently. Suddenly catching her sister by the arm, she cried quickly, "He may behere, though, Delmia, at any moment, and we must tell her of hiscoming before he arrives, or the shock may make her worse. Ah! but Ihad forgotten. She must be quite well now, for I prayed for her, too!But we must go and see her; she has been asleep so long. " The Little Mother sped across the room in the direction of thebedroom, holding above her head the flaring lamp, Delmia hobblingafter her. As she eagerly entered Marie's room, and the light fell across thebed, she uttered a cry of deep dismay. The bed had not been disturbed. The horror on her face deepened as she saw a piece of wedding veil, which the window still securely held, noiselessly beating against thepanes. Slowly she turned her stricken face to the side of the wall, where Marie's wedding clothes had hung, covered with a sheet; thefinery had gone, and the sheet lay in a disordered heap on the floor. At length, endurance had come to an end; she had suffered so much, andthe shock had been so very great. The hand that held the lamp began toshake as though it were palsied; she swayed weakly from side to side;then there was a crash, and they were in darkness. As she fell heavilyacross the bed, she uttered a cry of anguish that was pitiful to hear. In the blackness Delmia feebly groped her way to her sister's side, and throwing her shrunken arms about her, tried to win her back toconsciousness by childishly calling her endearing names. * * * * * While Delmia called to her sister in the darkness, the storm withoutcontinued to rage. It had shown no mercy to the hapless leaves, neither did it lessen any of its malignity now as it tore along thestraight road leading to the penitentiary of St. Vincent de Paul, andovertook the sadly bedraggled figure clad in bridal robes. The heavyrain had wet her through and through, and she staggered from weaknessand exposure. The road was deep with mud, and the bridal dress was nolonger white; she had fallen so often. The flowing veil, althoughsodden and heavy, still afforded excellent sport for the boisterouswind, which tossed it about her head and face in the most fantasticmanner. Long since the covetous mud had snatched from her feet thelittle kid shoes, of which she had been so proud. Her reason had nowentirely gone, and she babbled incessantly. "I hope the priest who is to marry us will wait till I come, " shefretted; "I did not mean to be late. How funny that they should nowcall Ovide No. 317, instead of his right name. " She attempted tolaugh, but no sound reached her lips. "If I could only walk faster, " she whispered. Her strength waswell-nigh spent and the penitentiary was yet a mile away. Her feetwere so heavy that she could hardly drag them along; the mud had clungto them so that they looked strangely huge and out of proportion. As she neared the end of her journey, the road grew worse, the puddlesdeeper and wider. At first the poor girl had not fallen very often, but now the frequent dull splashes told a pitiful tale. Yet the rainfell none the less persistently, nor did the wind grow lessaggressive. At length, the grey dawn struggled through the clouds, which stilldoggedly hugged the earth, and drove away the gloomy shadows whichenveloped the high unpicturesque walls of the penitentiary. The rainhad ceased falling; even the wind had grown weary, and its faintwhispering could now scarcely be heard. As the clouds rose slowly above the walls of the penitentiary, theghastly pinched face of Marie was revealed. She was on her hands andknees, climbing up the heap of stones which the convicts had brokenand banked against the great walls. Around her face and shouldersstreamed the tresses of her dark wet hair, while the fragment of veilwhich still remained trailed raggedly after her. As she crawled everhigher, the stones' jagged edges cut her hands and knees, but she didnot feel the wounds; she was too far exhausted. When near the summit, she stopped abruptly; a shudder ran through her slight frame. For afew moments her hands clutched at the sharp stones, then she sprang toher feet, her body rigid, her eyes wild and staring. The end had come. "Ovide, I am here!" she gasped, and then fell heavily backward, rolling down the pile of stones into the hole near the wall, which thecarters had made. The weary eyes were wide open and turned toward thesky, but they no longer comprehended; the disordered brain no longerconjured up fantastic scenes, nor gave birth to diseased thoughts; therest she had so long needed had come to her at last, and sheslept--slept that deep, dreamless sleep from which not even he, forwhom she had sacrificed so much, could wake her. As the light grew more distinct, there stood revealed, on the top ofthe walls, four sentry-boxes. At short intervals, through the mist, the forms of the sentries could be seen, as they slowly paced to andfro, with rifles resting on their shoulders. The thick air was suddenly pierced by the penitentiary clockdiscordantly striking the hour of five. Hardly had its echoes diedaway when the clanking of chains and the decisive voices of the guardscould be heard, issuing from the great stone building in the centre ofthe yard. Half an hour later the heavily-barred doors of thepenitentiary swung open, and the convicts, surrounded by guards, filedslowly out into the courtyard. Before the men were taken to thevarious places of labor, they were ranged in single file, and theirnumbers called out. Nearly all the prisoners responded in sullen, rebellious tones. Butthe voice that answered to No. 317 was full of contrition andhopelessness. Six months before, the young convict who bore thisnumber was known as Ovide Demers, nephew of Little Mother Soulard. Theday that had just expired was to have been his wedding-day, and littleMarie Ethier, whom he had played with when a child, was to have beenhis wife. All night long, as he tossed about in his cell, he had beenthinking of her and of his two old aunts who had taken him to theirmeagre home when his parents died, and had watched over and cared forhim with the love of a mother. They had believed in him--although, alas! his guilt was so glaringly apparent--even when the whole worldhad forsaken him. So, because of all these things, his heart, on thisgloomy morning, was almost breaking; little wonder that his voicenearly failed as he answered to the number that now stood for hisname. The file of convicts was broken up into gangs; "317" belonged to thestone-breaking gang, and worked outside the frowning walls. As theyslowly passed out of the gate to the road, the sentries unswung theirrifles--many successful attempts to escape had been made by convictsin the past. Slowly the men were marched along the road, till they came to thegreat mound of stones, heaped against the walls, where they were putto work. Watchfully the guards stood near by, while the sentries, equally alert, paced the high walls. Scarcely had the hammers begun their monotonous chorus, when thetragedy occurred. Convict 317 was seen to let his hammer suddenlyfall, and gaze with terrified eyes into the hole near by. "Marie!Marie!" he shouted, in a voice charged with fear. Just as he reachedthe edge of the incline, and was about to jump down and clasp in hisarms the dear, bedraggled figure, clad in the torn bridal robes, thesentry near the gate brought his rifle to the shoulder, and in awarning voice called out to the fleeing convict; but the latter failedto hear the warning. There was a puff of smoke, a sharp report, andconvict 317 was seen to throw up his arms and fall. When the guards reached the spot where they thought he had fallen, hewas nowhere to be seen. They took a few steps forward and looked downthe incline: there he was at the bottom, with his head resting on thebosom of a young girl, in strange array. They sprang down and raised him--he would never occupy his cell again! As the guards stooped wonderingly over the form of the girl, theyfailed to see in the distance the rapid approach of a carriage, whichhad passed the gate and was close upon them. Just as they were aboutto summon the convicts to carry the bodies into the yard, the carriagestopped, and she who had prayed so fervently for the lifeless ones, and had tried so hard to believe, sprang out and ran to where theywere lying. Clasping her arms about them, she wept, and kissed thempassionately. "I am too late, too late!" she moaned in an agony of grief. The Little Mother had instinctively known the road Marie had taken, and the moment consciousness returned to her in the bedroom, she hadcalled a carriage and set out at once after her. The driver had drivenfuriously; his horse was covered with foam, but to no avail; Marie wasnear her sad journey's end when they started. At first the guards were inclined to push the old creature away, butwhen they understood, from her grief, what relation the quiet formsbore to her, and heard snatches of their pitiful history fall, incoherently, from her lips, they drew back, and let her pour out herdeep grief over them. With sympathizing hearts, at length they made asign, and the convicts took up the bodies and bore them into thecourtyard. The Little Mother seemed too stunned to notice what they had done, andstill sat sobbing and talking to herself. The driver grew weary of waiting, and going to her side said softly, as he laid his hand on her shoulder: "Let me take you home; it iscold, and you are shivering. " She only crouched closer to the spot where they had lain, and talkedon. Thinking she was speaking to him, the man bent his head to listen. "It is all my fault, " he heard her say, "because I had not thefaith--not the right faith--not the faith that Father Benoitmeant--the faith that can remove mountains!" * * * * * A Pair of Boots. CHAPTER I. THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE. "There is nothing but death Our affections can sever, And till life's latest breath, Love shall bind us forever. " The words, as they flowed musically from the throat of the fair singerat the piano, were inflected with a subtle irony, which caused thefrown to deepen upon the brow of the tall, scholarly, though somewhatmorose-looking man who had entered the parlor soon after the singerhad begun, and who, without glancing in her direction, had seatedhimself on one of the many luxurious chairs which strewed the room. As he sat and listened to the song, sweet and simple in itself, butmade with deft and almost imperceptible intonation on certain words, clearly for his ear, the stern lines about his mouth visibly deepened. Finally the song ceased, and the singer swung slowly and noiselesslyround and looked across at her husband, whose back was turned towardsher. From the brilliant look in her eyes, it was evident she waslaboring under suppressed excitement. She was a young woman of abouttwenty-six, singularly beautiful and with a fine intellectual cast ofcountenance. From her shoulders hung a richly-lined opera cloak, which, being fastened only at the throat, disclosed a figure of morethan ordinary grace and symmetry. As her husband continued silent, she presently arose, and with apeculiar smile playing about her mouth, walked calmly over to him, andlaying her hand on the back of his chair, said, in a voice in whichthe same subtle tone was noticeable: "My lord, you see I have obeyed, and have not gone out without coming here, as commanded by you, tolearn your pleasure regarding my coming in and going out. " Harold Townsley arose hastily, and said sternly and angrily, as hefaced her: "Was it necessary, Grace, to sing that song in such amanner? Did you wish me to understand through it the state of yourpresent feelings toward me? I dislike to harbor the thought that youchose the song, and began to sing it in the manner you did, the momentyou heard me coming. " Had his tone been less angry and stern, her reply might not have beenso bitterly cutting. "Your questions, Harold, I must say, are pointed ones, " she answered, as, seating herself, she broke into a seemingly disingenuous smile, and shook her head protestingly; "and it seems to me that they areutterly uncalled for, too. Our life for the past two years should havedemonstrated that fact. However, to answer your questions: Yourintuitions were correct; I did choose that song purposely for you, andonly began to sing it when I heard you coming. As to the question ofmy sentiments toward you: When you remember that it is scarcely twentyminutes since you, once more, bitterly found fault with me, and that, too, almost before the servants, because I chose to go out againto-night, and angrily informed me that you would like to see me herebefore I left the house--surely you did not expect to find me trillinga love-song for you in heart-broken accents! Still, I must say that Iwish you had not made it necessary for me to be so tryingly frank. " Her reply stung him deeply. With tightening lips he turned away, andmuttered under his breath, "I am, indeed, right! She has not theslightest love left for me; it will delight her to be free. " "Grace, " he said, a little sadly--but, unfortunately, also againsternly--as he halted by her side, "You and I, like so many others, evidently were not intended for each other. " Her clasped hands tightened, but he did not notice it; he was surethat he thoroughly understood her now. "It is a pity, " he went on, grimly, with his eyes fixed on the carpet, "that human nature is not gifted with the faculty of reading thefuture; so many mistakes and so much suffering would be prevented. "He was thinking more of the unhappy days she must have spent with him, during the past two years, than of his own disappointment in her. Butshe did not understand the words in this way, and thinking he wantedher to know what a terrible mistake he had made when he married her, five years ago, her high-strung, nervous temperament was aroused stillmore, and rising quickly, she said, almost recklessly: "I never knew before, Harold, that you were such a humanitarian andhad such lofty longings to save others suffering; indeed, were you notevidently so much in earnest, I should certainly think that you wereindulging in jests. " Somehow her low laugh, this time, hardly rangtrue. The cynical reply caused her husband's figure to straighten outstiffly--they both were now at dangerous cross purposes. Meeting his gaze, she went on crisply: "And was it for the sake ofexpatiating on the general failure of marriage that you commanded meto meet you here before I could go out?" Without waiting for a reply, she drew out her gold watch, and after glancing at it, saidcarelessly, "I am afraid I shall not be able to listen to all the_pros_ and _cons_ of this vast question to-night, as I have, as youare aware, to be at the opera in a half-hour or so. " His face now lit up angrily, as he rejoined hotly, "Yes, it was todiscuss this vast question that I wanted to see you alone; but not todiscuss it in the abstract, as you evidently think, but as it concernsyou and me, and to try to remedy, as far as possible, the mistake youevidently must have made when you thought you loved and married me. " As he ceased and turned away toward the piano, she almost sank on thechair at her side. "Where are we drifting?" she whispered; "surely ithas not come to this between Harold and me!" His back was turned toher, and he was fingering the music restlessly, trying to get commandof himself for what he had to say. Turning, he leaned against the piano, and fixing his eyes on thecomely head with its rich brown covering, he said firmly, but notwithout some emotion, "We have drifted, and drifted so, Grace, thatthere is nothing else left--we must part. " Her breath came quickly, but there was no other sign that she wasagitated. He paused, in his heart hoping she would give some sign that the wordsmeant something to her, and that he might, even yet, catch someevidence that her love for him was not utterly dead. During the pausewhich ensued, she turned her face away from him, and so he did not seethe look almost of terror which it now wore. Construing her silence into simple acquiescence, and thus angered themore, he went on in a hard voice: "During the past two years thechange in you, Grace, has been incomprehensible to me. For my wishesyou have not shown the slightest regard, while your home, as you know, has held no attractions for you--possibly because I am in it. You havepersisted in going out alone to the opera, to parties and socialattractions of a like nature, until you have almost become talkedabout. " His voice grew more bitter as he continued to recall the past. "Had you been a plain woman you would likely have found someattractions at your home; but the love of adulation and the greed ofexcitement and false flattery seem now to be so necessary to you thatyour true womanliness has been killed. " He was now pacing the floor in deep agitation. A transformation had crept over his wife's face. Her cheeks were nolonger pale, but flushed with anger, while her head was thrown backdefiantly and her hands tightly clenched. "And has my lord finished the list of his wife's accomplishments?" sheasked, smothering her anger by a strong effort, and speaking as thoughin jest. Quietly walking over to where she was sitting, he said, in a tensevoice: "No, not quite. The bitterest memory I have of my wife is herheartless conduct toward the memory of our poor dead boy. When he wasalive I really believed that you loved him passionately; but scarcelyhad he been dead a year when this greed for gaiety and excitement tookpossession of you, and you began to go out everywhere. You knew he wasdearer to me than life, and that his memory was with me every hour ofthe day. How little true sentiment, after all, there must have been inyour professed idolization of him. With such a mother it is perhapswell that he is dead!" His voice broke for a moment as memories of theboy he had so idolized crowded back upon him. Looking into her nowflashing eyes he continued bitterly: "I am weary of the bitter scenesbetween us, and of your heartlessness, Grace, and we must part. Ishall leave the house to-night and live my life elsewhere. You canstay here and enjoy the frivolity which is dearer to you than yourhusband, the memory of your dead boy, or--" "You are a coward, Harold Townsley!" As she faced him, her head thrownback, her opera cloak lying in artistic disorder at her feet, exposingthe richly trimmed dress, and the soft outlines of her fine figure, her eyes flashing and her bosom rapidly heaving, she looked, indeed, ready to do and dare anything. Had he not been so wrought up himself he would have seen that he wasgoading her beyond endurance. When he mentioned their dead boy she hadwinced as though in bodily pain, but when he accused her ofheartlessness towards his memory, she had grown so unstrung that shecould scarcely contain herself. Never before in their differences hadhe accused her of faithlessness to the memory of their boy. The fearof having her husband leave her had now been swept away by the wave ofindignation which possessed her. He could not have started back in more surprise and dismay had shestruck him, than when he heard her call him a coward and saw herintense anger. With a great effort she mastered the wild rush of words that sprang toher lips, and bowing to him derisively said, as she looked into hisface: "Truly a most gallant husband and a gentleman! And so, forsooth, you would desert your wife because she has forgotten the memory of herdead boy--whom she never truly loved--and because she thirsts afterpleasure and excitement! What wondrous discernment! What a wise judgeof human nature!" Her ironical laugh was now true in intonation. "Utterly heartless, " he whispered, almost wonderingly as he sank downon his chair. She caught the words and said easily: "Yes, thanks to my husband, utterly heartless. " Then calmly drawing a chair near to his, she saidin an amused tone: "And let me tell you how this interestingmetaphysical transformation was brought about. " His anger had died away and he looked at her pityingly. "I shall have to go back to two years ago, " she continued, "for up tothat time you never doubted the existence of my heart--in fact, youwill remember you more than once told me that I was tootender-hearted, and that you hoped deep sorrow would never come to me, because I had the capacity to suffer more than most women. The greatchange came with my boy's death. " For a brief space the mocking light died out of her face, while hervoice grew deeply earnest. A rush of memories made her emotion so keenthat she could not keep seated, and walking to and fro she talkedrapidly, at times almost wildly. "Your discernment for once was right; I had the capacity forsuffering more than most women, and infinitely more than my husband, with all his worship of our boy. After his death my heart craved loveand sympathy as it had never done before, and to whom but you was I toturn for it? And was it given? Let your conscience answer. With hisdeath you shut me out of your heart, as I have said, when I mostneeded your sympathy. How many times before this passion forexcitement, which you speak of, took possession of me, did I come toyou in your study, in which you isolated yourself so, and tried, innumberless little ways, to show you how sorely I needed you--tried tomake our sorrow a common one, tried to make you realize that I neededyour company and sympathy to save me from the thoughts which seemed tobe wearing away my very life. A dog could not more mutely have shownits craving for pity and companionship than I did; but the more Isought you out the more the desire seemed to grow upon you to nurseyour own sorrow alone. At last it got so (you _must_ remember) that Isaw you only at our meals, which you ate almost in silence. Thecontinued quiet of the house, and the company of my own sad thoughtsand longings for him, finally grew more than I could bear, and so, after a year of suffering and solitude in this house, I broke down andtried to forget by accepting social invitations. I had, of course, togo out alone; you refused to go with me. So now I have humiliatedmyself to tell you the truth, and you can judge whether I am heartlessor not; whether I truly loved my boy or not; and who is to blame if Iam now heartless. " She paused suddenly before him and said, in a firm, decisive voice:"Until I heard your words to-night, my heart had not wholly hardenedtoward you, but now the little affection I had left for you hasentirely gone. Never could a woman have been more disappointed in aman than I have been in you; the idol I set up has been broken into athousand fragments. In adversity, when your manliness should havestood out true and bright, it warped and has grown to be a pitiablething. Your life is now so narrow and morbid that you have but littlesense of justice left, as is shown by your throwing upon me all theblame for the trouble which has been growing up between us, and whichhas at last separated us. You have said, Harold, that we must part;you have spoken truly. You have said, to-night; again you have spokentruly, for on no consideration shall this roof shelter us again. Ifyou do not leave to-night, I most surely shall. " Her mood again changed, and she said, with a low laugh, as she pacedthe floor with an amused air: "And so I, Mrs. Townsley, am to be adeserted wife, a 'grass widow, ' and all as a punishment for beingheartless, too fond of pleasure, and for not having had any real lovefor my only boy! What a dire, dire punishment, Harold!" She glancedmockingly down at the bowed head of her husband, which was nowpillowed in his hands, and with another burst of musical laughter, swept gracefully over to the piano, seated herself at it, struck afew chords; and then, as if driven by sudden impulse, wheeled quicklyround and said: "But the runaway husband shall have something pleasantto remember the poor deserted wife by in his wanderings. Be sure, Harold, and always think of me as singing this love-lorn ditty. " Againshe laughed, but this time there was a peculiar tremor in her voicewhich betrayed, better than anything else could have done, the greateffort she was making to sustain her pride. "Now listen: "Oh! leave not your Kathleen, there's no one can cheer her, Alone in this wide world unpitied she'll sigh; And the scenes that were loveliest when thou wert near her Will--" "Grace! Grace!" His hands trembled with deep emotion, as he laid oneon her shoulder, and with the other hushed the words that cut him sokeenly. As he had listened to her, and at last understood her overwhelminglove for their boy--and had realized, too, that it was indeed he whowas to blame for their estrangement--a look of deep surprise hadgradually overspread his face. Twice he had tried to interrupt her, but in vain, until finally, almost convinced by her torrent of anger, contempt and derision, that he had indeed lost all hold upon heraffections, he had sunk back bewildered in his chair, and covered hisface with his hands. But the mocking refrain of the song was more thanhe could bear, and so he had sprung to his feet, gone to her side, andputting his hand over her scornful lips had hushed the song. As she wheeled defiantly round and looked up at him, he saidremorsefully, his face pale and haggard: "I see, at last, Grace; Ihave been very blind and narrow; it is I, and only I, who am to blamefor this estrangement. Had I only understood earlier, and not havebeen so blinded with my own sorrow! How very deeply you must havesuffered, dear, with no one to comfort the bereaved mother-heart. As Inow look over the past I cannot think how ever I got to think thatyour nature was shallow, and that your affection for our boy was notdeep and true. Ah, how much easier it would have been had we borne thesorrow together, instead of suffering alone; and it was my fault thatwe did not! Grace, I need your pardon to-night far more than ever youneeded my help and sympathy; and I know, now, how great that was. " He held out his arms pleadingly towards her: "Grace, try and forgiveme!" If he had humiliated her in any other way than by telling her he woulddesert her, her deeply wounded pride could not have held out, and shesurely must have found refuge in his arms. But her humiliation hadbeen so very deep, and her mood was now such that every nerve wasquivering with indignation; so, subduing the pleading of her heart, she sprang away from the outstretched arms. As she faced him the angrycolor again stole into her cheeks, and she exclaimed, in a suppressedvoice: "There are things, Harold, that a woman cannot forgive andretain her self-respect. Even had I been as fickle as you thought, that would not have been sufficient reason for you to make up yourmind to desert me; and in deserting me, place me in a position for theworld to suspect, wag its head at, and gossip over. You knew it woulddo this, and yet it did not alter your decision to throw me over. Andnow, after having renounced me, you ask me to forget and fly back toyour arms. " She laughed bitterly, her manner growing cynical oncemore. "No, no, Harold, " she continued, "there can be no kissing, nomaking up and being good between us; the knife has cut too deep. Iprefer facing the world, as you have decided, rather than trying tolive down this humiliation with you, and being in constant dread ofyour threatening to desert me again, should any misunderstanding arisein the future. " She again paused for a brief space, and then went on, in a firm, quiettone: "There is no use in prolonging this interview; nothing willalter my decision; we will both follow out the course you have mappedout. I repeat again, Harold, that if you do not leave the house, asintended, I certainly shall. " Again, seating herself at the piano, she ran her fingers restlesslyover the keys, as though his presence were trying to her. He stood by the side of the piano for a space and looked sadly andabsently at her; but her set face gave him no encouragement. With atroubled air he turned and began to walk slowly and thoughtfullytoward the door--when in deep distress he always grew strangelyabsent. When near the door his attention was attracted by a littlebook lying on a table. He picked it up, without appearing to beconscious of doing so, and opened it, but his eyes wandered far awayfrom the open pages. He raised his hand thoughtfully to his face andsaid, ponderingly, to himself, in a low voice: "How--how could I havemade such a mistake--such a frightful mistake? How changed she is, too!" She now began to play a low, dreamy air, which stole into his heartand riveted his laggard feet still more to the room where she was. As he slowly turned away, she partly turned her head, and with unmovedface watched his retreating figure. But when she noted his absentmanner, which she recalled so well; saw the pondering look on his facewhen he picked up the book, which she knew he was not conscious ofholding; caught the tired droop of his shoulders, and the glint ofearly grey hair at his temples, a pathetic expression stole about hermouth, and she made a motion as though she would cease playing and goover to him; but the bitterness was greater than the pity, andconquering the impulse, she kept her seat and played on. As he was closing the book it fell on the table. His eyes followed itmechanically. "Yes, " he went on presently, as though following out adeep train of thought, "a frightful mistake, how could I have madeit?" His restless fingers sought his watch-chain as he once more turnedtoward the door. The notes from the piano were now getting faint, lowand irregular--her face was still turned in his direction. As he was about to open the door, his attention was attracted by athermometer which hung there in a prettily worked frame. Taking itdown he looked at it for a space and then, unthinkingly, put it intohis pocket. As the door was closing behind him his lips again moved:"Yes, a frightful, frightful mistake!" She continued to play, her face turned toward the door; but the whitefingers were now straying very waveringly over the keys. Suddenly theroom was filled with a discordant jar--her arms were resting heavilyon the keys, her face buried in them, and her shoulders were heavingin quick distress. If he had but come back then! CHAPTER II. ARCH-CONSPIRATORS. When Mary Tiffin, who had been in the employ of the Townsleys eversince their marriage, excitedly entered the parlor ten minutes afterthe events narrated, it was empty. Mary was a comely maiden offorty-three, of comfortable proportions and goodly to look upon. Hercheeks were still attractively round; her glossy black hair was, withmuch placidity, smoothed over her temples, cunningly brought above herears, and twisted in an alluring knot at the back of her head. Hereyes were of that deep peculiar blue which generally is such a menaceto the peace of the sterner sex, and over which lovers are wont toexpatiate so tryingly to bosom friends. Wringing her hands and ruefully shaking her head, Mary walked first toone end and then to the other of the long room. Finally she broke outin healthy Yorkshire dialect: "Wheere, oh, wheere can that lad Johnbe? I'm crazed wi' all this trouble; nivver did I see the missus soworked up before, and she winna change her mind, no matter what issaid. I'm just as sure as I can be that if they part now they'llnivver come together again. Who'd a thow't it 'ud ever come to thisbetween 'em. " She fairly panted with the burden of her feelings. Just as she was about to break out into fresh lamentations, the doorslowly opened, disclosing the sober face and lean figure of JohnHerbert Bedford Lawson, confidential servant to Mr. Townsley. "Eh, lad, but I'm right glad to see thee!" exclaimed Mary, as shecaught hold of John's meagre arm and unceremoniously hurried him intothe room. For some reason or other, Mr. Lawson evinced no especialpleasure at seeing the comely Mary, as was clearly demonstrated by theungallant manner in which he tried to brace himself back as she drewhim forward. When finally released, he said in a sceptical voice, as he indignantlyput to rights his disturbed linen: "Oh, thou art glad to see me, art thou? P'raps thou art; strangethings happen in this world. Yet I'll be bound that it's not formyself thou art glad. " While speaking, he knitted his eyebrows in amost menacing manner. He was a small, thin man, about forty-fiveyears of age, and clean shaven. As he stood eyeing Mary through hisglasses he looked a crusted character enough. "Nay, lad, " she said reproachfully, putting her hand on his arm, "don't thou talk in a tone like that and look so sour; it don't becomethee; it's not natural, too, and thou knows it. " Then she went onanxiously: "Thou knows what is troubling me; thou art the maister'sprivate servant, and he must have told thee what has happened. Now wemun think o' something, John, to stop 'em from breaking up in thisway. We daren't go and tell anyone else about the trouble, so do, lad, do try and think o' something, for there's no time to be lost. " In herexcitement and distress she almost shook him. The repellent look was still on John's face as he replied moreungraciously than before: "Nay, I can think o' nowt. I can tell thee, though, that the maister's told me to have the carriage ready to catchthe train that goes east at nine" (he turned and looked at the clockon the mantel--it was 8. 15), "and, as thou sees, that'll be inforty-five minutes. Of course, thou knows that I shall go wi' him. " "Eh, but how the world will talk, and what she'll have to bear!" brokeout Mary vehemently, as she sank back on a chair almost in tears. "Andin my heart I believe that she loves him, too. And thou must believethat, too, and yet theere thou stands wi' that unnatural frown on thyface, and will do nowt at all, although in thy heart thou knows thoulikes the missus as well as thou does the maister. " Suddenly springing to her feet, she caught him by the sleeve, and saiddesperately: "Could thou not manage, John, lad, for the maister to bejust a little too late for the train?" Without doubt John Herbert Bedford Lawson was in a mostill-conditioned mood, for instead of being moved by the palpabledistress of the attractive suppliant, he turned his back ungraciously, thrust his hands viciously under his ample coat-tails, elevated hischin aggressively, and said airily, as he kept up a warlike tattoo onthe carpet with one of his heels: "John Lawson, thou art reet; it'snot the thow't o' thee going away that's causing her any trouble--thoucanst go to the uttermost parts o' the earth for all she cares, lad. " Turning and facing her, he said grandly: "I say once more that I knowo' nowt that can be done, Miss Mary Tiffin. " He turned again, and thistime pulled out his watch. For a few moments Mary sat in deep thought, and then a smile brokeover her face--she had realized where her base of operations had beenweak. Banishing the smile from her lips, to find refuge in hertwinkling eyes, she arose--to vanquish Mr. Lawson. Quietly walking up behind him she gently laid one plump handcaressingly on his shoulder. Wondrous was the change that stole overhis doughty face: the corrugated lines on his forehead graduallyvanished, his eyebrows hovered no longer belligerently near the lids, while his chin--really a well-modelled one--receded slowly, butsurely, back to its accustomed position, revealing a very pleasantmouth indeed. It could now be seen that the thin face of Mr. Lawsonwas a most kindly one. "John, " began Mary, in a dangerously soft tone: "I--I think more aboutthy going away than thou thinks. But thou knows how afeered I am thatthey'll nivver come together again, and so--and--so, just only for themoment, my thoughts had gone away from thee. And now thou knows this, lad, won't thou make some effort to save 'em from wrecking theirlives? Maybe we can't do much, John, but we mun try and do something. Now, if we can prevent the maister from going away to-night, somethingmay turn up to-morrow that'll give 'em a chance to talk it over, andthen it may come all reet between 'em once more. As for the train, lad, if the maister should miss it" (both hands were on his shouldersnow, and her comely head was very near his), "he simply couldn't getaway till to-morrow. " By this time John's face was gloriously radiant, and he was just aboutto turn around and promise her anything under the sun, when a shrewdexpression flashed into his eyes, and composing his countenance, hesaid, in a somewhat independent, yet nervous tone, as he faced her andadjusted his now disturbing spectacles: "Er--er, Mary, think o' thetrouble I'd likely get into if I intrigued for the maister to miss thetrain; and what should I get for all my trouble? But still, lass, I'mwilling" (the glasses were needing no end of adjusting now) "to dowhat I can--that is, of course, on--on condeetions. " A somewhat embarrassed look came across Mary's face as she covertlyglanced at the man of conditions, who was now looking anything butimposing. "And what may the condeetions be, Mr. Lawson?" There was a touch ofwonder in her tone. Mr. Lawson looked past her, again thrust his hands under hiscoat-tails, which he waved slowly to and fro like signals of distress, and said, as he raised his eyebrows and tried to appear perfectly atease, "I--I guess thou must remember, Mary. " Evidently Mary's memory was not all that could be desired, for sheshook her head dubiously, and seemed more ill at ease than ever. Being thus suddenly brought to bay, John did what men generally dowhen they are cornered--he rushed into the thick of the battle, regardless of consequences. "I axed thee, as thou knows, a year ago, " he broke out aggressively, as he gazed past her, "to have me. Thou didn't say much in reply; butwhat thou did say meant No, and now I ax thee once more, wilt thouhave me? I had not meant to ax thee again--though I like thee just thesame. A man like me, lass, has got a little pride, and I don't want tothrust myself upon any woman. But I mun say that, when I seed howworked up about the missus thou wert, and about the maister, too, going away--and hadn't a thow't for me--my feelings did get a littlethe best o' me, and I couldn't help exposing 'em again summat. So nowthou knows the condeetions, Mary. " The coat-tails by this time weresimply acting in an unheard-of manner, while Mr. Lawson's not verystalwart back was strikingly erect--his whole manner, in brief, wasthat of a man determined to bear the worst, should it come, as becomesa man. As he was still looking over her head he did not see her lookof admiration as she stood and surveyed his warlike figure. "The condeetions are--are extraordinary ones, Mr. Lawson. " She loweredher eyes so that he might not catch the light in them. "Oh, are they indeed?"--the swing of the coat-tails was now nothingless than phenomenal--"then, Miss Mary Tiffin, " he continued, asbravely as he could, throwing out his chin a little more as hecontinued to look past her, "that means, I suppose, that thou doesn'tagree to the condeetions, and that thy answer again to me is No?"Facing quickly about, he began to march independently to the door. "Eh, lad, but thou does take me up so, not giving me a chance tosay--say--" She sank down distressfully on a chair. The collapse of Mr. Lawson was amazingly sudden; his erect shouldersfell, his chin lost its lofty altitude; and facing suddenly about, hisglasses all awry, he hurried to Mary's side, and taking her hands fromher face began a most treacherous tirade against himself, hismaster--yea, and even men in general--for their shameful treatment ofthe weaker sex. Presently his voice grew very low, and then theirheads got dangerously close together. When at last they arose, afteran eloquent pause, John's spectacles were lying forlornly on thefloor, his coat-tails once more were hanging in peace and quietness, his arm was around her, and he had the audacity to waggishly informher that they were the best "condeetions" that he had made in hiswhole forty-five years of life. Suddenly remembering her mistress's troubles, the happy light died outof Mary's face, and turning anxiously to her now contented lover shesaid eagerly, "And now, lad, do try and think o' something to helpthem. If nothing else can be done, there is the train; if it is missedthere will be so much more time. " "Nay, lass, " John answered, as he sat down, "the train scheme is nogood; for I'm sure the missus would, as she has threatened, leave thehouse if he didn't go to-night. " Picking up his glasses and slowly polishing them, John continuedruminatingly, "Like thee, Mary, I believe her heart's warm towardshim, but it's her pride, and that can only be broken down by deeplymoving her heart. Sure, sure, lass, there's no other way. " He wassilent for a brief space and then went on, quietly, speaking tohimself, his eyes fixed steadfastly on the carpet. "And if the bootsdon't reach her heart and soften it towards him, there's nowt in thisworld that will, sure. " "Now, John, lad, don't ramble on like that; I'm right anxious. Tell mewhat's in thy mind, " broke in Mary, restlessly, seating herself on achair by his side. "That I will, lass, " answered John, briskly, shaking off hiscontemplative mood, "for I believe we've now got the key to thesitiwation. Thou remembers, " he went on eagerly, "how, soon aftertheir little lad's death, the maister ordered that all his toys andclothing should be taken away from the house, as he couldn't bear tosee 'em around?" "I do, lad, I do, and it went hard wi' the missus to let 'em go; butshe didn't like to thwart the maister, he wur so restless and morbid. But it never should have been done, lad; it wer'n't becoming like. " "Thou art reet, Mary, it wer'n't the thing to do; for in getting rido' the things nowt wur left to bring tender memories back to 'em o'him, and so, having no common sorrow, their hearts grew narrow--as wurto be expected--and they began to misunderstand each other and driftapart. Sure as thou lives, Mary, getting rid o' the little lad'sthings wur wheere the mistake came in, in their lives. " Springing excitedly to his feet, he continued quickly, "Thou remembersthe night, too, thou gave me the bundle wi' the little things in totake to the charitable institoote? Well, I didn't go straight theerewi' it; I took it first to my room and opened it, just to have onemore look at 'em; and lass, the first thing my eyes fell on wur alittle pair o' his boots--thou remembers the pair--the ones that had alittle hole in one o' the toes. Well, Mary, that little hole staringme in the face touched my heart and melted it as few things in thisworld ever did, and so, lass, I just couldn't send 'em away, and Itook 'em out and put 'em in my trunk, wheere they still are. Now, Mary, if those little worn boots could break down such a real worldlyman as me--and when the lad wur not my own, too--does thou think for amoment that, if the maister and the missus could be got to come across'em just about at the same time, sweet memories, that they'veforgotten, would not rush over 'em, and that their hearts would not bemoved to the very core, and that they would not just _have_ to forgiveeach other? Why! I can fairly see 'em together now, lass, and it'sgoing to be all reet, and--and--and--" He was actually too full forfurther utterance, and bending down clasped his equally moved listenerin his arms, and just hugged her. When Mary finally managed to extricate herself from his arms, he gavefurther vent to his feelings by cutting a series of remarkable capers, doubtless a species of ancient dance, in which (undignified asdoubtless it would have been) Mary, who had caught the contagion ofhis happiness, would, I believe, eventually have joined, had he notsuddenly hove to. Hurrying to her side, he said, between his gasps for breath, "And nowfor the plot, lass. I'll go and get the boots, wrap 'em up, and put'em on the table theere. Then thou must go and tell the missus thatthere's a parcel for her on the table. Thou wilt manage, of course, toget out o' the room before she can tell thee to fetch it. As for me, when I know that she's found it, I'll go to the maister and deliver alike message to him, and also get away before he can tell me to bringit. And then, lass, he'll catch her when her heart's full--and then weshall see!" His genial old coat-tails were flashing out of the room before Marycould say a word in reply. As she sank breathlessly down on her chair, she exclaimed: "Ah, but Iam excited and moved!" She had scarcely time to wipe her eyes when John flashed back again, his spectacles in one hand and a small parcel in the other. "Theerethey are, lass, " he almost shouted as he laid the parcel hurriedly onthe table. "And now, Mary, quick, go and tell her, and as soon as shefinds 'em I'll go and fix the maister. " Mary needed no second bidding, but hurried away, while John left by adoor that led to his master's study. CHAPTER III. RECONCILED. "But ties around this heart were spun That could not, would not, be undone!" When Mrs. Townsley entered the parlor her face was pale and careworn. As she seated herself some little distance from the table, bearing theprecious parcel upon which so many hopes were now founded, she lookedup at the clock. "I could not go out to-night; he will be leaving soon"--there was atouch of wistfulness in her voice. She sat for a little time sadlyturning round and round the plain gold ring on her left hand. "If hehad threatened anything else but to desert me, " she went on againpresently, "I could go to him; but it's no use in trying, I cannot doit. " She rose with a weary sigh and went over to the table and listlesslytook up the parcel. She had no curiosity as to its contents, as wasshown by her sitting down again without opening it. Resting her chinon her hand she drifted into thoughts that plainly were not happyones. Finally she again sighed deeply and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes fell upon the parcel. Indifferently she slipped off the cordand began to unwrap the paper. Something slipped on her lap, and shelooked mechanically down; the paper and string, which was still in herhand, fluttered to the floor, her lips parted, her eyes dilated andher face grew pitifully pale. As though fascinated, she continued togaze at the poor soiled little boots. Her laboring heart at last threwoff its torpor and drove the rich color once more back to her face, and then with a cry, full of unutterable love she caught up theprecious little things, kissed, cooed, wept and fondled thempassionately. "My dear, dead darling, " she sobbed. Sinking on herknees by the side of the chair, she fondled them afresh and pressedher lips hungrily to the spot where the inquisitive little toe hadforced an opening. Presently the sound of footsteps fell upon her ears. She sprang to herfeet. "It is Harold!" she exclaimed excitedly. In her new tender moodshe had almost forgotten her resentment toward him. Then an impulseflashed suddenly into her mind--happily she acted upon it. Hastilywrapping up the boots again, she hurriedly placed them on the table, in a position which she thought would attract her husband's attention, and then she sped across the room and hid behind the heavy curtainswhich screened the deep bay window. She had not been mistaken--it washer husband. He was wearing his great-coat and had evidently been preparing to goout. She could see from her hiding-place that his absent mood wasstill strong upon him. "I--I wish, " he said, thoughtfully, to himself, as he entered theroom, "that John had thought to bring the parcel; this room is filledwith memories of her, and it makes it harder to go. " He stopped andlooked regretfully around the room; then, noticing the parcel, hewalked listlessly over to the table, took it up and ponderingly beganto unfold it; the secret the roughly folded paper held was quicklyrevealed. As he held out the wee boots in the palm of his strong hand, his lips moved for a few moments, but they gave forth no sound. Whenthe words at last came they were pitifully broken: "His, _his_ boots!My poor, poor darling!" Over and over again he repeated the words ashe passionately stroked the frayed little toes. His strength seemed suddenly to desert him and he sank weakly on achair, "How I loved him! My God!" Then there flashed back to him thememory of his wife's deep, true love, and sorrow for the lost one, and of how he had added to their sorrow, and how they were now aboutto separate, and the regret and pity of it all broke down allself-control and caused sobs to break from his lips, such as onlystrong men who seldom know what tears are, can ever utter. When the storm had spent itself he rose and carefully wrapped up theboots. "I will take them with me, " he said, "they will keep me fromgrowing narrow and morose again. Ah, if I had but kept them when I waspassing through the dark days! I should have had more sympathy withher, have understood myself and her better, and this never would havehappened. " He looked around the room for the last time: "No, she neverwas so dear to me as she is to-night; I never understood her so well. " As he was moving sadly toward the door some belated organ-grinder, inan adjacent street, began to play the weird refrain of that song whichhas touched the hearts of so many who have loved home: "Home, home, sweet, sweet home--. " He stopped and listened to the music as it stole plaintively from thedistance into the room. When he began to move toward the door again hewas absently repeating the haunting refrain: "Home, home, sweet, sweet home--. " The music, as well as his words, had floated to the deep bay window;the curtains had swiftly and noiselessly parted, and she was stealingafter his retreating figure with an expression mantling her facewhich brought out every detail of its great beauty. As he raised his hand to open the door the organ drifted from therefrain to the air. He began sadly to repeat the pathetic words: "An exile from home--. " Two warm, loving arms had stolen around his neck from behind andsmothered the words on his lips: "Not an exile from home, Harold; no, no, not that, dear! The boots--we understand better now--forgive me, Harold. Don't go. I----. " Once more the organ had reached the refrain: "Home, home, sweet, sweet home--. " As he folded her passionately in his arms she drew his face down tohers and said, with the happy light still glowing and beautifying herface: "We will take it as a good omen; to us, now, there shall be noplace like home, shall there, dear?" As he looked into her eyes he answered by lovingly repeating therefrain which was now dying softly away in the distance: "Home, home, sweet, sweet home--. " * * * * * A Prairie Episode. The fierce rays of the sun, which had turned the prairie grass into alifeless-looking dusty brown, continued to pour pitilessly down on thehorde of perspiring workmen, exhausted Indian ponies, and long-earedmorose mules. At intervals, gusts of hot parching winds bent the rank grass, whichgave forth a dry, almost rasping sound, very different from its usualmusical rustle. "In ten minutes more it will be noon, and we can get out of this intothe shade for an hour, " said Joe Swan, a huge muscular laborer, as hepushed the nose of the steel scraper into the earth. The words were addressed to a pale-faced young man who was driving thepair of mules hitched to the scraper. The only reply was a tired tugon the reins, and the next moment the scraper had torn up half a yardof the tenacious prairie sod and cast it to one side. As he turned themules around to get them into position again, Joe glanced covertly atthe weary face, shook his head in a troubled manner, and muttered, "Itain't the work that's breaking him up like this; it's her, and it'sgoing to end in trouble long before we reach the Rockies. " It was a strange, almost fantastic life these two men, with hundredsof others, were leading away out here on the vast prairie, whose longsolitude was now being broken by the babel that attends track-laying, and whose vast bosom, for the first time, was being girded with a bandof steel which was to connect the Atlantic with the Pacific, and bringhome most forcibly to the Mother Country the value of her greatCanadian colony. Stretching away in front of and behind the two men were hundreds ofother scrapers, tearing up the sod, while closely following them camegangs of track-layers, who laid the ties and fastened the rails tothem as quickly as the sod was removed. It was easy work track-layingon the flat expanse, where grading for hundreds of miles at a stretchwas practically unnecessary. Such, indeed, was the rapidity with whichthe rails were laid that camp had to be moved from two to three mileswestward every day, so that the men never knew what it was to sleeptwice in the same place. As Joe was about to scoop up another load, a gunshot echoed andre-echoed across the prairie. "Dinner time; just what we have beenwaiting for!" shouted Joe, as he let go the handles of the scraper, unhitched the mules, sprang on the back of one of them, and stooping, swung Harry Langdon, his delicate-looking driver, laughingly acrossthe back of the other. The next moment they were dashing towards thecamp half a mile away. Other laborers, similarly mounted, werestraining every muscle to reach the same place, for they knew that therule of "first come, first served, " would be religiously adhered to. A fast friendship had sprung up between the huge scraper-handler andhis young driver. The very day the little fellow had wandered intocamp, two months before, with his hands and face swollen with mosquitobites, and asked for a job, big-hearted Joe took a liking to him. Itwas owing to Joe's influence with the foremen that he was at last, grudgingly, given work, as his slim, girlish figure told stronglyagainst him among such a crowd of sinewy, hardy men. Had he been put driving for any other scraper-handler than Joe hewould never have succeeded; for before he had been in camp a week thethick tepid surface water, which they all had to drink, coupled withthe intense heat, told on him, and for weeks he was so ill that hecould scarcely drag his feet along. Owing to the custom of each scraper being compelled to clear a certaindistance every day, it was impossible--on account of the great stretchto be covered by all the scrapers--for the foremen to more than two orthree times a day visit the works, and thus it was that Joe, unknownto the foremen, was able to let his little driver lie for hours, whenhe was at his weakest, in the thick grass, while he wrestled with thestubborn mules and the scraper at the same time. At last the evening of the torrid day with which this story opens, hadarrived. Those who had been fortunate enough to get to the surfaceholes first, and get a little water, were washing their shirts, whilethe less fortunate were lounging around the little tents--of whichthere were hundreds--welcoming the cool breeze which the dark, ominousclouds had brought up. Suddenly there was a blinding flash, followedby a loud report, and then from the warring clouds the longed-for rainbegan to pour in heavy sheets. For some time before the storm broke, Joe had been standing in theopening of the tent, gazing with furrowed brow, through the gatheringdarkness, toward a tent much larger than those of the ordinarylaborers, in the shadow of which was dimly outlined the forms of a manand a woman. He at once recognized the woman as Nellie Shuter (theonly white woman in camp), daughter of Bill Shuter, a generalstorekeeper and purveyor of smuggled and doctored whiskey. The manwith her he knew was his mate, Harry Langdon. The moment the rain began to fall, Nellie ran into the large tent--herfather's store--and left Harry, who, regardless of the storm, stoodfor fully a minute looking after her. As he was about to turn, afigure, muffled in a gaudy colored blanket, emerged from behind anadjacent tent and touched him, in a supplicating manner, on theshoulder. He turned hastily, and seeing who it was, pushed theintruding hand away. As he did so the blanket fell away from the headand shoulders of the figure, and there stood revealed a young Indiangirl belonging to the Cree tribe, several of whom--both Indians andsquaws--had for weeks been following the encampment. Instead of leaving him, she raised her hands in an imploring manner, and her lips moved. Her pleading evidently had no effect upon Harry, as he turned and left her abruptly. With an angry gesture she turnedand vanished in the direction of the Indian encampment. After Harry had returned, Joe sat for quite a long time with atroubled look on his face, silently pulling at his pipe. Harry seemedtoo much engrossed in thought to be aware of his companion's unwontedsilence. "I seed you again, to-night, with Bill Shuter's daughter, " began Joeat last, breaking a silence that had begun to grow painful to him. The reference to the girl caused a flush to steal over Harry's face, and he said, as he sat down by the big fellow's side, "You are verygood, old fellow, to take the interest you do in me. I should havebeen in a queer way now had it not been for you; yet, old chap, Icannot bring myself to believe that Nellie Shuter and her father areas bad as you have hinted several times. " As he concluded he walked tothe opening of the tent and looked out: it was still raining heavily. "I guess, Joe, " he went on awkwardly, without turning, "that I shalltake a run over to Shuter's store for a little while. " "I'd like to say a few words to you before you go. " Harry turned good-humoredly, and sat down on the bench again. Covering his companion's knee with his great hand, Joe said gravely, as he looked down into his face: "I've not had much edication, as youknow, Harry; but I've larned a mighty lot that schools don't teach, and one thing that I've got a mighty good hold of is sizin' up people, and if ever I met a bad egg Bill Shuter's one. You must know somethingabout him yourself by this time, for he got you to gamble, and he'swell-nigh won all you've made since you came to camp. If he'd won itfairly it'd been bad enough--seein' you were a greenhorn--but in myheart I believe he cheats you. I've tried to catch him at it, but he'stoo mighty sharp. " Joe's sombre countenance and equally sombre words were more than Harrycould stand, and leaning his head against the giant's shoulder, helaughed incredulously. "I happen to know, " Joe went on doggedly, when his companion'slaughter had died away, "that you don't gamble because you love it;but to please his daughter Nellie, who"--his remarks were interruptedby Harry springing to his feet and nervously pacing the tent. But Joe had warmed up to his subject, and was not to be stopped; "As Isaid, " he went on, "you gamble only to please his daughter, who is inleague with her father. I've heard that she's told others, that are assweet on her as you, that the best way to keep the old wolf quiet, andallow her to be courted, is to gamble with him. I tell you, Harry, that she's foolin' you, and that in truth she's as bad as he is, and--" The interruption this time was effective enough: "It's cowardly ofyou, Joe Swan, to speak of her like that. " Harry's eyes were gleamingwith anger. "You are presuming on the kindnesses you have done me, " hewent on, halting in front of him, "and if her father and a few of hisfriends had been here, you would not have dared to speak in thatmanner. You know I love Nellie Shuter, and nothing you can say willmake me break with her. " With this he almost ran out of the tent, leaving Joe dragging at hisheavy blonde moustache and gazing at the patches in the canvas tent. The minutes sped on, and still he continued to think. Finally he tookthe pipe out of his mouth, put it absently into his pocket and said tohimself, as though he had solved a difficult problem, "The lad wasright; I had no business to speak to him in that way, but what I saidabout them both I believe to be the truth, gospel truth, and sooner orlater there's going to be trouble for him in Shuter's dive; and I'mgoing to be with him when it comes, although he did give me that hardrub about bein' afraid of Shuter and his friends. " He slowly picked up his hat, and was about to step out into thedarkness when the Indian girl, whom he had seen accost Harry, noiselessly entered the tent, and drawing the wet blanket from herhead, said passionately, in quaint broken English, as she pointed inthe direction of Shuter's store, "He go dare again--Harry--for see dewhite girl, Nellie; I see him go, and she no love him. " As Joe looked at her he saw she was far more prepossessing than theother squaws; while against her character he had not heard a word. Hehad seen her for the first time about three months ago, when she cameto camp with some old squaws, to sell prairie chickens and ducks, which the braves had shot, and Indian-like had sent them to sell. Her acquaintance with Harry had not been of long duration. The firsttime she met him he was lying in the deep rich grass, for it was thetime the fever was upon him. Joe was away in the distance taking careof both the mules and the scraper. So unexpectedly had she come acrosshim, that her moccasined foot touched his hand before he was aware ofher presence. In his gentlemanly way he had risen and told her he was sorry he hadbeen in her way, and then had sunk weakly back again. The suffering onhis pinched boyish face went straight to her heart, which awoke tolongings never known before. Every day after this little adventure, on one pretext or another, shemanaged to encounter him. At first, he nodded and smiled and had akindly word for her, but suddenly he ignored her altogether, for wordof her infatuation had reached Nellie Shuter's ears, and she had actedas though she were displeased. For a time the girl stayed away, and Harry thought she would notreturn; but one night, when he was walking alone on the prairie, sheran suddenly up to him, and pointing to the swiftly-flowing RedRiver, told him in the figurative language of her people, that becauseof him her heart was as troubled as the river was in thespring-time--when the melting snow vexed it so that it burst itsbarriers and flowed over the prairie. She went on in her childish, earnest way to tell him that she could not help loving him, and thatif he would take her to be his wife she should work for him as long asshe lived. As he did not reply, a gleam of hope crept into her heart, and baringher dark arm, she showed him how strong it was, how it never grewweary, and how, if he would throw in his lot with her people, heshould never have to work, as the squaws always worked for the braves. It was no uncommon thing for French-Canadians to marry squaws, neitherwas it uncommon for squaws to offer themselves in marriage, and thusshe did not know how strangely unnatural her proposition sounded tohim. It never, in his inexperience, occurred to him to make anyallowance for her on account of her life and environments, and hejudged her as he would have judged a white girl. As she looked up into his blue eyes and saw the look of dismay andcontempt there, her intuitions told her her words had sounded unseemlyto him, and that he abhorred her for them; and in her keen distressand anger she turned and fled. Had he loved no other woman, it might have been the stoicism of herrace would have saved her from further humiliation, but when she sawhim walking with Nellie Shuter, saw the love-light in his eyes whenhe looked at her, and noted how flippantly, in return, Nellie treatedhim, her love swept away all feelings of pride, and she seized everyopportunity of speaking to him. Naturally such a course only added tohis distaste for her. Joe had guessed that she had contracted a liking for Harry, but neveruntil her visit to their tent had he imagined her falling sohelplessly in love with him. And as he stood and looked into her dark, passionate face, this new complication of Harry's affairs made himfeel more ill at ease than ever. "Well, and if he has gone to Shuter'stent to see Nellie, what business is that of yours?" he asked sharply. He would have liked to answer her kindly, and would have done so, hadhe not feared fanning into a keener flame her hopeless passion. The bronzed cheeks of the Indian girl flamed into a still deeper hueas she heard his words. But conquering her passion, she told him againhow dearly she loved Harry, while she was sure the white girl did not;and she had come to ask him to tell Harry this. Joe, who could not trust himself to reply, pointed--with a sorryattempt at dignity--to the opening in the tent. For a few moments she stood and looked at him with clenched hands andcompressed lips, and then, without another word, turned and left, ashe had silently ordered. As Joe trudged through the darkness and rain in the direction ofShuter's store, he repeated several times, "It was pretty small totreat her like that; I never felt such a mean cuss before; but what inthe world was I to do?" As he finally entered Shuter's tent, which bore the dignified title ofstore, a scene that would have appeared strangely fantastic todwellers in cities, presented itself. Congregated together were aboutfifty sunburnt laborers, arrayed in coarse woollen shirts. To theirdespondent-looking trousers the blue tenacious prairie mud clung likeglue. Several nationalities were represented in the motley assembly, for it was the time of the great North-West boom, and men had beendrawn from far and near. In one corner of the tent was a quaint table or counter, constructedof three old boards and two trestles, upon which were deposited a lotof rolled Canadian smoking and chewing tobacco, clay pipes, andseveral long-necked bottles. Pinned to the tent, behind the counter, was a card, on which was scrawled, in characters which scorned alllaws of proportion, "Mild Drinks. " It was owing to the abhorredfashion of the North-West Mounted Police, of confiscating drinks thatwere not mild, that Shuter was led to display this prevaricating sign. Behind the counter stood Nellie Shuter, a dashing, good-looking youngwoman of about twenty-three, while seated at a number of rude tableswere laborers throwing dice and playing poker. Leaning nonchalantly onthe counter were two or three young men, who were making themselvesagreeable to the fair attendant behind it. Joe quietly edged his way through the tent till he came to a tablenear the counter, at which were seated his mate, Harry Langdon, andBill Shuter. Shuter was a tall, spare man, with a somewhat recedingchin and small, very light-colored blue eyes, which had a habit oflooking past one while their owner was speaking. A glance at Harry'sface was sufficient to show that he had been drinking heavily. Although Shuter had drunk sparingly, there was a strange irritableexpression about his face. Seating himself some little distance from the two men, Joe covertlywatched the play. He soon perceived that Harry was paying little or noattention to the game--although it was poker--his attention beingalmost entirely fixed on Nellie, who was flirting outrageously withher admirers. Every time her flippant laugh reached him a pained lookcrossed his sensitive face, but she pretended to be as unconscious ofit as she appeared to be of his reproachful glances. Despite his loose play, however, Harry drew a number of hands that achild could have won with. Finally he laid down his cards and said, "Iguess I won't play any more to-night, Shuter. " "Bring us a drink, Nellie, " was Shuter's response. As Harry raised to his lips the glass of reddish-looking fluid whichNellie brought, Shuter said insolently, "It's not the custom of men inthis country to run away when they are winning. " His daughter heardthe words--as he had intended--and looking Harry full in the face, shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. No plan of attack could havebeen more subtle. Harry's face flushed violently, and sitting downhastily, he said: "You know it would take me weeks to win back themoney I have lost with you; but it's all right; deal the cards. " As Joe sat and watched this by-play, he was so enraged that he couldscarcely keep from springing to his feet and laying his huge hands onShuter. The biting insult appeared to somewhat sober Harry, and he watched hisplay more carefully. As his run of luck still continued, Shuter'sill-humor increased, till it was quite marked. After the fifth orsixth deal the crucial game arrived. Both players began to bet heavilyon their hands. Harry met his opponent's bets without a tremor ofexcitement, and twice Shuter hesitated as though he would throw up thegame--seeing he could not bluff Harry into doing so, and, consequently, forfeiting what was already on the table. SuddenlyShuter said, with an air of quiet confidence, "The stakes are prettyhigh now; what do you say to having only one raise more and thenshowing our hands? We evidently can't bluff each other, and the besthand will then have to win. " This subtle effort to discourage his opponent, and make him afraid ofthe next raise, failed, as Harry merely nodded and said, "Make yourraise. " There was silence for a few seconds, and then Shuter said, "I willraise you thirty dollars better. " Before this advance the stakes hadrun up to about forty dollars, so the raise, among such men, was amost unusual one. If Harry lost, it meant the forfeiture of his entiremonth's salary. Joe was now so intensely interested that he wasleaning eagerly forward; he was suspicious of Shuter, and was watchinghim as a cat watches a mouse. The heavy raise caused a slightly startled look to shoot into Harry'sface; but he was now in it to the death and answered, "All right, I'lltake you up; there's my cards" (four aces); "show me yours. " Joe saw a dangerous look leap into Shuter's eyes as Harry leanedforward, expectantly, to see what cards Shuter held. Stretching out his hand, as if with the intention of also exposing hiscards, Shuter deftly managed to knock off the table the remainder ofthe pack. As he did so he uttered an exclamation, as though his actionhad been accidental, and stooping began to gather up the cards; butwhile doing so dexterously dropped two of his own cards and replacedthem with two others, thus giving himself a royal flush--a handimpossible to beat. Quickly as the trick had been done it was detected by both Harry andJoe, and the next instant Harry was on his feet, his face convulsedwith anger and his slight frame quivering with excitement. Shuter also sprang to his feet, and as his thin lips parted into aforced, uncomprehending smile, Harry struck him with his fist, full inthe face. Before Harry could draw back Shuter had seized him by thethroat, and was fumbling in his pocket for an old sailor's knifewhich he was always known to carry; but before he could draw it he wasswung violently off his feet and brought down with a thud on thetable. He was little better than a child in Joe's grasp. The nextinstant the place was in an uproar, and a dozen men sprang on Joe; butit was only after a long struggle that they succeeded in drawing histerrified victim from his grasp. As Shuter at last staggered to his feet, his daughter ran to his side. The sight of the girl made Harry forget his resentment, and he walkedtoward her with the intention of apologizing; but the moment her eyesfell upon him she burst forth furiously, "Get out of this, you littlefool; I am sick of making a fool of you. There's not a man in the tentbut knows how I have been laughing at your attempts at love-making. "Pointing her finger derisively at him she continued ironically, "Whatdo you think, men, of _that thing_ making love to me?" All eyes were turned on her unhappy little lover, whose face was nowpitifully white and drawn. The jeers which she expected, to hersurprise did not come, for the little fellow's appreciation of histrying position was so painfully apparent in his drooping figure andpallid face, that there was not a man among them who did not feel morelike gathering him in their strong arms than jeering at him. Neverbefore had they realized what a weakly, effeminate little soul he was. "It's all right, boys, you can let go. " It was Joe who broke thesilence. They had almost forgotten they were still holding him lesthe should lay hands again on Shuter. Without a word they released him, for they knew by the tone of his voice, and from the pitiful look hegave his little driver, that he had forgotten all about his enemy. AsJoe strode toward Harry, and the yellow glare from the coal lamps, fastened to posts behind the counter, fell athwart his powerful, weather-beaten face and massive figure, they realized as they hadnever done before the striking physical difference between thescraper-handler and his driver, and wondered vaguely how two suchdissimilar characters could attract each other so powerfully. "Don't mind her, Harry, don't mind her; she's not worthy of you. Let'sgo. " As arm and arm they strode out of the tent the men quietlyparted. "I'll have a reckoning with that cub of yours some other time, JoeSwan, " shouted Shuter, with an attempt of bravado, as they weredisappearing. He had mistaken the humor of the men; one of them toldhim to shut his cursed mouth. Before the two silent figures had taken a dozen steps in the thickdarkness toward their own tent, the storm broke out afresh. Theturbulent clouds, unobstructed for hundreds of miles by either hillsor trees, were now hovering over the very sod, and at short intervalsvivid, sinuous gleams broke from them, and, serpent-like, wentwrithing and glistening through the matted grass, while the roar ofthe thunder made the apprehensive earth tremble perceptibly. Joe had seen two such dread storms before, and so paid but littleattention to them. Thinking his companion might be afraid of theappalling sight, he said, as he glanced down at his drawn face, "It'sonly on the prairies one sees storms like these; and I've seen men asdidn't fear a revolver get mighty scared at a sight like this. Firsttime I saw it I felt queer enough. " "No, Joe, you misunderstand; if my face is white it's not because I'mafraid of the lightning. I have been hurt to-night, Joe, worse than itcould ever hurt me. " Utterly forgetful of the warring elements, Joe halted abruptly, andthrowing his great arm around the slender shoulders of his companion, said fiercely, "For God's sake, Harry, don't talk like that; it makesme feel like going back and choking the life out of both of them. "While he was speaking, a flash of lightning, more vivid than itsfellows, shot across the prairie and revealed the two troubled figuresto some of the laborers who were in the act of leaving Shuter's store, and their hearts--unluckily for Shuter--hardened against him for thepart he that night had played. The deep thrill in Joe's voice went to Harry's heart like a balm, andhe said gratefully, "You're an awful decent fellow, Joe, and it's toobad of me bringing my troubles into your life in this way. " Joe's only reply, as they again hurried along, was to hug the littlearm more closely. When they finally reached their tent Joe uttered anexclamation, for one of the flashes revealed that it was at least twofeet deep in water. Groping his way into the tent, Joe lit a candle, and holding it high above his head, looked around. "This is hardluck, " he said to his companion, who was standing in the opening;"we've pitched the tent in a little hollow, and the water's drainedinto it. There'll be no sleeping here for us to-night; we shall haveto move the tent and stretchers to higher ground. " Half an hour later the tent was pitched several acres away. Had thelightning not died away, they would have seen that they were near twoother tents of exactly the same size as their own. It was about five o'clock when Joe awoke, and looking out of the tentsaw the sun was already casting a warm glow in the east. Seeing Harryshowed no signs of waking, he slipped quietly from his stretcher, dressed, and stealing past his mate, left the tent. Signs of life werealready visible in camp. In another hour the entire camping outfitwould be loaded on the waiting flat-cars and taken to the end of thetrack--which again stretched over two miles westward--and a newcamping-ground found, after which breakfast would be served and thephenomenal track-laying be again continued. "It's a great country, " Joe muttered, as his gaze swept across thebroad expanse, "and if it hadn't been for the trouble my little mate'shad, I should have been happy out here. " Turning, he saw for the first time the two small tents, and at oncerecognized them as the ones Shuter and his daughter slept in. While hewas thinking how queer it was that above all other spots they shouldhave chosen this to pitch their tent, Shuter came out of one of thetents, and in a loud voice called to his daughter, in the other, toget up. Not wanting to speak to him, Joe hurried back into his owntent and began to wash. By some mischance the tin bowl upset and fell noisily to the ground. Expecting to see Harry start up, Joe looked across at him as hestooped to pick up the wayward bowl, but the quiet form did not move. "Sleeping mighty sound, " Joe soliloquized, as he vigorously began toscour his face with a coarse, unsanitary-looking towel. Suddenly thetowel fell from his hands, and a startled, curious look shot into hisface; it had come to him that the scanty clothing which covered hislittle driver neither rose nor fell. For a few moments he stood gazing at the dimly outlined figure in theyet uncertain light, a feeling of growing terror stealing over him. Hetried to convince himself that his eyes were deceiving him, yet hislaboring heart would not be comforted. Twice he opened his mouth tocall Harry's name, but his parched throat refused to utter any sound. He could endure the growing horror no longer, and with set, terrifiedgaze began to move toward the stretcher. When at last his laggardsteps reached it he had not the courage to shake the slim figure, butin a voice, which sounded strangely unnatural, called his mate's name. The quiet of the tent was broken by no response. With pitifulhesitancy he finally stretched out his hand till it rested on the wanface; then he uttered a great cry--it was as cold as the face of thedead! In his terror and excitement he was about to snatch him up in hisarms, when a sight, which made him start back with an exclamation ofhorror met his eyes: in the side of the tent against which the bodyrested was a sinister cut, stained with blood. Pushing the canvasback, the whole treacherous story stood out as clear as daylight;while sleeping, his companion had been stabbed through the folds ofthe tent. "There's only one man under God's heaven, who'd do a deed like this, and that's Bill Shuter. " There was something weirdly ominous in thetones in which he uttered the words; in his dogged manner as he strodeout of the tent, cut several of the ropes that fastened it to theground, pieced them together, tried them to see if the knots werefirm--especially those which formed the noose at the end of theline--and then winding the rope around his huge arm, strode into BillShuter's tent. Scarcely had he entered it when a man's cry of terror rang out on thequiet morning air, and roused the few who already had not risen. Before the echo had died away, Nellie Shuter ran out of her tenttoward her father's; but before she could reach it Joe Swan emergedfrom it, his massive hands grasping the rope, which was now woundtightly around her father's throat. In vain Shuter struggled to utteranother cry, and to thrust away the avenging hand which grasped therope. With a terrified scream Nellie sprang upon Joe and endeavored to stophis march toward the derrick in the near distance, the ponderous armof which stretched enticingly out some nine feet above the ground. Without swerving an inch to the right or the left, Joe hurried ontoward it, while with his disengaged hand, and without apparentlyusing any force, he kept Nellie aside. Before he had got half-way to it, however, shouts fell upon his ears, and glancing hastily backward, he saw over a hundred laborers runningtoward him. For a brief space he stopped, measured with his eyes thedistance he was from the arm of the derrick and his pursuers, thenstooped, threw Shuter across his shoulder, and started off on a briskrun. Nellie made another desperate effort to stop him, but this timehe pushed her to the earth and sped on. Despite his great weight, and the burden which encumbered him, he wasthe first to reach the derrick--although the crowd had been closebehind him when he began to run. He had deftly thrown the end of therope over the arm of the derrick, and was about to hoist Shuter intomid-air, when the crowd was upon him. The rope was wrenched from hishands, and the noose unloosened from the man's throat. "For heaven'ssake, what does all this mean?" asked a foreman, turning toward Joe. Before he could reply Shuter gasped, "He's mad, he's mad; he ran intomy tent, and without a word wound that rope about my neck and thentried to hang me. " As he looked at his implacable enemy he edgedtowards the foreman. "He pretends, " began Joe, in a compressed voice, "that he don't knowwhy I was going to hang him; he's a liar; yes, a million times worsethan a liar--he's a murderer! I thought I'd save you the trouble ofhelping me to string him up, for when you hear what he's done you'llriddle him full of holes and string him up as well!" The crowd had now gathered about the speaker, and were gazing at himwith growing excitement. "There's a lot of you, " Joe went on, "who sawhim last night, in that gambling whiskey dive of his, try to draw hisknife on Harry Langdon, and heard him shout after me that he'd have areckoning some other time with that cub of mine; and, boys, he's kepthis word, for Harry lies in his tent there, dead, stabbed to theheart, in the dead of night, through the folds of the tent, by thatcuss there that you were so afraid I'd string up. " Angry exclamations followed this fierce tirade, and a rush was madefor Shuter. "It's a lie! I swear it's a lie! I never stabbed the lad!" But his words were cut short by the rope, which was again being woundaround his throat. As they dragged him towards the derrick Nellie oncemore threw herself across her father's body and begged piteously formercy. The sight of the girl's intense grief somewhat cooled theunreasoning rage which had been kindled in their hearts by Joe's rudeeloquence, and they hesitated as though they hardly knew what to do. "Let's see the body before we string him up, anyway, " cried a voice. The fairness of the proposition appealed to the men--more especiallyas they had begun to realize that they had acted impulsively. Therewas a general move toward the tent where the body lay. In the rush none of them noticed the rapid approach of the Indiangirl, who so prodigally, and unasked, had given her heart to themurdered boy. As they entered the tent she was close behind Joe, whosehuge body hid Shuter and his daughter, who were in front of him, fromher view. As Joe stepped forward to remove the coat he had thrown across thedead face, a low cry, full of the keenest apprehension and fear, sounded behind him. Turning, his eyes fell upon the Indian girl, whowas crouching close at his feet, her palsied hands raised as though toguard off some deadly apparition or danger, while her eyes, full ofthe most intense fear and horror, were fixed on Nellie Shuter. Joe's temper had been sorely tried, and laying his hand heavily on hershoulder, he said fiercely, "What's the meaning of this?" Instead of trying to escape from his grasp, she caught himhysterically by the arm, and pointing at Nellie, said wildly, in herqueer broken English, "See, see, de Great Spirit send her back to me!She's dead. " As Nellie stood and continued to gaze in amazement at her, the insaneterror of the Indian girl rose to an ungovernable height, and buryingher face in the grass, she screamed to Joe to send her away. The deepsuperstition in her nature--bred by her people--had been stronger thanthe love of revenge or the fear of punishment. Joe was the first toread the meaning of her superstitious horror, knowing as he did herhatred of Nellie and her love for Harry. And suddenly pointing at thegrovelling figure, he said in a shocked voice: "Boys, I see it allnow; she's the murderer. She meant to stab Nellie, her rival, andwould have done it if we hadn't in the darkness last night pitched ourtent next to Nellie's. The tents are alike, and she mistook ours forhers. " The mention of Harry's name brought a gleam of reason to thedistracted girl's face, and springing to her feet--apparently nowforgetful of Nellie's presence--she begged Joe to take her from thetent to Harry. Not for a moment did she appear to realize the dreadfulmistake she had made. "He's there!" said Joe, pitilessly, pointing to the stretcher. Thinking in her half-crazed manner that he was sleeping through itall, she ran to the stretcher, and tore away the sheet that coveredthe face she loved. It was not till she had caught the dear head toher bosom and pressed her face to his, that the truth broke upon herclouded mind. They had been drawing near her; but as she let his headfall back, they all--except Joe--drew away from her; the heart-broken, insane look on her face was more than they could bear. As she stood, wildly pressing her hands to her forehead, Joe pointed at the gash inthe tent and then at the blood-stained clothing at Harry's side. Thenwith fascinated gaze they watched the rapid changes which sped acrossher face, for reason had not yet altogether flown, and they saw thatshe was recalling the fearful mistake she had made. Suddenly her handsslid to her side, and in doing so encountered the handle of the knifewhich lay concealed beneath her blanket. That was the connecting linkwhich brought home to her the whole truth of the tragedy, and with acry that haunted many of them for years afterwards, she drew theknife, gave one glance at the stained blade that had robbed her of himfor whom she would willingly have died, stabbed again and again thefatal gash in the canvas, and then throwing away the knife, caught upthe lifeless body in her arms and began madly to chant a wild, weirdsong which her people sang when they had triumphed over their enemies. * * * * * She was so violently insane when she reached Winnipeg that theydecided a trial was unnecessary, so she was placed at once in anasylum. After they had buried his little mate on the great silent prairie, Joetried to forget and to do his work as usual; but the odor of thenewly-severed sod, the cracking of the drivers' whips, the shouting tothe stubborn mules, the stampede over the prairie at noon, the hatefulsight of Shuter and his daughter--in fact, everything around him--madethe longing for the company of his little driver so keen that he couldnot bear it, and a week after his death he drew his wages and slippedaway, none knew whither. * * * * * A Daughter of the Church. It had been a severe Canadian winter, but the bright spring sunshinewas now honeycombing the great snow-heap, which all winter had besetfarmer Frechette's farm-house, and which, on this early March morning, was still banked almost as high as the kitchen window. Glinting through the old-fashioned narrow panes, the generous raysfell upon the white bowed head of farmer Frechette, who sat warminghimself at the square box wood-stove, gazing the while with furrowedbrow at the roystering wood sparks, as at short intervals they shotaggressively from the partly open door. Suddenly there floated through the raised window the joyous chimes ofchurch bells. With an angry exclamation the old man sprang to hisfeet, hurried to the window, and violently drew it down. His extremeweakness made the anger that convulsed his thin, wrinkled face painfulto see. Straightening up his bent frame, he shook his hand at thechurch, which he could see in the distance, and uttered anathemasagainst it. As he did so, the door leading from the little bedroom atthe back of the kitchen was burst open, and his wife, a woman manyyears younger than he, ran over to his side, dragged down his stilluplifted arm, and led him over to his seat. She then sat down besidehim, and burying her face in her hands, began to cry. Her distress moved him and he told her somewhat doggedly, but notunkindly, to cease. "Do you know what the bells are ringing for?" heasked cynically, after a short pause. "Why worry about it? We must submit, " she answered, trying to keep outof her voice the discontent that assailed her. "They are ringing, " he went on in a hard voice, "for farmer Cadieux'sdaughter, who is to take her life vows to-day. Already he has onedaughter a nun, and his honor among French-Canadians will increase. Ihave lived in St. Jerome all my life, and have neither daughter norson in the Church; they pity me. It was only yesterday we received theletter from Quebec telling us of the honor that had come to my brotherthrough his daughter taking the veil. None of our neighbors were morepassionately attached to their children than we; yet death passed bytheir doors, came to ours, and took them all. Continued disappointmenthas made me weary of life. The sound of the church bells, which I haveheard so often sing honor for others, drives me to outbursts ofshameful anger. At times I think I shall go mad. As for the Church, Ihave nearly lost all faith in it. " As he ceased, his wife rose, kissed his cheek and said, with a littlebreak in her voice, "We have suffered much, Hormisdas; would to theVirgin we had not been so sorely afflicted. " "Such affliction is nothing but cruelty, " he went on, scornfully. "Itwas cruel when death took all our little ones in childhood. But it wasstill more cruel, when we had grown old and were striving to becontent and kiss the rod, for the Virgin to give us another daughter;to let us keep her till she had grown into womanhood; till we hadgiven her an education which would have fitted her to be thesuperioress of a convent, and then strike her with a fatal illnessjust as she was about to take the veil, and once more ruthlessly crushout all our hopes. " "So long as Adele lives there is hope, " said his wife, trying to bebrave. "Doctor Prenoveau says she will die, " he answered fiercely. "She was resting easier when I came down to you. I cannot get the ideaout of my mind, that if we got Doctor Chalmers from Montreal, he wouldcure her. They say, although he is young, he is very clever. As forDoctor Prenoveau, you know people say he is too old to practise now. " "When Doctor Prenoveau said the others would die, they died, " hereplied, looking at her as though he feared she would no longer arguewith him. With a hopeful ring in her voice the brave mother said, "That is true, but this time he may be mistaken; Doctor Chalmers would know. " "If we only dared hope, " he said under his breath. "Doctor Chalmers would know, " she repeated eagerly. "Send for him, " he replied, turning his face away. The sun had hardly sunk behind the Laurentian range of mountains, which for hundreds of miles towers above the great St. Lawrence River, and dictates its course to the Gulf, when the wind from the north, bringing with it flurries of fine snow, began to blow cold and strong. Doctor Chalmers drew the buffalo robes tighter about him, and settledback in a corner of the sleigh; he had three miles yet to drive beforehe reached farmer Frechette's house. "Had I known it was going to bethis cold I would have arranged for some other doctor to take up thecase, " he muttered. Had he only done so, how different his life wouldhave been! "We were afraid you would not come to-day, " said Madame Frechette asshe led him into the kitchen, where the stove was throwing out agenial heat. "Had the message been less urgent, I should not have done so, " hereplied, stooping and warming his benumbed hands. Farmer Frechette satfacing the doctor at the opposite side of the stove, furtivelyglancing at the young physician, dissatisfaction imprinted on everyline of his face; he was bitterly disappointed. "He is little betterthan a boy, " the old man repeated to himself, over and over again. "This is the doctor from Montreal, Adele, " said the mother, bendingover her sick daughter. Doctor Chalmers drew near the bed, and as thelight from the coal-oil lamp fell across Adele's face, he could nothelp but think how beautiful she was even in her illness. For a long time nothing could be heard in the kitchen but the loudticking of the yellow-faced clock, hung high above the old deal table, and the occasional murmur of voices in the sick girl's room. Unableany longer to sit and endure the suspense, the farmer rose, and began, fretfully, to walk to and fro. Finally he stopped at the window, andhis gaze travelled across the great expanse of white, beautified bythe pale light of the early moon, to the tin-clad church tower in thedistance, which shone like burnished silver as the moon's rays fellupon it. "If she dies there is no Virgin and the priests have deceived us, " hesaid, looking steadily at the tower; "but if she lives"--and hestraightened out his bent figure--"I shall die happy in the faith. Iwill leave money to help build the new church which Father Sauvalle solong has wished to have built. " Hearing a slight noise behind him, heturned quickly. His wife, followed by the doctor, was entering theroom. "Well?" he queried, in a peculiar tone, looking at the doctor asthough he knew he would tell him there was no hope. "She certainly is very ill, but I cannot agree with Doctor Prenoveau, if he says there is no hope. " The words were kindly spoken, for he hadnoticed how the old man trembled and how poorly assumed was his air ofdefiance. "You really think she may not die, doctor?" he asked, almostincredulously. "I really think not. " Farmer Frechette sank heavily on his chair. "I am beginning to feelold, very old, doctor, " he said weakly. Never before had Doctor Chalmers taken so keen an interest in a case. Inch by inch he contested with death for the life of the young girlupon whose recovery was founded so many hopes. It was a beautiful June day when, for the first time since Adele'sillness, she ventured out of the house, supported on the youngdoctor's arm, and walked as far as the little garden at the back ofthe house. Very lovely she looked in her light-colored, soft, clingingdress, large brimmed straw hat, the health color struggling back toher cheeks, her sweet lips parted, and her heavily fringed dark eyeslighted up with hope and happiness. Among his friends, Doctor Chalmers was known as a man not prone tomany words. Could they but have heard him this afternoon as he sat byher side on the quaint garden seat, they simply would have beenastounded. It had come so gradually, this love of his, that before he was quiteaware, it had taken possession of his heart so that no reasoning couldhave forced it to withdraw. He saw no reason, indeed, why he shouldwish to banish it; besides being beautiful and winning, she hadreceived an excellent education, and was in every way fitted to be hiswife. Of Adele's dedication to the Church from her birth, he knewnothing, so that no misgivings assailed him. Little wonder then thathis heart should be light, and that the primitive garden should appearto him the most beautiful spot he had ever seen. After this little walk and chat in the garden, life seemed to comeback to her with strides. By the end of August Adele was quite strongagain. The change in her health made a new man of her father; from theday Doctor Prenoveau had said she would not recover, until the dayDoctor Chalmers had pronounced her out of danger, he had not enteredthe doors of the church. Now all was different; twice a week he wentto confession, and almost every day knelt before the altar and askedforgiveness for the dreadful sins of the past. It had never struck himas being strange that Doctor Chalmers should continue to visit hishouse after she had recovered. He had a hazy idea that the doctor'striumph over his daughter's disease was the cause of the interest hetook in her. The preposterous thought that anyone should want to marryAdele no more entered his imagination than would the idea of anyonewanting to marry one of the dark-robed nuns at the convent. Everyone in St. Jerome knew that she was to take the veil. If his wifeat times had fears, she never mentioned them to him. And Adele? She was very happy. Like most French-Canadian women, shewas passionately attached to the Church. At times her happiness wasdimmed by the thought that she was not looking forward to taking theveil with that eagerness that she had felt before her illness. Shecomforted herself with the thought that the change, somehow, was theresult of her illness, and that by and by the old longings wouldsurely return. Why her heart should beat so when Doctor Chalmerscalled, and what the meaning was of her looking so eagerly forward tohis visiting days, she never stopped to think. The time of her awakening was at hand! Had Adele's thoughts been less engrossed one afternoon, as she sat onthe porch, she would have noticed approaching the house, in the middleof the narrow, dusty road that ran to the church, Father Sauvalle, with his arm linked in that of her father's, both talking eagerly. Thepriest's hand was on the latch of the gate before she raised her head;her face lighted up, and she ran to meet them. The aged priest hadknown her all her life, and patted her head with fatherly affection. As they walked toward the house, he told her, impressively, that hisvisit this time was solely on her account. "Yes, solely on your account, solely on your account, blessed be theVirgin!" broke in her father with strange ecstasy. She could notaccount for the unhappy feeling which swept over her. They went into the little parlor, where hung the great carved woodencrucifix, which was said to be the most costly in the town, with theexception of the one in the church. Scarcely were they seated, when her father began to tell her the greatnews. With eyes beaming with religious enthusiasm and pride, he toldher how Father Sauvalle had received a letter from the bishop, statingthat when the daughter of Hormisdas Frechette had taken the veil atthe convent at St. Jerome, the honor should be bestowed upon her ofbeing removed to the convent of the Sacred Heart at Montreal. FatherSauvalle was to be thanked for this. Very proudly and with much solemnity the priest took a letter from thefolds of his robe, and as he opened it, impressively told her theletter he held was the very one which had brought the great news. Ashe read it to her, his face beamed with smiles. Little wonder theywere pleased, for it was an honor indeed to the little town of St. Jerome to be able to say that one of its daughters had been admittedto this convent, noted as it was for its exclusiveness and theseverity of its discipline. "The convent!" she exclaimed falteringly. They noticed how pale her face had suddenly grown. They were notsurprised; it was meet that the sudden news of the honor in store forher should cause some emotion. "We have talked the matter over, " continued the priest, graciously, "and have decided that, as you already have served your novitiate, youmay as well return to the convent in a few days. In a month or solater you will be ready to take your final vows. Your father is an oldman now and has been sorely tried, and has sinned deeply--yea, evenuttered anathemas against the Church. But the Blessed Mother heardthe prayers of the Church for your recovery, and so his soul was savedfrom--" "He anathematised the Church because of me?" Adele interrupted, feargleaming in her eyes. For a few moments no one spoke. The painful silence was broken by herfather struggling to his feet. Beseechingly he looked at the greatcrucifix, made the sign of the cross on his bosom, and then turned hiswavering gaze on his daughter, who had shrunk back in her chair andcovered her eyes, as though she dared not look at him. "I had not meant you to know this, " he said, tightly clutching the armof his chair for support. "I think I must have been mad when I did it;I had set my heart so on having a daughter in the Church, and had beendisappointed so often. When they said your illness was fatal, I said, in my misery, that there was no Virgin, or she would not let suchsuffering fall upon me. Even now, wrong as I know it to be, I fear ifanything should happen that you did not take the veil, I should driftback again into unbelief. " "Cease, cease! Hormisdas, " cried the priest, raising his handauthoritatively. The old man walked weakly over to his wife. The priest turned hisattention to Adele, and said to her soothingly, "There is nothing tofear now; all will be well with him. It is a great honor to you thatyour life was spared in order that your father's soul might be saved. The bishop knows of this, and is greatly pleased. Already many of theparish priests have been told of your miraculous recovery, and haverepeated it to those whose faith was weak, and they have beenblessed. You have been honored above most women. In time, I believeyou will rise to be the superioress of a convent. " As he turned from her, Adele rose and left the room. As the door wasclosing behind her she turned and looked back. Before the crucifix, ontheir knees, were her aged father and mother, while towering abovethem, with hands outstretched toward the cross, was the white-hairedpriest, invoking blessings on those bowed at his feet. She knew it washer duty to be by their side. Stifling the choking tears, she wasabout to re-enter the room, when the haunting refrain of a song thatshe had heard Doctor Chalmers sing, rang in her ears: "To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life, Or be crushed in its ruins to die. " The words seemed sacrilegious to her, when compared with thesupplicating tone of the priest's voice. With all her might she stroveto banish them. Twice she stretched out her hand to turn the handle ofthe door, but the sound of the voice that had sung the words seemed togrow more distinct instead of vanishing, and her hand fell to herside. At last, with a stifled cry of despair, she fled from the houseinto the little garden, shocked at the wickedness of her heart. For a long time she sat with closed eyes, her little ivoryprayer-beads in her hands. She pleaded for pardon for not being ableto fix her attention on holy things, and asked grace to ceasethinking of him who had taken from her the love for the life ofseclusion to which she had been taught to look forward. At last she heard the clang of the garden gate, and knew the priesthad gone. She did not return to the house, but continued battling withher sins. Suddenly her supplications ceased; she sprang to her feetand looked along the road. She had not been mistaken; away in thedistance was a light buggy, rapidly approaching. Doctor Chalmers hadsaid he might be down that day! Her heart seemed to stop beating; shewould have run into the house had not her strength failed. Had theevil one been approaching, she could not have begun to pray moreearnestly for aid. When the vehicle, covered with dust, reached farmer Frechette's house, the rattle of wheels ceased. "To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life. " She heard him whistling his favorite refrain as he swung up the gravelwalk. He had seen her white dress, and was walking straight towardher. She heard him coming, and her treacherous heart began to beatjoyously. With an exclamation of despair, she sank to her knees by theside of the garden seat, deeming herself the very chief of sinners. For a few moments he stood and looked down at her in utter amazement, then stooped quickly and raised her. When he saw how white her facewas, he was sure she was seriously ill, and held out his arm tosupport her to the house. With averted face, Adele told him that she was only a little nervousand unstrung, but she would be herself again. Her pathetic face andhelplessness appealed strongly to him, and his heart went out to her, as a man's will to the woman he loves, and whose sufferings are his. As he sat down by her side, he could scarcely refrain from gatheringher in his arms and comforting her. Her clamoring conscience caused her involuntarily to draw away fromhim to the end of the seat. Her strange manner caused an uneasyfeeling to sweep over him, yet accentuated the keen longing to winher. Almost before he was aware of it, he was by her side again, andwas telling her the story that is ever new, though so very old. Shewould have given the world to have let her heart run riot, as theloving words came pouring from his lips. She learned how she had firstgrown dear to him, as he had fought with the great reaper for herlife, and how the sight of health returning to her dear face had beensweeter to him than he could ever tell her. He told her, too, he waspositive that he would never have been called to play the importantpart in her life which he had done, had it not been ordained from thebeginning that his life was to be knit with hers. "To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life. " The haunting words were still ringing in Adele's ears, and made itten-fold harder for her to tell him that he was not to prevail in thecause dearer than life, as it was to him. As she sat, with face buried in her cold hands, and listened andtried to fight down the singing of her heart, she knew that nothing hecould say could make her deny the Church and imperil the soul of herfather once more. "Or be crushed in its ruins to die. " "Marie, pity us! for that is the answer I have for him, " shewhispered. Ah! how she wished Doctor Prenoveau had been a trueprophet, and that she had died. As he ceased, she took the little silver crucifix which hung aroundher neck, pressed it tightly to her bosom, and turning her woe-begoneface to him, said, as she rose, "You do not know, or you would not saysuch things to me. " He had expected something so different. "I--I do not understand, " hesaid, wonderingly, rising and walking toward her. She clutched the cross tighter and stepped back as he approached. Hewas sorely perplexed and apprehensive, and she saw it, and her heartached for him. "I am going, " she began weakly, "to be a nun. I have been in theconvent before, and shall return in a few days. In less than twomonths I shall take the veil. " Dear heart! Fight as she would for conscience' sake, she could notkeep out of her eyes the pity and love for him, as she saw the look ofamazement and misery which flashed into his face, and noted howunsteadily his hand sought the back of the garden bench. Suddenly their eyes met, and then he knew, and hope flew back, andwith a glad ring in his voice he said, "You love me, Adele!" Hestarted forward and imprisoned the hand with the crucifix in his own. His apprehension had all vanished now, and boldly he told her that ifshe loved him she had no right to sacrifice their happiness. Then histone changed, and he pleaded with her; and as she looked into hiseager eyes, listened, and saw how dear she was to him, her rejoicingheart deadened the lashings of her conscience; she forgot all abouther promise to Father Sauvalle and to her parents; forgot all aboutthe convent of the Sacred Heart; yea, even forgot the anathemasuttered by her father against the Church, in this, the first greathappiness of her life. He thought he had won her, and raising her head, looked teasingly intoher face and said softly, yet triumphantly: "To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life, Or--" Adele wrenched her hand from him and started back. Her face wasghastly pale, while her eyes dilated and shone with terror. "If I donot enter the convent, " she said fearfully, "I shall be responsiblefor the loss of my father's soul!" For a space he looked at her as though he thought her mind wasaffected. She read his look, and remembering that he did notunderstand, told him all her father's dread story, how he had toldher, not an hour ago, that if anything should happen that she did nottake the veil, it would be impossible for him to believe. She told him, too, that even were her parents willing she should marryhim, she could never be perfectly happy. Her conscience would nevercease to upbraid her; from her childhood she had been taught to lookforward to being a nun. She kissed the cross passionately as sheceased. He noted the religious light in her eyes, and something told him thatit was useless to argue; that nothing he could say would break downher strong religious convictions. The sudden revulsion from greathappiness to despair was bitter indeed, and sitting down he buried hisface in his hands. Adele walked rapidly away a few steps, then turned and looked back. His dejected attitude smote her sorely. Again she turned, as thoughshe would leave him, but turned again and looked at him pityingly. Well she knew that in the long quiet years which were to come, thatlonely figure in the quaint garden would haunt her, and that thememory of his great sorrow would be the heavy cross she would have tobear as long as life lasted. So quietly did she steal behind him, that he was not aware she hadreturned. Her lips moved as though she were about to speak to him, butno sound came from them. It was so hard not to lean forward and resther hand on the thick dark hair, and tell him how much easier it wouldbe for her to bear her lot if he would only say he forgave her andwould try and think kindly of her. It came to her at last how, perhaps, she might ease his sorrows. She unclasped the little silvercrucifix from around her neck, kissed it, and then gently slipped itinto the pocket of his coat, which hung over the side of the bench. She then turned and fled along the grass to the house. * * * * * Once more the sound of church bells floated into the little cottageand fell upon the expectant ears of farmer Frechette and his wife, while a proud look lit up their faces. "At last!" said the old man, exultantly, going to the window andlooking at the church and the convent nestling at its side. The bellsno longer mocked him, and he had ceased to hate them. Once more hestretched his gaunt arm toward the glistening tower. "The Church hasnot deceived us, " he said humbly. Then he turned to his wife, who waswaiting for him at the door. Very slowly, arm in arm, with heads erect and graciously acknowledgingthe bows of the neighbors, Hormisdas Frechette and his wife walkeddown the narrow crooked road leading to the church. The overcast sky looked burdened with snow, and the leaves rustledcomplainingly as they were ground beneath the feet of those hurryingto witness the honor about to fall upon the house of HormisdasFrechette. Sweet to the old man was the moaning of the wind as itjostled the barren trees, while the ungarnished landscape seemedfairer to him this day than ever before even in harvest time. As the aged couple entered the church, with its many pictures ofsaints and its gorgeous towering altar, the organ began to playsoftly. Presently the narrow door near the altar slowly opened, andfour nuns, in black array, with clasped hands and bowed heads, repeating a psalm of renunciation, entered the church. Following them, arrayed in a spotless white veil which fell to her feet, came she whohad saved a soul from unbelief. Eagerly the congregation bent forward, anxious to catch a glimpse of her whom the bishop had promised tohonor. To be a sister of the convent of the Sacred Heart! She knew nothow many envied her. With closed eyes and radiant face sat farmer Frechette, repeatingprayers of thanksgiving. She who had given birth to such a daughterpraised the Virgin that she had known the pangs of motherhood. The sweet face had lost all its roses. Her eyes were downcast as shewalked up to the altar; but that was as it should be, with one who wasabout to renounce the pleasures of the world, and whose eyes evermoremust humbly seek the earth. Just as she was repeating her final vows, one who had told himself athousand times that he would not witness the ceremony, drove rapidlydown the road, and halted some little distance from the church nearthe convent. Just as he reached the door of the church he saw FatherSauvalle solemnly raise both hands and bless her. With set lips he went back to the buggy, and stood behind the horsein a position which he thought would prevent him from being seen. Eagerly he watched the door, and his heart beat furiously as he sawthe four dark-robed nuns step from the church and wait for their newsister. At last she came, with hands clasped and head bowed so very, very low. The nuns divided, formed around her, and then began the walkto the convent, near where the silent figure still waited, screened bythe horse. Just as she was about to enter the convent yard, her attention wasattracted by the white feet of the horse, and instantly she knew towhom it belonged. Wrong as she knew it to be, she could not helpraising her head. Their eyes met: "Or be crush'd in its ruins to die!" The words came to them both at the same moment. One of the nuns putout her hand as she saw her falter; but she recovered herself andentered the yard. The rusty hinges creaked weirdly as the door closedbehind her. A moment later, he heard the metallic click of the lock. The snow began to fall in great flakes, and the boisterous wind drovethem violently into the faces of the sightseers as they hurried fromthe church. None of them saw the horse on the far side of the road;the snow was blinding. As he heard their voices die away in the distance, Dr. Chalmers' headdrooped till it rested on the animal's mane. Patiently the beastwhisked away the snow and tried to hide its head from the viciouswind. It was growing rapidly dark, but he did not notice it: he was thinkingof the fight he had made for her life, and of the love that had cometo him in the summer days when health came back to her to make amends. "To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life!" The mocking refrain seemed to have been shouted into his ears; hestarted as though he had been struck, seized the reins, and dashedinto the gathering storm. * * * * * A Perilous Encounter. It is not because I am unduly sensitive of my altered appearance thatI have told so few the story of the ugly scar that disfigures my face, but on account of the horror that I yet experience when recalling theterrible incidents that led to my receiving it. How many lives weresaved by that wound I shall never know. The great Canadian Pacific Railway, which to-day connects the AtlanticOcean with the Pacific, was in the year 1882 built only about twohundred miles west of Winnipeg, leaving a huge gap of several hundredmiles of untouched prairie before one of the world's wonders, thefamed Rocky Mountains of British Columbia, was reached. Such was the rapidity with which the rails were laid and telegraphoffices erected, that when winter set in, fifty telegraph operatorswere needed to take charge of the empty stations. The management found it hard to induce men to go out and burythemselves for the winter in the vast prairie, which was only thenbeing opened up. To-day, men are only too happy to make homes in thiswonderful country, which has very aptly been termed the future granaryof the world. Money is a loadstone that few men can resist, and when I heard that$80 a month was being paid out there for operators, I resigned myposition in Montreal, and with $20 and a pass in my pocket started forManitoba. On reaching Winnipeg, I was at once sent out to Elkhorn, a bit of astation 150 miles farther west. When I took charge, in November, fourinches of snow already hid the earth, which did not see the sun againtill March. Two passenger trains a day, and an occasional construction train, formed the only break in the monotonous life which I led. It was adreadfully solitary existence. I was alone in the station, and asDecember began to wane, and the dread blizzards commenced their wildrevelry, heaping the snow into such huge mounds on the tracks that thetrains were delayed for days, I got as homesick and nervous as a girlof fourteen instead of a young man of twenty. Christmas eve ushered in bitter weather. All day it had been snowingand storming. At 1 a. M. The glass showed twenty-two below zero. Thestorm had risen and risen until it was blowing a perfect blizzard fromthe west. The riotous wind, as it swept along the vast prairie, unobstructed for scores of miles by houses or trees, caught up thenewly-fallen snow in its mad embrace, and drove it with amazing forceagainst the little telegraph office which sheltered me from itsdeathly embrace, as though enraged against this earnest of approachingcivilization. So fierce, at times, was the onslaught that the tensetelegraph wires could be heard humming even above the demoniacal gleeof the storm. I knew it was unmanly, but I could not help it: the tears would startto my eyes. It was Christmas, and I was spending it in such a queermanner! My thoughts had been with mother and dear old London, where Ihad left her two years before to try my fortune in Montreal. I knewshe was thinking of her eldest born. "Christians, awake, salute the happy morn. " All I had to do was to close my eyes, and I could hear my companionssinging that grand old hymn in the greatest city in the world. It was a relief to hear the telegraph instrument, which had been quietfor hours, call my office. Both passenger trains were nearly ten hourslate, and were slowly struggling towards my station. It was just 2a. M. When I received the order from the dispatcher at Winnipeg todetain the east-bound train at my station when she arrived, till thewest-bound express crossed her--double tracks are yet unknown outthere. I replied back that I understood the order, and was just about to letthe red lantern swing round from the station and face the track, whenI was startled by hearing a tremendous kicking and howling at thedoor. In my surprise, I forgot to turn the lamp which was to signalthe engineer to stop at the station for orders. Little wonder I was agitated. The nearest house was seven miles away, and no white man could have walked a tenth of that distance in such ablizzard and have lived. Had the shouting and kicking been lessimperative, I might have been superstitious. With trembling hands Idrew the bolt. Before I could step aside the door was thrown violentlyopen, and to my dismay two stalwart Cree Indians burst into the littleoffice. It was the manner of the savages in entering that made me feelnervous. It was no uncommon thing for me to have Indians drop into thestation at night, and to see roaming bands of them pass the station atall hours; but two drunken Cree Indians, even a native scout mighthave been pardoned for fearing had he been unarmed and placed in myposition. Without appearing to notice me, the braves walked over to the glowingwood stove and began to warm themselves. I wanted to show that Itrusted them, and brought two chairs and asked them to be seated. As Ispoke they both turned their wicked, black eyes on me, but did notdeign to speak. Kicking the chairs to one side they began taking offtheir great skin-coats and caps and red-and-white blankets. As the taller of the two petulantly threw his wraps down, somethinghard struck the floor heavily. He gave a cry of greedy exultation, felt in the pocket of the coat, drew out a bottle of whiskey, andproceeded without delay to break off the neck on the stove. It wascontrary to the law to sell liquor to Indians, but that did not mattermuch, they always managed to get it. Just as he was about to raise the ragged mouth of the bottle to hislips, the telegraph instrument began to work. It had the effect that Ifeared. Both the Indians, with superstitious dread in their eyes, involuntarily took a couple of steps back toward the wall, where I wassitting, devoutly hoping they would wrap themselves up in theirblankets and go off to sleep. No such good fortune. The room was about ten feet wide and fifteen feet long. In the centrewas the stove, and near the door, about six feet to the right, was theinstrument. I was sitting facing the door at the opposite side of theroom. Pretending that I thought they were going to back up against me, I rose and calmly began to walk toward the instrument. I had not passed them two feet when they both caught me violently bythe shoulders, and in excited, guttural tones, began in a threateningmanner to say something to me. Seeing that I did not understand, thetall brave, pointing the bottle, which he still tightly clutched inhis left hand, at the talkative instrument, said fiercely, "No gothere! no go there!" I quickly understood what they meant; the Indian's fear of telegraphinstruments, and his inability to understand electricity, were knownto every operator west of Winnipeg. In their drunken fear they imagined that if I got possession of thewires I would have it in my power to do them an injury. As easily as I could have lifted an infant, the great savage with hisunengaged hand swung me from my feet, and contemptuously dropped me onmy chair again, after which he took a long draught out of the bottle, and then handed it to his companion. The effect of the liquor upontheir savage natures showed itself almost immediately; they began toyell and shout, and putting their hands around their mouths utteredcries like prairie wolves. I shrank closer to the wall. In ten minutes they had finished the bottle, and were become nothingbetter than howling maniacs. They joined hands and capered round thestove, stamping the floor viciously with their moccasined feet. Again, they would wave their long arms about their heads in the mostgrotesque manner, uttering at the same time the most blood-curdlingwar-whoops. In their eyes was the baleful light of the wild beast. The coal-oillight, which but dimly lit up the room, threw a yellow shade upontheir dark, brutal faces, making them look like emissaries from theevil one, dancing in fiendish glee over some evil deed. The storm, asthough in sympathy with the savage scene, had risen to a hurricane, shrieking like a mad thing, and through the casement andill-constructed door piled up miniature snow-banks. Every moment I expected my unwelcome visitors would seize me, and intheir insane glee practise upon me some savage torture. Would theynever cease? For nearly thirty minutes I sat still as death, wherethey had flung me. Safety lay in not attracting their attention; but adreadful ordeal was in store for me. The instrument, which had been silent for a time, again awoke to life. The dispatcher was calling my office. Like a flash the order to detainthe down express that he had sent came back to my memory, and with athrill of horror I remembered that I had omitted to turn the red lamp. The dispatcher, I knew, wanted to ask me if the train had arrived. Involuntarily I started to my feet. The only sounds now to be heard were the ticking of the instrument andthe ceaseless cries of the storm. The Indians, the instant they heardthe former, ceased their uncivilized mirth, again lookedapprehensively at the mysterious instrument, and hurriedly glanced atme. Their treacherous, suspicious natures were thoroughly aroused onseeing me looking eagerly toward the instrument. I knew not how nearthe train might be; act I must. I thought of the fearful loss of lifewhich would surely occur unless I could reach the cord that hung abovethe instrument, and with one pull swing round the red lamp and let itbeam across the track. I had received the order to expose the light, and unless I did so I knew full well the Company would hold meresponsible for any accident that might occur. I had written the orderin the order-book when receiving it. All this passed through my mind like a flash. I did not dread theCompany, but I could not let scores of lives be sacrificed in order tosave my own. I had always thought I was not the stuff brave men aremade of, but when put to the test I gloried in finding that I was nota coward. I was quite calm as I began carelessly to walk over to the instrument. The drunken savages were upon me almost immediately. As they felled meto the floor, my ears caught the distant rumbling of the east-boundlocomotive. The Indians also had heard the noise, and as they turnedto listen I once more sprang to my feet and dashed past them. One ofthem I passed in safety, but as I dodged the big brave he struckviciously at me with the broken bottle. His aim was but too true; the ragged mouth of the bottle opened myface like a conical bullet. I had only a few more steps to go. BeforeI fell I knew that I had turned the light. * * * * * The conductor put me on the train and took me to Winnipeg, where Iremained in the hospital for three weeks. The Indians had gone when he entered the station. He had seen theorder in the book, and had waited the arrival of the west-boundexpress, which arrived five minutes later. Had he not seen the redlight he would have gone on, and the trains would have met about twomiles east of the station. The detectives tried to trace the two brutal savages, but did notsucceed. Yes, as long as I live I shall remember that Christmas when I wasemployed in the far west by the great Canadian Pacific Railway. * * * * * Le Loup-Garou. The fear of it is killing me, Baptiste, for it is on my mind all thetime. Think of it: for seven long years he has neither been toconfession nor partaken of the blessed sacrament, and he is drinkingand growing wickeder every day. This is the last night of the seventhyear, and the curse may fall upon him now at any moment. She buriedher wrinkled, fear-stricken face in her thin trembling hands, and weptas though her heart was breaking. "O Marie, blessed Virgin!" shewhispered, "save our son, our Pierre; let not the fate of theloup-garou fall upon him. " A thin stream of light shone through anancient crack in the old-fashioned box-stove, and fell caressinglyacross the bowed head, making its silvery hair look pathetically thin. The bent shoulders of the sorrowing mother shook convulsively. Baptiste gazed with a troubled look at the bar of light on his wife'shead, and his heart went out to her as only a husband's can to a wifewho for half a century has borne with him the joys and trials of thepassing years. As he looked at the thin white hair, memory driftedback to the time when it was as black as a raven's wing, and fell ingreat glossy folds far below her waist. A tender smile stole into hisface as he remembered how, on account of the waywardness of thebeautiful hair and its rebellion against imprisonment, he had morethan once heard her chide it; yes, and at times when more than usuallyarrogant, threaten to use the shears upon it. He observed, too, howround her shoulders had grown, and noted many other signs of old agewhich the glow from the stove made so cruelly apparent. It had takensixty years of life just to streak her hair with grey; but the pastseven years had remorselessly thinned and whitened it, and now noteven one black hair was to be seen. All these things and many more hethought of as he gazed upon his sorrowing wife. Distressfully the old man put his hand to his forehead, and thenthought reverted to himself, and he recalled the days when his headwas subject to his will and did not, with painful persistency, nod andtremble the long day through. The infirmity of age was strong uponhim; seventy years is a long time to have lived and toiled asFrench-Canadian farmers toil in eastern Canada. He thought, too, howmuch he had aged the last seven years, and of the one who had causedthose years to be fraught with so much suffering to them both. Herealized, indeed, that sorrow ages more quickly than years! "Pierre, Pierre, my son!" he muttered brokenly, "better that you hadnever been born, than after reaching manhood's estate to haveforgotten all our teachings and become a drunkard and an outcast fromthe Church. " A stifled sob from his wife again changed his ramblingthoughts, and painfully rising he walked over to her side. Gently helaid his hand on the hair that he so dearly loved, although so muchchanged, and bending tenderly down said, bravely, trying to check thetremor in his voice, "There, wife, don't fret. " And then he drew herhead to his shoulder in a way he used to do when they were both in thenoonday of life. She remembered, and her grief grew less. "The Virginis good, wife, and we have prayed so much to Her about him. Surely Shewill hear us, and not let what you fear fall upon our Pierre. FatherBenoit has been praying to Her all these years, and we are told thatthe Virgin sooner or later answers the prayers of the priests of ourChurch. Then special prayers will be offered for our son to-night bythe priest, for he knows how you feared for him because this was thelast night of the seventh year. " A shudder ran through her frame as the anxious mother started to herfeet and said fearfully: "Yes, in another hour a new day will dawn, and then seven years willhave passed since our son went to confession, and then the curse mayfall at any time. " Dropping his voice almost to a whisper, and looking with superstitiousdread out of the window into the moonlight, which made the newlyfallen snow glisten on the road with almost supernatural whiteness, and trying to speak in a tone of conviction, her husband said: "Perhaps the priest may be right, wife, and this about loup-garou maynot be true. He told us that he did not believe in it, and that theChurch had uttered no such curse against those who for seven years didnot confess; although if they died in that sinful state there was nohope of salvation for them. As for the devil, you remember the priestsaid that he had not the power to change a man into a wolf or ananimal of any kind, and--" "Speak not like that, Baptiste, " broke in his wife with fear in hereyes; "the evil one may hear what you say, and out of mockery to theChurch, cause the evil to fall upon him. " With piteous haste she madethe sign of the cross on her bosom, and instinctively her husband didthe same. Although it was near midnight they had not lit the lamp, for the moonthat poured in at the window made the cottage almost as light asnoonday. "Husband, " she went on in a tone of conviction, "why should we try todeceive ourselves? for we know that it is true. Father Benoit is sorryfor us and would give us comfort. It may be that the curse is not fromthe Church, but the devil knows when human beings are forsaken by theblessed Church, and if he can change them into animals and keep themso till death, then he is sure of their souls; even the blessed Motherthen can do nothing for them. " Baptiste raised his hand beseechingly, as though he would fain haveher cease, but she only drew still closer to him and continuedquickly: "Have we not known it since we were children? Did not our parentsbelieve in it? Even if we had not been told these things, we know itis true. Have you forgotten Arsene Bolduc, Baptiste?" Again he raised his hand, mutely protesting, but she did not heed him. "It is only three years ago that it happened to Arsene. He, like ourboy, had not partaken of the blessed sacrament for seven years. Youknow how he blasphemed and drank, and grew wickeder every year, tillfinally the very last night of the seventh year came, and just a fewminutes before twelve he became possessed of the devil, and beat hismother, and then ran out of the house and was never seen again. Andwhy was he never seen again, Baptiste?" She was getting strangelyexcited, and her voice was rising. "For the love of the Virgin, cease, wife?" But she was now far too excited for him to have control over her, andwent on: "When Arsene did not come back, his father thought the evil one hadturned him into a wolf; but his mother said she believed he had beenchanged into a bull, and we know she was right, for a few days lateryou helped, with the other men, to drag out of the river the bull thatwas found drowned. Did not all the village folk talk about it, andregret that someone had not met the beast before it was drowned, anddrawn blood from it so as to release Arsene? Has he ever been seensince? We have known of others like him who have disappeared and havenever been seen again. How can we deceive ourselves and say there isno loup-garou? There is; and we must not sleep this night till our sonreturns. This night above all others he should not have been out late. He must be drinking heavily in the village. We do not know what mayhappen, Baptiste. I fear some evil is about to befall him, for myheart is full of fear. " Her voice had a pitiful break in it as she concluded. "Let us pray the good God to protect him this night, wife, " answeredBaptiste, no longer pretending that he did not believe in this strangelegend, in which nearly all his race in his station in life havefaith. While they were on their knees praying, the yellow-faced clock behindthe stove struck the hour of midnight. "_Mon Dieu!_ twelve o'clock!" The anxious mother sprang to her feet, ran to the door, opened it, andstanding on the steps shaded her eyes with her hand, and lookedearnestly down the long snow-clad road in the direction of the littlevillage of St. Pascal. Behind her stood Baptiste, also shading hisweak eyes and looking. Not a human being was in sight. Thezinc-covered spire of the little village church, nearly half a mileaway, glittered and shone in the fairy light like burnished silver. The quaint whitewashed cottages that dotted the road to the villagelooked far different from what they did in the daytime; somehow thecharitable moon had forgotten to reveal the cracks and stains thattime in its relentless march had made. The lines, too, that age andcare had made on the two eager watching faces were also, by the greatruler of the night, tenderly smoothed out. "I cannot see him, Baptiste, " she said presently, lowering her handfrom her eyes. "Neither can I, wife; neither can I. Let us go into the house andwait. " He laid his hand persuasively on her shoulder. As she turnedthe moon shone full in her face. She stopped and looked at it for afew moments like one fascinated, then slowly raised her hand andpointed at it. "Baptiste, " she said in an awed voice, with the superstitious lightagain in her eyes, "do you remember once before when it was as brightas this?" He tried to draw her toward the door, but she resisted, and lookinghurriedly up into his face, said: "Ah; I see you, too, remember! It was the night Arsene Bolduc went outnever to return. The devil is surely abroad this night, and our Pierreis not yet home. " "Talk not of the evil one while the moon shines full in your face, wife, for it is an evil omen. " Quickly he drew down her hand, which was still pointing upward, thenput his hand over her eyes to shut out the sight of the moon, made thesign of the cross, drew her into the house and shut the door. Once more they seated themselves near the stove and began theiranxious wait for the erring one. For nearly half an hour they satwithout speaking, but at short intervals glanced at the clock, whoseloud ticking broke the stillness of the night with painfuldistinctness. Every relentless tick jarred on the nerves of the agedwatchers. Suddenly they started to their feet with blanched faces, looked at each other, and apprehensively bent their heads in alistening attitude. Again there came floating on the still air themournful sound that had startled them--the weird wail of a dog! Amarvellous change came over the mother as she listened; the look offear vanished and was succeeded by one of intense determination. Thechange in her was so great that one would surely have thought that shehad partaken of the fabled elixir of life; her bent shoulders seemedto grow straight once more, while her steps, as she ran to the doorand wrenched it open, were as firm and elastic as those of a youngwoman. For a moment she stood in the open door and looked: One glancewas sufficient--coming toward the house across the field was a largehound, which was baying the moon. Firmly she picked up a knife fromthe kitchen table, thrust another into the hand of Baptiste, and drewhim to the door. "See, Baptiste!" she said, standing erect and pointing the knife atthe dog, "I am right; the curse has fallen, as I feared it would. Thedevil has turned our Pierre into a hound, and the beast is coming thisway. Even a scratch, if it draws blood, will be sufficient to releasehim from the curse and restore him to us again. The dog must notescape us; if it does, our son is lost to us forever. Pray the holyMother to help us now, husband. " She made a weird picture as she stood in the open door, with her thinwhite hair streaming about her face, grasping the knife, whichglittered ominously in the moonlight. The huge hound, which was still coming direct toward the house, wasnow only a field away. Separating the field from the road was a stonewall about three and a half feet in height. Anyone crouching behindit, on the side of the road, could not be seen from the field. Theone, and only chance of intercepting the animal, flashed across hermind, and calling Baptiste to follow her she ran across the road andcrouched behind the portion of the wall over which the animal mustjump, unless it quickly altered its course. Baptiste made a pitifuleffort to follow her, but his weary limbs were unable to bear thestrain any longer, and he fell unconscious to the floor. As she ran across the road, had she glanced down it toward the villageshe would have seen a man, only a few rods distant, walking somewhatunsteadily toward the house. He stopped abruptly and raised his handin amazement as he saw the woman, knife in hand, hurry across the roadand crouch behind the wall. He ran toward her calling "Mother!" butthe baying of the hound drowned his voice. Before he could reach hershe sprang to her feet just as the dog rose into the air from theopposite side of the wall. She was exactly in front of it. The beastuttered a howl of terror as the strange apparition so unexpectedlyrose up before it. Bravely she seized with her left hand one of thepaws of the animal, and as it fell, the knife in her right handgleamed again and was buried deep in the shoulder of the dog. As shefell, the enraged animal turned upon her and buried its teeth in herarm. She did not feel the bite; the crisis had passed--the unnaturalstrength born of intense excitement had now deserted her. Just asunconsciousness was dimming her eyes, she saw a man towering aboveher; she saw the stick in his hand fall with fearful force on the headof the animal, which rolled over on its side without uttering a sound. Then the figure, which was growing more and more indistinct, caughther up in his arms, and a voice that she knew and loved so well called"Mother, mother!" She opened her eyes wearily and looked into the faceof the man, and a smile, very beautiful to see, passed over her face. "My Pierre; my son, " she murmured. "I said I would release you. I sawthe blood on the knife, then I saw you spring up before me, and now Iam in your arms. " Her lips grew very white and her head fell back on his shoulder. As heran into the house with her he saw his father lying near the door, andhe uttered a cry so full of remorse and sorrow that it entered thedulled ears of Baptiste and restored him to consciousness, and hefollowed his son into the little bedroom, where Pierre laid the bravelittle mother on the bed. Tenderly the old man put his arms aroundhis son's neck and kissed him, and then the wayward one knew that hewas once more forgiven, and that the past would be remembered againsthim by his father no more. They thought she had only fainted, and while Baptiste administeredsimple remedies to her, Pierre, the erring one, knelt by the bedsidewith his face buried in the hand that had held the knife so firmly andthat had struck the brute, lying so quietly out there in themoonlight, so fierce a blow. Tears, the first that had fallen from hiseyes since he was a boy, fell and trickled through the fingers thatwere now so wan and thin and that had toiled so hard for him. How shehad longed to see tears in his eyes and hear penitent words from hislips, and now his tears were drenching her fingers, and he was tellingher in a choked voice how bitterly he repented of his drunkenness andhis disregard of the Church, and all his evil ways, and how he wouldreform and be a son to her indeed; yet she heard him not. So deep was his grief that he did not raise his head, or he would havenoticed how deathly pale her face was and how very light her breathinghad become. Suddenly his grief ceased; a great fear had entered hisheart--What caused the hand that his face was hid in to be so clammyand cold? It had not been so when he first pressed it to his face. "She is dead, " whispered his heart brutally. "It is a lie, a wickedlie! she is not dead, " he muttered. "Raise your head and see, raiseyour head and see, " reiterated his heart monotonously. He had noreply to make to such an answer as this. Slowly he raised his shakinghands to his face, still not daring to look up, and again took herhand in his. A chill seemed to emanate from it which reached his veryheart. Slowly his head began to rise. From the foot of the bed hiseyes gradually crept up and up, past her feet, past her knees, pastthe bosom that had nourished him; inch by inch, higher and higher, till at last they rested on her face, and then he uttered a great cryand started to his feet. As he stood and looked, his father entered the room, in one hand amedicine bottle, in the other a bowl of water. He, too, saw the changethat had come over her since he had left the room to get the simpleremedies, and forgetting all about the things he was carrying, openedhis hands and stretched them out toward her, and would have fallen hadnot Pierre caught him and led him over to the bed. "Wife, wife!" he cried; but the quiet expression of her face did notchange. The sight of his father's sorrow recalled Pierre out of the dazedcondition into which he had fallen. "She is dead, father, " he whispered falteringly. "No, no, Pierre, she has only fainted!" he shouted fiercely. "You donot know what death is. Quick, Pierre; quick, son, bring me themedicine, the hot water; quick, quick, the--the--" Poor old Baptiste! he could go no further. He ceased rubbing herhands, staggered over to Pierre, who was standing with averted face inthe middle of the room, buried his head in his bosom and saidbrokenly: "No, Pierre, don't go for the medicine, nor for the water, nor foranything now, for what you said is true. _Mon Dieu_, true, too true!"And Pierre, erring Pierre, folded his arms around his father and triedto comfort him like one would a sorrowing child. It was while his armswere yet around him that her eyes slowly opened, and she saw theprecious sight. The dying embers of life, which so often flash upbefore they expire forever, were burning in her now. "Pierre, _mon garcon_; Baptiste, husband, " she whispered. For a moment they hesitated as though one from the dead had spoken tothem, then with glad cries they hurried to her side. With infinitetenderness Pierre put his strong arms around her and bent his head tocatch the last words her lips would ever form. Baptiste, prayer-beadsin hand, knelt by his son's side, saying prayers for the dying. "My son; my Pierre. " "Mother!" "Oh, I am so happy that I released you from the spell the evil onethrew over you. For my sake, Pierre, return to the Church and beforgiven. " "Before the sun sets, mother, I will go to confession and partake ofthe blessed sacrament; and I will cease my evil ways and be a son tomy father. It was so noble of you, mother, to release me from thespell as you did. " He would rather have had his tongue cut out than to let her know thatthe great sacrifice she had made for him had been a sad, sad mistake. And now the end was very near. "Baptiste?" she asked faintly. He laid her in his father's arms and turned away. He did not hear whatshe said to his father, but he heard him reply in a voice that soundedstrangely far away and weak, "Yes, soon; very soon, wife. " Then all was silent. With his back still turned to them he waited forhis father to call him; but the seconds sped on and the silencecontinued. At last he turned. His father was kneeling on the floorwith his arms around her and his head lying on the pillow close tohers. "Come, father, " he said softly, as he tried to raise him. There was noreply. He bent over and peered into the two quiet faces. The legend ofthe loup-garou had no place in the land they had entered. * * * * * A Christmas Adventure. How vividly do I remember the Christmas eve and Christmas day of 1882!Ten years make great changes in our lives. To-day I am a well-to-dobusiness man, and expect to spend Christmas in my cozy home, with wifeand family, and not on the wild, bleak prairies, expecting everymoment a dreadful railway catastrophe. But I had better tell my story from the beginning. Back in 1882 theliberal pay offered by the Canadian Pacific Railway to telegraphoperators induced a friend of mine and myself--as I have relatedelsewhere--to leave Montreal and try our fortunes in the greatNorth-West. We were given free passes as far as Winnipeg. There was astation which needed two operators, some fifty miles up the line, andwe were both sent there, arriving on Christmas eve. The train stoppedjust long enough for us to jump on the platform, and then sped on. There was not a human being to meet us. The station had been withoutoperators for three days, and was bitterly cold. We soon had a bigfire started in the telegraph room, and were sitting beside it, discussing the loneliness of the place and the wildness of the night. While we were talking, the busy little telegraph instrument beganbusily ticking for our station. The call was answered and a messagereceived, saying that a weather report received by the dispatcherstated that the night would likely be stormy, and my friend was askedto stay up till about one o'clock in the morning, as he might beneeded to take a crossing order for two trains at his station. We didnot mind staying up, and whiled away the hours in pleasantconversation as we sat as near as we could get to the glowing coalfire. The storm increased and finally settled down into a blizzard. Bymidnight it was something appalling. There was not a hill, nor even atree, for scores of miles, to break its force as it dashed against ourlonely station. The telegraph wires along the track hummed atintervals loudly enough to be distinctly heard above the shrieks ofthe wind which buffeted and held high carnival along them. Frozen particles of snow rattled fiercely against the window panes, carried by the relentless wind, which seemed to me to have conceivedthe demoniacal intention of wrecking our not very stalwart butexceedingly lonely home, out of revenge for daring to break even onejot of its fury as it hurried madly on. We both lapsed into silence. Afeeling of isolation crept over me despite my efforts to fight it off. How separated from the world I felt. It seemed to me to have beenyears since I had mingled with a crowd. A great longing possessed meto be away from this lonely spot, and walk the streets of some of thelarge cities I had lived in. Unable longer to bear these thoughts, Irose to go out on to the platform for a moment. No sooner, however, had I raised the latch of the waiting-room door than the fierce winddashed it against me with great force, while the huge snow-drift whichhad gathered against it fell upon me, almost burying me out of sight. Laughingly my companion pulled me from under the chilly and unwelcomecovering. I returned once more to the operating room, in a more contented frameof mind, and with a keener appreciation of the comfortable temperaturewithin. A few minutes after one o'clock, the telegraph instrument, which had been silent for some time, suddenly woke to life andcommenced imperiously ticking the call of our station. My friendanswered, and received from the dispatcher at Winnipeg a crossingorder for a west-bound passenger train and an east-bound engine. Ourstation signal was displayed, and once more we commenced our wearywait for the two iron horses, which were ploughing their way acrossthe wild prairie to meet and cross each other at our station, and thencontinue their wild journey. Two o'clock. Still no sign of the trains. We both fell asleep in ourchairs. I seemed scarcely to have closed my eyes when I was startled by theshriek of the east-bound locomotive. I glanced at the clock; it was3. 30. I looked at my companion. He seemed frozen with deadly fear. The next instant he jumped wildly to his feet, rushed to the door, andgazed out into the blinding storm after the engine. It was nowhere insight. I looked anxiously at him as he tore back into the room, andwith trembling hands called the dispatcher's office. Perspiration was pouring down his face. He could hardly stand. Promptly the instrument ticked back the return call. "Where is the passenger train?" queried our office. The reply wasterrible. "Left for your station three minutes ago. Have you put theengine on the side track?" Back went the answer: "The engine hasrushed past the station and has not waited for her crossing. " "My God!" replied the dispatcher, "the two trains will meet. " My companion sank on the chair. His face was ghostly. "It will be a terrible accident, " he said aloud, but to himself--heseemed to have forgotten me in his great terror. "God help them! God help them!" he reiterated. The situation was sofearful to me that I could only sit and look spell-bound at my friend. The furious storm made the horror of the situation tenfold moreunendurable. It seemed to me that I had been sitting in this trance-like conditionfor hours, when I was roused by hearing an engine give a certainnumber of whistles, which indicated it wanted the switch opened. Thenext moment a man rushed into the office. "Open the switch quick!" heshouted, "the passenger train will be here in two minutes. " It was thedriver of the engine! My companion sprang joyously to his feet. Without asking a question he ran out into the yard, followed by theengineer. A few minutes later they both returned. The mystery was soon explainedby the driver. He had forgotten the order which had been wired to him, and which he had put in his pocket when he received it, over two hoursbefore, away up the line. He probably would have remembered it when hepassed our station had he seen any signal displayed, but he had rushedpast. He must have been two miles past the station when, putting hishand into his coat pocket to get his pipe, he felt the peculiar paperupon which crossing orders are written. Like a flash the order tocross with the passenger train at our station came back to his memory. He could not see a yard ahead of him for the storm, and knew not butthe next instant he would be dashing into the passenger train with itsburden of precious lives--his heart seemed to cease beating. Theengine was instantly reversed, the sudden revulsion nearly tearing thelocomotive to pieces. She ran on for fifty yards or more rocking likea ship in a storm. He had hurried back as fast as a full head of steamcould bring him, and thus averted a dreadful accident. We found that our station signal light had been blown out. Five minutes later both trains had departed, and we went to bed withhappy hearts, thankful for the almost miraculous prevention of a direcalamity. Christmas day, an incident occurred at the station which went aconsiderable way toward settling our somewhat shattered nerves. Thestation had not been scrubbed for quite a long time, and was beginningto have anything but an inviting appearance. After no end of inquiries as to where a washerwoman could be got, welocated one at the far end of the village. She was a full-bloodedsquaw, and one of the most ill-favored specimens of the female sex Ihad ever set eyes upon. Two dollars a day was the price agreed upon. She must have made fivedollars every day she was at the station. She was a most industriousthief; we could keep nothing in the place from her. Not only would sheunblushingly steal our groceries, but under the big loose blanket thathung in folds around her tall, gaunt figure, she actually spiritedaway our pots, kettles and pans. She worked just as she pleased. Every half-hour or so she would squaton the floor, pull out an intensely black clay pipe, and indulge in asmoke. I love smoking, but I never failed to put as much distance aspossible between myself and the rank black fumes which poured with somuch gusto from her mouth. The last place she had to clean was thetelegraph office. She entered the office very reluctantly, andfurtively glanced at the telegraph instruments. "Me no like greatspirit, " she said fearfully, pointing to the mass of wires under thetable. We talked to her for a long time and finally got her startedworking. The instruments were cut out so as to make no noise. Slowly the squaw drew nearer the table where the instruments were. Asshe did so her coal-black eyes were actually glittering with nervousdread. Just as she was stretching her long arm under the table, atrain steamed into the station. The conductor wanted orders. Mycompanion, forgetting the poor squaw, pulled out the switch and turnedon the current. Her arm must have been just touching the wires underthe table at that instant. The next moment a terrific yell was uttered by our franticwasherwoman, as she sprang to her feet and rushed for the door, upsetting the bucket of dirty water in her meteor-like progress. Outof the station, across the tracks, and away out on to the open prairieshe fled, never pausing till she reached the village, where she turnedinto an Indian's house and was lost from view. The next morning herson came to get the few articles belonging to her. He would not comeany nearer the station than the side-track, and we were compelled tocarry her belongings to him. * * * * * Narcisse's Friend. Narcisse Lafontaine and Charlie Saunders became acquainted on theirway to the lumbering camp, which was situated some fifteen miles backof St. John's. Charlie had only recently arrived from England, andknew practically nothing about lumbering, while Narcisse had been bornin Canada, and felt as much at home in the woods as Charlie would havedone in London. Charlie took a liking to Narcisse the moment he sawhim, and Narcisse was not slow in responding to the friendly advancesof the young Englishman. In appearance they were strikingly different. Narcisse was a typicalFrench-Canadian lumberman; he was about five feet eleven inches inheight, dark-skinned, dark-eyed, broad-shouldered, powerful andgood-natured. Not even the most imaginative, had they seen him in thewoods dressed in nondescript Canadian home-spun and swinging an axe, would have associated him with anything but what was commonplace anduninteresting; yet the great powerful, rough-looking fellow had adisposition that was as sympathetic as a woman's. The weather neveraffected him. With Charlie it was different. He was not accustomed toCanadian winters, and the rough unvarying food that was daily dealtout in the camp. He got to dread the sight of pork, which was thestaple article of diet the week round. His health at times was so poorthat he could not do heavy work, and it was then that the generousdisposition of the young French-Canadian showed itself. Narcisse was agreat favorite with the foreman, and by a series of adroit schemesalways managed to get Charlie put at easy work, although at times hisscheming resulted in his having to do far more than his own share ofthe sawing and chopping. Charlie was below the average stature, yet he was broad-shouldered andlooked strong. He had blue eyes, fair curly hair, a ruddy skin, and alaugh that was most pleasant to hear. If they differed outwardly, theywere remarkably alike in disposition. Like Narcisse, Charlie waslight-hearted and sympathetic. All through the long winter they wereinseparable. The warm, inquisitive sun had so discomfited the snow that for fivemonths had determinedly hid the earth, that it had begun to lose itsattractive whiteness and to assume a jaundiced hue, and, finallysuccumbing to its ancient foe, was gradually retreating into theearth--the vanishing of the snow meant the breaking up of the camp, for without it the logs could not be hauled to the river. It was a beautiful day at the latter end of March when Narcisse andCharlie, with their winter's earnings in their pockets, left camp andhappily trudged off to the railway station, four miles away. They hadagreed to spend a month at St. John's, where Narcisse lived, beforegoing out to the North-West for the summer. Charlie had suggested thatthey should go out west at once, but Narcisse somehow never tookkindly to the proposition, and had offered several excuses for nothurrying away that seemed to Charlie to be a little hazy and certainlynot very weighty. One reason Narcisse dwelt upon for not going was thegood fishing there was at St. John's. Prior to this suggestionNarcisse had never mentioned fishing; consequently the sudden outbreakof this new passion in his friend provided Charlie, on more than oneoccasion, with ample food for reflection. Town life was wonderfully bright and attractive to them after the longquiet of the woods. Narcisse knew many people in the pretty littletown, and wherever he went Charlie was always sure to be seen. Rev. Father Pelletiere, the parish priest, who had christened Narcisse andburied his parents, called the young men David and Jonathan. Thereverend father was a man thoroughly opposed to race prejudices, andthere could be no doubt but that the friendship between the two youngmen had entirely bridged the artificial barriers so often raisedbetween men of different races and creeds. The very day they arrived in town, Narcisse, in an off-hand manner, told Charlie that they would go and call at a cottage that he hadoccasionally visited before he went to the woods. There was somethingin the tone in which Narcisse said this that gave Charlie theimpression that the house must be one of more than ordinary size andimportance. The more than usual time that Narcisse took in dressingthat day increased this impression. When finally, after wandering downa series of little streets, Narcisse stopped at a small whitewashedcottage with a slanting roof, and knocked at the door with a certainamount of nervousness, Charlie's astonishment fairly overcame him, andhe was just going to ask Narcisse if he had not made a mistake in thehouse, when the door opened. Then he was sure Narcisse had not made amistake. Never had he seen a more attractive girlish face. Her eyeswere deep blue, and were tenanted with such a merry, roguish gleam, that Charlie's hitherto well-regulated heart beat in a most unrulymanner when she fixed her eyes upon his. Her brown, round, vivaciousface took on a deeper hue, as Narcisse eagerly shook hands with herand introduced her to Charlie. "Jessie Cunningham is a very prettyname, " mused Charlie, as they followed her into the quaint littlekitchen, in the middle of which glowed an old-fashioned wood-burner. On the long deal table, just behind the stove, were several loaves, which evidently had just been taken out of the oven. Jessie's sleeveswere rolled up to the elbow, and her well-rounded arms were coveredwith flour. She blushed and gave a nervous little laugh, as shehurriedly pulled down her sleeves and explained that she had beenbaking. Both Narcisse and Charlie hurried over to where the tempting, warm, browned loaves were, and, after hurriedly glancing at them, looked at each other in open-eyed wonder, and declared that never intheir lives had they seen finer loaves. After that all awkwardness wasswept away, and Jessie would not be content until they both accepted agenerous slice of the admired bread. The day was a little chilly, sothey drew their chairs near the stove, and Narcisse told Jessie, inhis quaint broken English, how he and Charlie had spent the winter inthe woods, how they had eaten and slept together, and how they hadtaken a liking to each other the very moment they met. Charlie was a good talker, too, and told her how they had felled somewonderfully long trees, and how Narcisse was considered the bestchopper in the camp, and could make a tree fall within an inch ofwhere he wanted it. As she listened, her eyes glowed and danced with excitement so as tomake them dangerously attractive. Little wonder indeed that both theyoung men found them very pleasant to look into. To Charlie's intensesatisfaction, he decided, after shaking hands with her at the door, that she had seemed just as anxious that he should come and see heragain as she did that Narcisse should. Narcisse took the invitation inthe most matter-of-fact manner, which created an impression inCharlie's mind that Narcisse, perhaps, after all, only cared forJessie in a brotherly way. Both Charlie and Narcisse soon got the reputation of being devoteddisciples of Izaak Walton. They were to be seen every day wanderingdown to the river with divers devices to allure and entrapunsuspecting fish. Their success in being able to catch little ornothing soon caused much merriment among the boarders where theystayed. Of course, none of the scoffers knew that a very generousportion of the time that these ardent fishermen were supposed to beemploying in catching fish, was spent lying on the broad of theirbacks on the fresh green grass discussing the virtues of theblue-eyed, vivacious young woman with whom the reader is alreadyacquainted. Very naturally the young fishermen did not deem it theirduty to enlighten the boarders as to how they spent their time. Three evenings a week, no matter what the weather was, they dressed upin their best suits and visited the little whitewashed cottage. Itwould have taken a very keen observer to decide which of the young menshe cared the most for, or whether, indeed, she had any tender feelingfor either of them. Both were always given a most cordial welcome. If, however, Charlie had been a very close observer--which was unfair toexpect at such a time--he might, perhaps, have noticed that at longintervals she stole a rapid glance at Narcisse when she knew his headwas turned away from her--a gentle, caressing look that either of themwould have been delighted to intercept. The weeks fled rapidly by, and the month's vacation drew to a close. Strange to say, for over a week neither of them had mentioned the tripto the west. They went fishing together as usual, but her name veryrarely passed their lips now. Just exactly how the change had comeabout neither of them could tell, but something had come between them. The little cloud at first was promptly banished, and they tried to befriendlier than ever. But the cloud was persistent, and returned againand again, and each time it was harder to overthrow. At first it wasnot larger than a man's hand, but before the month had elapsed it hadgrown so that it had well-nigh separated them. They both secretlymourned over the estrangement. They both well knew the birthplace ofthe cloud--the little whitewashed cottage. Several times Charliegenerously made excuses for not wanting to go to the cottage, notbecause he thought Jessie did not like him as well as Narcisse, butbecause he was willing to sacrifice his interest in her on the altarof pure friendship. He called to memory the numberless acts ofkindness he had received from Narcisse in the camp, and how he hadbeen introduced to her by Narcisse, who he now felt sure sincerelyliked Jessie. Instinctively Narcisse knew why Charlie desired to cease his visits tothe cottage, and it made his heart sore. He decided that he would notgo and see her unless Charlie was with him. When Charlie wouldcomplain of feeling tired, off would come Narcisse's coat, and hewould declare that he was feeling completely done up, too, and wouldnot bother going down to the cottage. No amount of persuasion wouldmake him alter his decision. After they had a pipe of tobacco, Charlie would generally, in a mostmatter-of-fact manner, suggest that they both take a walk. Right welldid Narcisse know where the walk would be to, and always acquiesced insuch an unconcerned manner that no one would ever have imagined thatthey had fully made up their minds a few minutes previously not to goout. One day more, and the month's vacation would be gone. Charlie andNarcisse had been indoors all day, to escape the rain that had beenfalling in great sheets since early morning. An ill-disposed wind wasbuffeting the rain in such a fierce, malignant manner as to make one'sroom a most desirable place to be in. Charlie and Narcisse had sat andsmoked until their tongues were dry and sore. It was a relief for themto smoke; not so much to kill time as to break the long awkward pausesin their conversation. Inwardly they had both decided that it wasimpossible any longer to bear the constraint that had come betweenthem. During the long day neither of them had been able to muster courage torefer to the proposed trip to the west, although the day set for itwas so close at hand. They had both decided that day, however, thatthey would right themselves in each other's eyes. Narcisse believedCharlie loved Jessie; Charlie felt sure Narcisse loved her. Charliewas not sure whether Jessie loved him or Narcisse the better. Narcissehad, however, a pretty good idea who Jessie had taken a liking to. When ten o'clock came, Charlie knocked the ashes out of his pipe, andsaid he was going to bed, and would have a long sleep, as he wasplayed out. Narcisse glanced sleepily at his own bed in the corner ofthe room, stretched out his long legs and arms, opened his mouthalarmingly wide, yawned vociferously, and declared that he was sosleepy that he could hardly keep his eyes open. Before leaving theroom to go to his own, which was next to Narcisse's, Charlie pulledoff his coat and threw it over his arm. If Narcisse had entertainedany doubts as to whether or not Charlie was really as sleepy as he hadintimated, this partial unrobing must surely have dispelled it. Notwithstanding his haste to get to bed, Charlie fumbled at the latchan unusually long time before he succeeded in opening the door. Andfinally, when it did swing open, his coat, without any apparentprovocation, perversely slipped from his arm and fell to the floor. Charlie found it necessary, before he put it across his arm again, tocarefully dust and fold it. Turning round as the door was closing behind him, he said, in a voicethat seemed a little strained, "Yes, we will go to bed and dream ofcamp days, eh, Narcisse?" Then he was gone. Narcisse walked over to the window, stood for a few moments withfolded arms, gazing out into the darkness, and then said softly, "Yes, dream of de camp days. " When Charlie reached his room, he acted in a most peculiar manner; heput his ear to the partition that separated his room from Narcisse's, and listened intently; then walked over to his bed, sat on the edgeof it, took off his boots, held them aloof, and then let them fall onthe floor; laid his coat across the foot of the bed, stood still for afew minutes, and then threw himself so heavily across the bed that itgroaned loudly enough to be distinctly heard by Narcisse, who noddedhis head in a satisfied manner. Charlie lay on the top of the clothes, dressed, with the exception ofhis boots, hat, and coat, with his eyes wide open and his head bent ina listening attitude. Presently the sound of falling boots inNarcisse's room also brought a look of relief to Charlie's face. Afterhearing Narcisse blow out the light and get into bed, Charlie layperfectly still. An hour sped by; the only sounds to be heard were thecries of the wind as it tore through the branches of the tree whoselong well-clad arms in summer protected Charlie's room from the fiercerays of the sun. At short intervals, the branches tapped on the windowpanes, as though craving protection from the storm. Inside the housequietness reigned supreme. From a distance one would have been sureCharlie was sleeping, but a closer inspection would have shown thathis eyes were wide open. It was 11. 30. Charlie quietly raised himself, pulled his coat to him, and took a railway time-table from it, thenran his finger down a portion of it. The express left for the west at12. 05 a. M. He drew a line around the figures, and put the table backinto his pocket again. Then he got out of bed, on tip-toe stole to hiscarpet-bag, which hung near the door, and quietly began to stow awayin it his modest belongings. So quietly did he gather up his thingsthat not a mouse, except by sight, could have known that he was in theroom. Every now and then he would pause, with his face turned towardNarcisse's room, and listen. Twice a slight noise, which seemed toemanate from Narcisse's room, disturbed him, and with contracted browhe paused and listened longer than usual. The branches smote thewindow, and he smiled at his folly. He was positive that Narcisse wassound asleep. When the valise was packed, he cautiously turned thelight a little higher, got a sheet of paper and a pencil, and wrote ina straggling hand: "Dear friend Narcisse, --I thought it better if Iwent alone. I know you like her. You knew her before I did, and youbrought me here. I think she likes you better than me, too. She oughtto. That which has come between us has made me feel very bad. When Iam away I will try and think only of the camp days. She will make youa good wife, Narcisse. Some day I will write and let you know how I amgetting along in the North-West. --CHARLIE. " He doubled the note carefully and addressed it to Narcisse. Then herolled some silver up in a paper and addressed it to his landlady. Silently he put on his coat and hat, picked up his boots, seized hiscarpet-bag, blew out the light, and in his stocking feet stole to thedoor. "I will put on my boots at the bottom of the stairs, " hemuttered absently. He was half-way out of the door, when he stopped suddenly. Again thatslight noise which seemed to come from Narcisse's room! Could it bepossible that Narcisse was not in bed? Again the branches rattled onthe panes, and again he chided himself for his fancy. He softly closedthe door behind him, flitted along the narrow passage and began todescend the stairs leading to the street. Reaching the bottom of thestairs, he was just in the act of pulling on his boots, when the doorat the top of the stairs was pulled slowly open. There was no mistakethis time; someone was stealing down the stairs. The darkness was toogreat to allow him to see who it was. There was no escape for him; hisboots were off, and his latch-key was in his pocket. Long before hecould open the door he who was descending would be with him at thebottom of the stairs. Quickly he pulled a match from his pocket andstruck it. Instantly the dark stairway was made light. The sight hesaw fairly stunned him. Standing in the middle of the stairs wasNarcisse, his canvas valise in one hand and his boots in the other. "Narcisse!" gasped Charlie. "Charlie!" cried Narcisse, letting his boots and bag fall. The matchwent out. For a few moments there was silence; then Narcisse descendedthe remainder of the stairs. Without a word they both pulled on theirboots. They both understood now. Charlie lit a match while Narcisse unfastened the door. As theystepped out into the street Narcisse drew Charlie's arm through his. "De train don't leave for twenty minutes yet, " he said calmly, "noneed for hurry; eh, Charlie?" Charlie halted. "No, no, Narcisse, " he said with a little break inhis voice. "She likes you; you must not leave. " Narcisse was big and strong; he drew Charlie's arm again through his, and again they began slowly to walk toward the station. "So you try to leave me, Charlie?" "I could bear that which came between us no longer, Narcisse. Then, Ithought you liked her. " "So you would go, because of friendship for me, Charlie?" They werewalking very close to each other now. "And why are you here, Narcisse?" "I know you liked her, Charlie. " The great fellow's voice was verysweet at times. The weather was clearing. Through great rifts in the clouds, every fewminutes, the moon poured great floods of light. "The clouds are going away, Narcisse. " "Dat so, Charlie. " He looked up at the moon, which at that momentbroke through the clouds again. "And de cloud dat came between me andyou has now gone away, Charlie. " In the distance could be seen the headlight of the approachingexpress. "Yes, all gone, Narcisse; we shall have the camp days over again, now. " They were just in time to get their tickets to Manitoba and get onboard. They sat up the remainder of the night, and smoked and talkedand made plans for the future. Never once did they speak of _her_, although she was often in their thoughts. In Narcisse's pocket was anote he had received from her a few days ago, which hinted that, if hedesired, he might call sometimes--alone. He was so afraid that Charliesome day might find this note, that he had no peace until he had tornit into numberless fragments, and when Charlie was not looking, hecovertly raised the car window and saw the mad wind carry the piecesin a hundred different directions. * * * * * Another spring had come. Charlie and Narcisse were sitting in asmoking-room in a small hotel in Winnipeg. Placidly Narcisse wasleaning back reading a paper that he had just got from St. John's. They were better dressed and looked more prosperous than in the olddays. Occasionally they talked about her now. To Narcisse she seemedbut a dream, and he had no regrets. To Charlie it was different; tohim she was still very real. Suddenly Narcisse uttered an exclamation of surprise, and let thepaper fall. Charlie, who had his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the floor, looked up in surprise and asked what was the matter. "Oh, dare is noting de matter, " answered Narcisse, trying to lookunconcerned. "I tink I must have been asleep. " He gathered up the paper, and said he would go and stand at the doorfor a few minutes. As soon as the door closed behind him, he opened the paper again andread the following in the marriage notices: "Married May 13th, 18--, at St. John's, Miss Jessie Cunningham, to John White, farmer, of St. John's. " Narcisse ran up to his room, tore out the notice and burned it. "Dare, " he said to himself, with a satisfied look on his face, "Charlie won't know anything about dat now. No use for open de oldwound again. Well, she wait about a year. Dat pretty good, " he said, with a good-natured smile. "Well, do you feel any better?" asked Charlie, as Narcisse entered theroom again. "Oh, yes, " replied Narcisse, puffing out his chest. "Dat fresh air dome all de good in de world. " And Charlie never guessed! * * * * * A Strange Presentiment. While this strange story is fresh in my memory, I am writing it, justas it was told me by my friend George B----, who a few years ago wasgeneral manager of a well-known Canadian railroad. I had known Georgefor years, and had been superintendent of the same road. He told methe history of his life one beautiful night in June as we were seatedin a sleeping car _en route_ for Montreal. For the first time I knewwhy he had never married, a problem that had cost me many conjectures. The story is founded on a presentiment. Presentiments are difficultthings to analyze, but for my part I believe the tale, and am contentto let the reader use his own judgment in the matter. "I began my railway career, " commenced George, "on the Old ColonyR. R. , as operator at Shirley Junction, which at that time was one ofthe most important crossing points on the whole road. Poor HerbertLawrence, who plays such a tragic part in this story, was the dayoperator. It was at Shirley Junction that I met Julia Waine, thestation agent's niece. She was a singularly beautiful girl, andnaturally it was her beauty that first attracted me; but herintelligence and sympathetic nature were the loadstones that drew myheart to her as I came to know her better. A week after I arrived atthe Junction, the agent gave a party in honor of Julia's birthday, andHerbert and I were among the invited guests. Julia looked verybeautiful and sweet, as she welcomed us in the quaint little parlorover the telegraph office. I had not been in the room ten minutesbefore I discovered that Herbert Lawrence loved Julia as unselfishlyas I did. Herbert, who was a gentlemanly fellow, was, on account ofhis intensely nervous disposition, ill-adapted to the work of anoperator. He was extremely sensitive, and had a painful habit ofblushing that at times made him look almost ridiculous. He knew hisfailing, and it was pitiful to see his struggles for self-command. Allthe evening he sat in a corner of the parlor, like a faithful dog, content to watch the being he so dearly loved. Once or twice duringthe party I saw Julia go over to where he was sitting and speak tohim, and from her manner I knew his love was not returned. Whenshaking hands with her at the close of the party I heard him say, 'Ihope I may be at your next birthday party. ' "'I hope so; I shall then be twenty-one, and I am beginning to feelquite old already, ' she replied brightly. "Her next birthday party! God wisely hides the future from us! I hadbeen at the station a little over six months when the adventure thatI am about to relate occurred. November, 1873, ushered in weather thatrailway men heartily dislike. All day a cold rain had fallen, coatingthe rails with a thin layer of ice. Drivers of express trains hadtheir work cut out to keep on time, while freight trains straggled inat all hours. "When I came on duty that night, at seven o'clock, I saw that I wasgoing to have a busy time of it. Until that evening I can truthfullysay that I never knew what nervousness was; but scarcely had I enteredthe station when I felt suddenly depressed. I attributed the feelingto heat, and tried to pull myself together by poking fun at Herbert, whom I accused of wilfully keeping the trains late in order to shirkhandling them. Every night Herbert gave me a written account of thetrains handled during the day, and especially drew my attention to anycrossing orders that had to be attended to. As Herbert was leaving theroom I glanced at the book and saw there were no orders on hand. Thisshould have satisfied me that everything was all right; but it didnot, and I called out to him and asked if there were any train orders. He replied in a low, absent voice that there were none. I could nothelp but notice his dejection, and a feeling of pity filled my heartfor him. The evening previous Julia had promised to be my wife. Herbert did not know this, but I knew he had a presentiment that thegirl he so dearly loved cared more for me than she did for him. He didnot, however, show any resentment, but appeared strangely depressed. After he had left the station, I tried to drive away from my mind theforeboding of ill by reading; but, like Banquo's ghost, it would notdown. I began to think I was going to be seriously ill. Restlessly Ipaced the floor, longing for, yet dreading, the approach of theexpress train which was due at the station at 9 p. M. The wind hadrisen and was buffeting the telegraph wires, making them hum in anexasperating manner. "As the minutes slowly wore away, my disquietude alarmingly increased. I was charged with a nervous dread, for which I could not find theslightest excuse; I knew, however, that in some strange way theapproaching express was the cause of it. I thought of Julia; surelythe demon of unrest would be banished if I saw her. With an almostchildish impulse I sought her presence. Before I had time to seatmyself, Julia, with a woman's keen perception, noticed my nervousnessand asked the cause of it. Man-like I laughed at her anxiety, andtried to deceive her by being boisterously happy, but of course thisfailed to allay her fears. Before five minutes had elapsed I was madlyanxious to get back to the operating room again, although I knewperfectly well there was nothing for me to do. To this day I cannotunderstand what power, despite all my common-sense, made me hurryback, and again begin to hunt through the book for an order, which inmy heart of hearts I knew perfectly well was not there. After all, howlittle we know of the great other world and the influences that may bethere at work! "It was now 8. 45. In fifteen minutes more the express would be in. Iwas actually unable to endure the dreadful suspense, and had just madeup my mind to go and see Herbert, who boarded across the road from thestation, when the waiting-room door opened and he entered. Withoutspeaking to me he walked dejectedly over to the station agent's door, and was just going to knock at it, when I reached his side and said tohim in deep agitation, 'Tell me, Herbert, are you quite sure youreceived no orders to hold the express? she will soon be here now. ' Myvoice trembled with anxiety. Without looking at me or appearing tonotice my strange manner, he replied, 'No orders, if you receivednone. ' As the door closed behind him I could have cried out, so keenwas the feeling of dread that again swept over me. Just then I heardthe whistle of the locomotive, which seemed to stop my very heart frombeating. Like one bereft I ran back into the telegraph office, andbegan to call the dispatcher's office. There was one more chance ofsaving the express if it was in danger, and that was by asking if anorder had been sent to hold it for a crossing. I had waited until thelast minute before I could make up my mind to do this: because, if thedispatcher had telegraphed an order, he would know by repeating itthat Herbert had forgotten to book it and turn the red light facingthe station on to the track. Such a grave omission would mean suredismissal. If he had not sent one he would want to know what made meask him such a strange question, and would at once get an inklingthat something was wrong. True it is that troubles never come singly!For a full minute I stood desperately calling the dispatcher's office, but got no answer. Either the wires had been crossed or the man hadfor a few minutes left his post. I closed the key and sank weakly backon my chair. "As the door opened and old Conductor Rawlings, with the typicalrailway man's good-natured bustle, entered the room and noisily bangedhis lamp down on the desk, I buried my face in my hands, completelyprostrated by contending emotions. The feeling that the train shouldnot be allowed to proceed burned in me more fiercely than ever. "'Here, there!' yelled Rawlings, 'hurry up and trot out that clearanceorder. ' If I had been chained to the chair I could not have been moreunable to move. Getting no answer from me, Rawlings walked quicklyinto the telegraph office, and catching me unceremoniously by the arm, said impatiently, 'Come, now, wake up and give me that order; what doyou mean by keeping me like this?' "With a dazed feeling I staggered to my feet and took up a pad oforders. If I signed and gave him one of them, I was responsible forthe safety of the train until it reached the next station. The ordersread that the track was clear of all trains, and that no instructionshad been received by the operator to detain trains for crossings. Theforms were printed. All the operators had to do was to sign them. Withaverted face I seized the pen and tried to sign my name to one of theslips, but so fearfully were my nerves unstrung that the pen felltwice from my hand to the floor. The next thing I knew, Rawlings hadturned me round and was letting the glare of the lantern fall full onmy face. "'I will report you for this detention. What is the matter with you?You look wild enough to be put in an asylum. ' "Mechanically I completed the signature and handed him the order. Justas he was about to step from the station to the platform, he suddenlyturned round, and said somewhat apprehensively, 'Of course you havereceived no orders to detain me?' 'No, ' I replied, in a voice that didnot sound like my own. "As the train began to move slowly out of the station I sprang to myfeet, ran to the window, and gazed in terror at it. "Just as Rawlings was about to jump on one of the cars, some impulsemade him pause and glance at the window where I was standing. Something in my face must have strangely affected him, as he allowedthe car on which he was about to jump to go by, and without apparentlyseeming to know what he was doing, swung his lantern from right toleft. If the engineer had seen this signal he would have stopped thetrain. With an impatient shake of his head Rawlings jumped on to thestep of the next car. He stood on the step as he passed, and withcontracted brow again fixed his eyes on mine. The moment I lost sightof the train the spell that bound me to the window was broken. Aninvoluntary cry came from my dry lips, and I dashed my hand throughthe glass with the imbecile impulse of stopping the train. Theremarkable presentiment that the train should not go on had fullpossession of me now. "Like one possessed I ran out of the office, burst open the doorleading to the agent's house, mounted in bounds the stairs leading toit, and ran through the sitting-room into the parlor, where I knew Ishould find Herbert. Just before I entered the room I heard Herbertsay in a broken voice, 'Then there is no hope for me?' "'No, ' replied a choked voice, which I recognized as Julia's. Anembarrassing scene met my gaze; kneeling at Julia's feet with a lookof keen disappointment on his face was Herbert. "As I rushed into the room he sprang to his feet with an exclamationof anger and amazement. But when he saw my face, an expression ofdeadly fear passed over his. Without stopping to think, I caught himby the coat-collar with my wounded hand; instantly his white shirt wasstained with blood. 'Herbert, ' I cried desperately, 'the express hasjust left! For heaven's sake tell me that you are quite sure you gotno order to hold her. I am certain something is going to happen, something dread--' "I never finished the sentence. I pray that I never again may see sucha look of mortal agony on any face as passed over his, or again hearsuch a scream as he uttered, when he rushed past me with upliftedarms, and ran downstairs crying at the top of his voice, 'Stop her!stop her!' This terrible scene had all been acted in less than aminute. I bounded after him. Someone was following me, but I neverthought of stopping to see who. My mind was now quite clear. If theexpress had not passed the semaphore she might yet be stopped. Thesemaphore was nearly a quarter of a mile from the station, and the armwas down. If the engine had passed it by a hair's breadth, ninety-ninechances out of a hundred the engineer would go on. If I could let upthe arm before the engine reached it, all might be well. My main hopewas in the icy condition of the track; I knew it would take her muchlonger than usual to get under way on such rails. "As Herbert dashed out of the station I was not two feet behind him. With naked head, and hands outstretched toward the rapidly departingtrain, and still uttering impotent cries, ran the demented fellow, hisreason for the time being entirely gone. The rampant wind blew thehalf-frozen rain in my face with such force that I could scarcelybreathe, while my eyes smarted so under the onslaught that I could seeonly with great difficulty. With what wonderful velocity the mindworks in moments of great danger! Even before I had left the station, my alert brain had weighed and reweighed the chances of the plans ithad with such marvellous rapidity given birth to. As I ran, the quickpanting of the locomotive was borne to my strained ears with greatdistinctness by the hurrying wind. The ear is easily deceived as tosounds; whether the train was fifty yards or half a mile away I couldnot tell. A few more steps and the lever that worked the semaphore wasin my hands. I quickly released the wire which held down the distantsemaphore arm. Just as I did so I saw Herbert jump from the platformon to the track, along which he ran, still calling in piteous tonesfor the express to stop. "Then followed an experience so fearful that I wonder my mind, too, did not lose its balance. Regardless of wind and rain I stoodclutching the lever, waiting for the engine to whistle the station tolower the arm. If no whistle came, I was too late! My very heartseemed to stop and listen, while my nerves seemed as if they mustsurely snap, so overwrought were they. To my excited imagination everysecond seemed an hour. Still the dreadful suspense went on, while thepanting of the engine grew quicker and quicker. The suspense wasactually too great to bear, and I weakly sank on to the platform. Amoment later there came floating a sound sweeter to my ears than thetriumphant song of the nightingale; yet it was only the deepdiscordant whistle of the fleeing locomotive calling for the semaphorearm to be lowered. "Saved! I sprang to my feet, sobbing like a child. As I turned to goback to the station, a startling apparition met my eyes; standing tenpaces from me and waving a red lamp was Julia. Her white clothing andthe fitful glare of the red light made her look like somethingsupernatural. The fierce wind tossed the hair in sweet disorder abouther refined delicate face, while the cold rain made the clothing clingto her slender figure like a shroud. 'Julia!' I exclaimed aghast, advancing toward her with faltering steps. Then the lantern fell, andI caught her as she was about to fall. I carried her back to thestation, with the strength born in me by the continued angry whistlingof the engine, and by the final cessation of its violent breathing. AsI laid her on one of the benches in the waiting-room, I heard thedriver whistle 'brakes off. ' I knew the train would now soon be backto the station again with its precious load! "Hardly had Julia recovered before the light on the rear car of theexpress backed past the station. Standing on the platform of the carwas old Rawlings. With an imprecation he ran into the station and laidhis hand heavily on my shoulder. 'What does all this mean? why did youthrow up the semaphore and wave the red light for us to return?' hedemanded, his face all aglow with passion. 'Don't talk like that, ' Ireplied; 'thank God for the red lamp and the semaphore! You likely nowwould have been a corpse were it not for them. There is a crossingorder to hold you here. Herbert got it and forgot to enter it in thebook and turn the lamp. He will soon be back and tell you whether thecrossing is with a freight or passenger special. ' "'Bless me, what an escape!' burst out Rawlings. 'There will be amighty big row about this. Where is that ass of a fellow?' Thequestion was soon answered. Slowly walking backward, with bentshoulders and arms wrapped around some dark object, entered the driverof the express, while following him and bent in a like manner came thefireman. With a dull foreboding of evil I took a step forward. Theywere carrying Herbert, all torn and mangled! 'We must have backed overhim, ' said the driver, quietly as he laid the poor battered burdendown. 'There is just a spark of life left in him, nothing more. ' I sawthe pallid lips move, and kneeling, bent my ear to them. The lastwords they ever formed came very slow and faint, yet faint as theywere I heard them: 'The express must--cross--the--passenger--special. I--loved--her--so. ' Then the weary lips were at peace--lasting peace. As I rose, my eyes fell on Julia; she was crouching at the feet of thepoor fellow whom, but a few moments ago she had refused to marry. Asthe driver threw a sheet over the remains he said, 'Poor fellow, hismistake cost him dear. ' Then turning to me: 'What a blessing it wasthat you kept your head and signalled us with the red light; for I hadjust passed under the semaphore when the arm rose. Consequently Ithought nothing of the matter; but the fireman at that moment ran upthe back of the tender to throw down some coal near the fire-box, andwhile doing so he noticed the light. He at once called to me to lookbehind. The signal, coupled with the arm being thrown up before thewhole train had passed under it, made me think something was wrong, soI reversed the engine and came back. ' "It was Julia, then, and not I, who had saved the express! "On reaching the operating room I found the conductor of the passengerspecial waiting. He had heard of the forgotten order, and said, 'Thatis the closest call I have had for years. We should have met about thetrestle bridge over the ravine. It would have been a terriblepitch-in, as I have eight cars of excursionists. ' "A few moments later both trains had departed, and the only sounds tobe heard were the ticking of the busy instrument and the monotonoushum of the wires. I looked at the clock. It was 9. 09--just nineminutes since the regular express had steamed into the station. Itseemed impossible to me that so much could have happened in so short atime. Had each minute been a week it could not have seemed longer. " George paused as though his story was done. "And Julia?" I asked, laying my hand lightly on his knee. Without replying, he drew out ofhis pocket an old frayed pocket-book, took out of it a slip of fadednewspaper, and silently handed it to me. The words printed on it werevery few; simply these: "Died March 8th, 1874, of rapid consumption, Julia Waine, aged twenty years and five months. " As I raised my head and looked at him, he said as he looked out of thelow window, "The cold she took that fearful night killed her. " * * * * * A Memorable Dinner. As I often have wondered whether a Christmas dinner ever was sofearfully and wonderfully constructed, and under such novelcircumstances, as the one to which I sat down on Christmas Day, 1879, I have decided to relate--in the truthful, unvarnished style that onealways looks for in the old railway man--the incidents in which I wasfortunate enough to participate on that occasion. That year, I was Assistant-Superintendent of the St. ---- R. R. , andwas returning on Christmas eve from the annual inspection of the line, in company with the General Manager of the road, in the private car"St. Paul, " when one of the worst blizzards I ever experienced, evenin that prairie country, burst upon us, and in less than an hour, hadburied the track so deeply that further progress was impossible. It was about midnight when the engine, fully five miles distant from ahuman habitation, and two hundred miles from our home, sulkilyadmitted the superior power of nature's forces and hove to. Fortunately, for humanity's sake, there were on our special--whichconsisted of the engine, the baggage car, and our private car--onlyfive souls: Charles Fielding, the manager; myself, William Thurlow;Fred Swan, the conductor; Joe Robbins, the driver; and the hero ofthis history, Ovide Tetreault, the French-Canadian fireman. It was about two o'clock in the morning when we finally gave up allhope of getting along any farther, at least for some hours, andFielding and I lay down in our berths with the hope that the stormwould abate before daybreak, so that a snow-plough might reach us andclear the line, in time to enable us to reach our homes for theChristmas dinner. But as I lay awake and listened to the shrieks of the storm, thepresentiment grew upon me that the chances of our spending the bestpart of Christmas Day in our contracted abode were depressinglypromising. These thoughts, coupled with the knowledge that our car wasbut poorly provisioned, and that we were without a cook--having letthat functionary stop off for Christmas Day at the station beyondwhich we were stranded--were in nowise conducive to my falling asleepmore readily than was my wont. I awoke a little after eight o'clock, and was just about to hurry intomy clothes to see what the weather was like, when I suddenly decidedthere was no need of any undue haste--the roar of that festive windcould have been heard a mile away. When I did reach the body of the car and looked out of the window, asight met my gaze that might have made a less sinful man, than one whohad spent the best part of his life on railways, give vent tocomments that I am persuaded would not appear quite seemly in print. Our car was wedged well-nigh up to the windows in a huge drift, whilethe wind, which had whipped the harassed snow into fragments as fineas dust, caught up great clouds of the dismembered flakes, and withtriumphant shrieks drove them against the panes of glass. As I stoodglaring at this inspiring picture, Fielding joined me and said, as he, too, feasted his eyes on the scene: "A villainous day! we shall belucky if we get home by midnight. A lovely way to spend Christmas shutin like rats in a trap! If we only had our cook to do up the littlefood we have, it would not be so hard on us. " This last reflection was uttered in such a doleful key that I hadconsiderable difficulty in not laughing outright, for my superiorofficer was a man of imposing breadth, and I knew his one weakness wasthe love of a good meal. The contemplation of the loss of hisChristmas dinner had made him forget his usual blunt, hopeful tone ofspeech, and adopt this dismal strain. During the long pause which followed, I knew that he was castinganxious glances at me. Finally he said, insinuatingly:"Er--er--William, during all the years that I have known you, itnever occurred to me to ask you if you knew anything about cooking. But, of course, it is a foolish question to put to theassistant-superintendent of a railroad, " he added deprecatingly. I was sorry to have to admit that my education in the culinary arthad been sorely neglected. It must have been about two hours after partaking of our Christmasbreakfast, which consisted of bread and butter, cheese and tea, thatwe had managed somehow to scrape together, that Fielding said to me:"Why, William, there is the conductor, and the driver, and thefireman--perhaps one of them knows enough to roast that beef in thelarder. Suppose you go and interview them. There is enough meat thereto make a dinner for the lot of us. " The suggestion struck me as being a good one, and I wondered that Ihad not thought of questioning them about the matter earlier in themorning. I soon had the trio marching behind me into our car, to beexamined as to what they knew of the now much-to-be-desired art ofcooking. With divers sincere regrets, the conductor protested that he had notthe slightest knowledge of this housewifely accomplishment. But oldJoe Robbins, the driver, a sterling, dogged Yorkshire man, and one ofour oldest employés to whose speech still clung a goodly smattering ofthe Yorkshire dialect, raised Fielding's sinking hopes by saying thatalthough he did not know how to roast, he was pretty well posted inthe art of frying. He further explained, and this time to thegratification of us all, that he had in a box, on the tender of theengine, a ten-pound turkey that he had bought up the line to take homefor Christmas, and which we were quite welcome to. The only drawbackto the bird was that it was frozen as hard as a rock, and wouldprobably take a lot of thawing out. If we wished, however, he would dohis best to thaw it and give us fried turkey for dinner. Fielding, after declaring that he would not forget to give the man whoacted as cook that day a souvenir when he got back to town, was justabout to accept the kind offer, when Ovide Tetreault, theFrench-Canadian fireman, a dark-skinned, comical-looking littlefellow, pushed past Robbins, and said eagerly to Fielding and myself, in amusing broken English: "Messieurs, I'm know how for mak de rostturkey, and rost turkey she's goodder dan de fry turkey. And I'm know, too, how for mak--how for mak--" He rubbed his pointed little chinvigorously to jog his laggard memory, and then continued, triumphantly: "_Ah, oui! ah, oui!_ how for mak what de Anglish call deCreesmis plum-puddin', and if you lak I will do de cookin' for you. " Turning to me, Fielding said in a low voice: "Do you really think thatqueer-looking specimen knows more about cooking than old Robbins?Would it be safe to let him try and roast the turkey? It would neverdo to have it spoiled, you know. " Now, from the eager manner in which the little chap had spoken, heimpressed me, in spite of his insignificant appearance, with beingless commonplace than he looked, and believing that our dinner, underhis generalship, would be a much better one than old Robbins would belikely to provide, I strongly urged Fielding to bestow the commissionof cook upon my favorite. "What possible reason can he have forsaying he can roast turkeys and boil plum-puddings if he cannot?" Iurged as a clincher. Of course he had no good argument to meet such aquestion, and so, turning to Ovide, he said: "All right, my goodfellow, go ahead, and give us roast turkey and plum-pudding. I am gladthat after all we shall not be without a Christmas dinner. " During this conference Robbins had been eyeing his fireman withgrowing disfavor, and as Fielding ceased, he strode suddenly up toOvide and said to him with ill-suppressed wrath: "Before thou beginsthy duties as cook, it is only right that thou shouldst say how thoularned to cook, and just how much thou knows about it. For my part, Ibelieve thou knows nought about it; I know thee and thy foolish way ofthinking that thou canst do anything thou hast seen anyone else do. " Now, as I knew the old driver heartily disliked his littlefireman--whom he always dubbed an intruding foreigner--and had morethan once reported him to me on the ground of incompetency, Iconcluded his remarks were not wholly disinterested, and was about toreprove him, when Ovide, with much heartiness, replied: "Dat's notyour bizness to ax me question lak dat; I'm not on de engine now. " Hethen raised his shoulders commiseratingly and continued: "You not be'fraid, Monsieur Robbin; for when I rost dat turkey and boil datpuddin' you will find her so good dat you will eat more dan deodders. " The dogged old driver was now too angry to be influenced by our amusedsmiles, and turning contemptuously away from Ovide, he looked to usto press his demand for our cook's credentials. "Oh, I am sure, Robbins, he will cook the dinner all right. And thenyou know, " I added reprovingly, "this is Christmas Day, and thereshould be no hard feeling among us. " My reply only the more incensed our doughty old engineer. He pointedprophetically at the now thoroughly defiant Ovide, and said, "Isuppose I'm interfering; but, mark my words, that foreigner there'llmake you before the day's out forget all about that motto of peace andgood-will. " His prophetic arm fell to his side, and he seated himselfin a position from which he could command a good view of the littlekitchen at the end of the passage, where his watchful eyes neverfailed to fasten on Ovide as he swaggered about, arrayed in ourregular cook's long, white apron. For the next two hours I thought very little of Ovide, my attentionbeing occupied by a game in which Fielding, the conductor and I wereengaged. Suddenly Fielding exclaimed, "Gracious, William, but this car is hot!"I myself had been uncomfortably warm for some time, and had been dimlyconscious, too, of the conductor frequently wiping his face, andcasting anxious glances in the direction of the kitchen, whence cameblasts of hot air heavily laden with the appetizing odor of roastturkey. Involuntarily I glanced over at Robbins, who was still on guard, although pretending to read a newspaper, and as I caught the grim lookof satisfaction on his profile, doubts as to the ability of our newcook for the first time stole over me, and I made my way out to thekitchen. The moment I opened the door, and stepped into Ovide's new sanctum, Ithought the last great day of conflagration had surely come, and thatthe elements were melting with fervent heat. Never before had Iexperienced such withering heat and choking smoke as proceeded fromthat little range, nor such dense vapor as came from the mouth of theboisterous kettle upon it--many a locomotive would have been proud tospout forth such a body of steam! Finally my half-blinded eyes found out Ovide, who looked truly like anemissary of the evil one among it all, as he stood with his wetscarlet face, his feet buried in turkey feathers, and his arms up tothe elbows in a bowl of flour. "Ovide!" I called, faintly. When he saw me, a pleased, triumphant look lit up his face. "Do you want to burn down the car?" I asked, shortly, when I got himinto the passage. "Oh, no fear for dat, " he answered in a somewhat patronizing tone. "You know, " he went on, good-naturedly, "big turkey can't be cook ifnot have pretty good fire. But I'll open de window and den de fireshe'll all go out. For me, you know I'm not mind de heat, for I'm usedto dat when I fire de engine. " "But surely, Ovide, you will burn the turkey all up, " I insisted, in amilder tone--for, as I have already stated, I was in no wise anauthority on cooking, and from the patronizing way in which he spoke, I began to feel that I had been interfering unnecessarily. "Well, " he replied ponderingly, "p'rhaps she do a little too quick, and I'll tak her out; aldo she's only be in a few minute. " As I glanced at his flour-bedecked arms, he said, "Oh, yes, I'm findde raisin, and de curran, and de peel, and lots powder, dat makes deflour come big, and I'm mix dem all together when you come in, and wegoing to have fine Creesmis puddin' sure. It's too bad, do, dat I finda hole she's born in de bottom of de sospan, so dat I must put depuddin' in de kettle, which has not got big mouth; but she's prettybig around de middle, so I suppose de puddin' she's cook just as welldare. " I was too bewildered by all this detail to pay much attention to whathe was saying about the smallness of the kettle's mouth; but Iremembered it vividly afterwards. Nodding gaily to me, he hurried back to the oven, from which the blueodorous smoke was still pouring. I lingered long enough to see himtake the turkey out of it, stand it on the shelf in the corner, andthen open the window. As I passed Robbins, he let his paper flutter to his knee, and said, meaningly: "I hope yon chap, sir, don't think he's still firing on theengine. " As I smilingly shook my head and passed on, a presentiment ofapproaching disaster took possession of me--so that the recollectionof the speaker's prophecies of evil regarding our cook did not comeback with that keen sense of humor one would have expected. When I reached Fielding's side, he said anxiously, "I hope he isgetting along all right, William. " As I noted his anxiety, and thehungry expression of his face, I answered with a glibness which I wasfar from feeling, that things were getting along swimmingly. I was nowbeginning to feel such a weight of responsibility in the success ofthe dinner that I sincerely wished I had not taken such an activeinterest in the appointment of the cook. About an hour later, when we ceased our game, I noticed the odor ofroast turkey was no longer prevalent; so with apprehensive heart, though nonchalant air, I made my way over to the kitchen again, andwas just in time to see Ovide snatch the turkey--which now looked coldand forlorn enough--from the shelf and shove it into the still ferventoven, and to hear him mutter, "Dat's too bad I'm forgot to put youback for so long. " He did not see me until he had closed the oven door, and then he said, joyously, pointing to the kettle: "De puddin' she's in dare, and she'snearly all done now, and in fifteen or twenty minute more de dinnershe's all be ready. " I suppose if I had not seen the bird's entrance into the oven for thesecond time, the announcement of the early approach of the festivitieswould have allayed some of my apprehensions, and perhaps have affordedme a little of the satisfaction Fielding and the conductorexperienced when they heard the news. The effect of the tidings uponold Robbins, however, was tantalizing in the extreme. He threw hispaper to one side, rested his elbows on his knees, and holding up hisgrizzly chin with his hands, began softly to whistle a monotonous, soul-disturbing air. Ovide was true to his word, for scarcely had the twenty minuteselapsed, when in he bustled, pulled the table into the centre of thecar, set it fairly well, after a number of amusing blunders, and thendrawing up the chairs, said, with great gusto: "Now, Messieurs, I'm goand get de dinner. " As we seated ourselves, Fielding said, with a satisfaction that comesback to me vividly as I pen these words: "Well, William, I am glad itis ready; I never remember being so hungry. " The kindly look which hebestowed on Ovide as he came in with the smoking turkey will alsonever be difficult to conjure up. But the moment my eyes fell uponthat unfortunate bird, my heart began to beat with renewedapprehensions. Never before had I seen such an ill-favored, uninviting-looking fowl placed upon a table; its naturally white, smooth skin was now as seamy, black and arid-looking as the mouth ofan ancient crater. Covertly I glanced at Fielding to see what effect this steaming, yetmummified-looking object had upon him. My worst fears were verified:the complacent expression had fled, and was succeeded by a look inwhich consternation, anger and amazement were all blended. The short, trying silence was broken by a rasping cough from Robbins, and then Fielding said, in a constrained tone, as he whetted hisknife: "Well, this animal looks as though it had been through thefiery furnace created by Nebuchadnezzar for the undoing of the threeIsraelites. " Ovide, who was standing complacently behind Fielding's chair, notunderstanding the allusion, and thinking that he was called upon tosay something, said brightly, "Oh, yes, sir, dat turkey is de finestturkey I never see. " Now, I had known Fielding, on numerous occasions, to laugh heartily ata much less amusing blunder, but on this occasion I sought his usuallyexpressive face in vain for even the ghost of a smile. To add to myannoyance and the constraint of the situation, old Robbins found itnecessary to again loudly clear his troublesome throat. To save himself from making an angry reply, Fielding somewhatviciously commenced operations on the turkey, and attempted to carveoff a leg; but in some unaccountable manner the knife came to a suddenhalt as soon as it had pierced the dark skin. This unlooked-forinterruption brought a puzzled look into Fielding's face; but he was aman not easily daunted by anything, and thinking that he had somehowcome across a bone hitherto unknown to him in a turkey's anatomy, hetwisted the bird round and confidently began the dissection of theother leg. The result was equally disheartening; the blade went alittle below the skin, and then refused to budge. Poor Fielding! His patience was by this time pretty well exhausted, and turning to the now anything but jubilant Ovide, said grimly: "Inthe name of all that is good, man, what is the matter with thisturkey?" He had gone however, to the wrong fount, for information this time, asOvide wonderingly shook his head, and said, "Dat is de queerest tingI'm never see, sir. " The angry words on Fielding's lips were prevented by a lowcomprehensive laugh from old Robbins, who said, as he pointedsatirically at his fireman, "Oh, aye; oh, aye; thou knows how to cook;thou does, of course thou does. " Then turning to Fielding he said, with a side glance at me: "That bird, sir, has nobbut had its hidecooked, and all beneath it is frozen. " Even before Fielding, to verify this startling statement, had seizedthe knife, and, laying open the skin, exposed to view the partlyfrozen flesh, the whole miserable catastrophe was clear to my mind. Irecalled how I had borne down on Ovide soon after he had put the birdfor the first time into the blazing oven; how, in deference to myfears, he had taken it out and stood it on the shelf--when its skin, of course, could only have been scorched--where it had remained overan hour while he was superintending the construction and cooking ofthe pudding; and, finally, how the prevaricating fellow--whom I knewunderstood little more about cooking than I did--must have concluded, from the cinder-like appearance of the skin when he took it out of theoven the second time, after another twenty minutes' scorching, thatit was cooked to the very marrow. "Well!" ejaculated Fielding, letting his knife and fork fall noisilyon the table, and turning to our guilty-looking cook, "of all thepure--" But I am sure, the reader will agree with me that under such tryingcircumstances, my friend should not now have recorded against him, incold print, every word he uttered on that occasion. When Fielding had somewhat relieved his feelings and sat down again, Ovide, in his ludicrous English, tried to throw the blame for what hadhappened upon the stove, which, he explained, burned much morezealously than he wanted it to; but his lame excuses were cut short byFielding telling him to take the thing away. Ovide, however, was a difficult subject to silence, and saidapologetically, as he took up the platter: "It's vary much too bad, sir, dat I'm forgot to mak her freeze out before I'm put her in deoven. But de puddin', sir, "--with a sudden revival of his oldself-confidence--"no danger of de same trouble with her; I'm sureshe's cook vary well all de way over. " Somewhat mollified by the outlook of getting a little of something toeat, Fielding replied somewhat less shortly, "Well, hurry up and bringit along. " As we silently waited for him to return, we heard him noisily lift thekettle containing the now doubly precious pudding off the stove; butscarcely had he done so when he uttered an amazed cry, and a fewmoments later hurried up to the table again, the big kettle in hishand and his eyes fairly bulging with excitement. "See! Monsieur, " he exclaimed, almost superstitiously, as he halted atmy side and pointed to the mouth of the kettle, "see de size datpuddin' she's now! When I'm put her in she's so small dat she's go ineasy; but now look! she's swell, and swell, and swell till she's fillall de kettle inside, and now she's tree times too big for de mouth, and she won't come out. " I glanced down, and true enough, the pudding had assumed alarmingproportions. Little wonder the problem of getting the thing intact outof the kettle's small mouth had caused him such woful distress. "Well, " I said impatiently, "go pour off the water and take it out insections; if there is more pudding than you expected, so much thebetter; there seems little chance of us getting anything else to eat. " As he was scudding away to carry out my instructions, Robbins, whosesharp eyes had seen the freak in the kettle, said to Ovide in anundertone, "Thou hast not forgotten, lad, to take the frost out ofthat, anyway. " After a very brief absence, Ovide hurried back again, bearing aloftthe most marvellous pudding human eyes, I am persuaded, ever restedupon. Apart from the pitiful manner in which it had been rent and tornasunder, its complexion was such as to attract the most livelyinterest--no chronic sufferer from jaundice ever sported such agorgeous yellow. The mystery of its unwonted complexion was solvedthe moment he laid it on the table: the car was permeated with therank odor of baking powder. Out of pure curiosity, I put a piece of the pudding into my mouth. Itwas something awful! A spoonful of pure baking powder could not havetasted much worse. It had been only partially cooked, too. Fielding gave Ovide one look, and then, too full for speech, he pushedback his chair and strode to the other end of the car. Slowly I leaned back in my chair and fixed my eyes on the face of thenow thoroughly craven-looking Ovide. "What made you tell us you knewhow to cook?" I asked, trying hard to speak without anger, but inutter failure. The cravings of the inner man, just then, were strongupon me. After all the fellow was not without some redeeming trait, for he madea clean breast of it. "It is dis way, " he began remorsefully, "whenI'm tak de job for cook to-day I'm tink, for sure, I know de way fordo it. De reason I get idea like dat, is this way: When I'm be littleboy and sit in de kitchen and see my mudder bake de bread, and boil depuddin', and rost de meat, I'm say to myself, many time, 'Ovide, youcan do little easy ting like dat, just so well as she can. ' I'm ax mymudder, too, many time to let me try and mak de dinner, but she laughloud and say, 'Ovide, you just lak all de boys and lots of men too, for dey all tink dat it's just so easy for de woman to cook de food asit is for dem to eat it. ' And den she laugh some more, and say dat allde men tink dat what de womans do is noting at all. " As he paused, I had no small difficulty in preserving the severity ofmy countenance, owing to certain recollections of thoughts I hadindulged in when a boy--and, I must admit, a pretty big one, too--whenI had sat and watched my mother cook. From the way Fielding, at theother end of the car, put his hands into his pockets, I got theimpression that conscience was hard at work with him, too. "Even after I'm be away from home all dese years, " continued Ovide, "I'm still have dat feeling dat I can cook just so well as she can;and so when I'm come into de car to-day and hear Mr. Fielding say dathe want cook, and say dat he will give a souvenir, and when I'm see, too, dat engine-driver man Robbin, dare, dat I'm not lak at all, andwho I tink not know how for cook and yet going for get de job--I'mjust tink dat a good chance she's come for me to please de bosses andmake somethin' good for myself, and so I'm come straight out, and sayI'm de best man for de job. And dat's all de truth. " He had been slowly edging his way to the passage leading to the door, and as he reached it he continued regretfully, "If I'm only not forgetto freeze out dat turkey before I'm put her in de oven, and tink toonot to put nearly cupful bakin' powder in de puddin', everyting she'sbe all right den, sure. " As he concluded he turned abruptly down thepassage, and fled out of our car into the baggage-car, with Robbins'rasping cough in his ears. * * * * * Half an hour later, thanks to old Robbins' skill, we sat down tofried turkey, boiled potatoes, bread and butter, and tea. The great French-Canadian cook gladly ate his portion of the banquetin the baggage-car, for no amount of persuasion could make him come tothe table with us. Twelve hours later we reached our homes. On New Year's Day, a bulky blue envelope was handed to Ovide. As itbore the stamp of the General Manager's office, he opened it with fearand trembling, for he was sure that it contained his dismissal. Ishall not attempt to describe his gratification when he found itcontained a handsome silver watch, on the inside of which was neatlyengraved a belligerent-looking turkey. The note from Fielding, accompanying the gift, read as follows: "May the souvenir bring asmany pleasant memories to the receiver as the memory of Christmas Day, 1879, is sure to bring the donor. " * * * * * Investment.... Securities GOVERNMENT, MUNICIPAL, ANDOTHER FIRST-CLASS BONDS SUITABLE FOR TRUST ESTATES, BANKS, INSURANCE COMPANIES, AND PERMANENT INVESTMENT, BOUGHT AND SOLD BY R. WILSON SMITH Investment Broker, _BRITISH EMPIRE BUILDING_, ... Montreal First-class InvestmentsAlways on Hand. * * * * * A LOVER IN HOMESPUN. COMMENTS OF THE PRESS. "These stories are of good merit and comprise some excellentdescriptions of forest and clearing, and a clever delineation of thepassions which actuate humanity in the rough.... The stories, elevenin all, deal with love and life and religion in many aspects, and ascharacter studies of the simple Canadian peasantry, French andEnglish, can compare favorably with similar selections in whichScotch, Welsh and Irish rural life have been exploited.... Itsreadability might be further dwelt upon. "--_Literary World (London). _ "After a careful perusal of 'A Lover in Homespun, ' we are impressedwith the fact that the author cannot only 'photograph' pictures but'paint them'; all the characters live, breathe, act, feel and speaknaturally. Mr. Smith gives individuality and charm to the personagesof his stories, without involving any sacrifice to truth. One thingcharacterizes every story in the volume, viz. , strong dramaticsentiment and situation, and a decided deftness and a naturalness indialogue. In order to satisfy himself that this estimate of Mr. Smith's powers and work is not an exaggerated one, let the reader takeup the book and peruse it. He will find every story interesting. "--_Herald (Montreal). _ "There is not a poor story in this bright entertaining book. Many ofthe stories touch very high dramatic art--Canada has another writer tobe proud of. "--_Canadian Home Journal. _ "There is undoubted power displayed in the stories in this book. Manyof the characters are drawn in a natural and picturesque manner, andwe hope that on a future occasion Mr. Smith will use the material, that he evidently has on hand, for a long romance. We believe Mr. Smith's appeal to the literary public will be favorablyreceived. "--_Star (Montreal). _ "Mr. Smith's book, 'A Lover in Homespun, ' is sure to be found aliterary treat by the reading public. His stories have that polishedfinish which is so difficult to attain, and which makes the shortstory a work of art. "--_Canadian Magazine. _ "Mr. Smith is a talented writer; his style is pure and he possesses ina high degree the principal gift of a novelist, imagination. Mr. Smith's new book is made up of a dozen short stories, several of whichare French-Canadian. The author shows himself very sympathetic to ourrace. "--_La Presse (Montreal). _ "The contents of this volume give evidence not only of innate capacityfor story-telling, but of conscientious elaboration of the variousplots. All the stories have their characteristic merits, and they areall Canadian. "--_Gazette (Montreal). _ "A book to be looked for and read, and which is sure to go down to thefuture. "--_Our Monthly. _ "As a writer of short stories Mr. Smith is trulydelightful. "--_Massey's Magazine. _ "The studies of French-Canadian character in this book are exceedinglyclever. The stories are peculiarly charming and the volume shouldcertainly be read by French-Canadians. "--_Le Soir. _ "This book is well written, and all the stories are very interesting;some are very amusing, some pathetic and some thrilling. The scene ofeach is in our own country. The book should certainly sellwell. "--_Christian Guardian. _ "Mr. Clifford Smith's book, 'A Lover in Homespun, ' gives graphicdescriptions of habitant life by one who knows it well, or adventuresin the newer Canada of the North-West. The stories have all the samesympathetic quality, the same rapid movement and strong situations, and clever use of French-Canadian dialect which made Mr. Thomson'sstories so successful. "--_Onward. _ * * * * * TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS. Montreal: C. W. COATES. Halifax: S. F. HUESTIS.