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aU of the stories in this volume have 
 appeartd in magazines either in the United 
 Stat s or in Canada. 3y the courtesy of 
 their proprietors ^ I am enabled to republish 
 
 ^^'^; G. M. Fairchild, Jr. 
 
f 
 
 A 
 
 ^^ 
 
 >«c^ 
 
 
f 
 
 /4/0 
 
 A RIDICULOUS 
 COURTING 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES OF 
 FRENCH CANADA 
 
 G. M. FAIRCHILD, JR. 
 
 •VI'TtfON or " KCID AND CANOB, UPLB AND SKOWSHOB," 
 "a WIHTKR CAUdVAL," BTf. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY 
 
 1900 
 
f 
 
 
f 
 
 /^/O 
 
 A RIDICULOUS 
 COURTING 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES OF 
 FRENCH CANADA 
 
 G. M. FAIRCHILD, JR. 
 
 author op " rod and canob, biplk and snowshok,' 
 
 "a wintbr carnival," BTC. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY 
 
 1900 
 
 W 
 
PS2>¥ta| 
 A5? 
 
 1900 
 
 • 
 
 A RiDici 
 
 * 
 
 The Rei 
 
 
 Mamsell 
 
 COPYBIGHT, 1900 
 
 The TRi 
 
 Bv R. R. DONNELLEY ft SONS CO. 
 
 NARDS 
 
 Chicago 
 
 At St. 1 
 
 
 Two Ol 
 
 
 Love Tr 
 
 
 TheApo' 
 
 
 The Sto 
 
 ' 
 
 The Ro 
 
k 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting . 
 
 The Return of Little Papita . 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar . 
 
 The Tragedy of Anse aux Ca- 
 nards .... 
 
 At St. Therese , 
 
 Two Old Soldiers . . . 
 
 Love Transferred . 
 
 The Apotheosis of Paddy Larrisey 
 
 The Story of Locksley . 
 
 The Romance of Rutherford's 
 
 » L AT • • • • • 
 
 PAOB 
 
 3 
 3> 
 
 47 
 
 77 
 III 
 
 »37 
 
 i57 
 185 
 
 217 
 235 
 
A I 
 
A Ridiculous Courting 
 

A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 pRAXADE JENESSE stood 
 -■- leaning over his pig-pen one 
 early morning quite unmindful of 
 the noisy clamor of its two occu- 
 pants. They had, however, re- 
 minded him of a conversation with 
 the cure the night before, after he 
 had made his confession. The 
 good man had rebuked him again 
 for continuing to live like a — yes, 
 like one of his own pigs, instead of 
 marrying and becoming a respect- 
 able citizen. Bon Dieu! this get- 
 ting married was a very great re- 
 sponsibility. Where was he, 
 Praxade Jenesse, to find a wife 
 who would fulfill all the conditions 
 so necessary to a life partnership? 
 Had he not canvassed the possi- 
 
 3 
 
A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 bilities of every spinster in the par- 
 ish, who were all wanting in some 
 particular? He wished the cure 
 was not set about his marrying, so 
 that he might take more time to 
 look about him; for really one 
 could not be too careful in taking 
 so important a step. At this point 
 his meditation was interrupted by 
 the sound of an approaching cart, 
 and looking up the road he saw 
 Prudent Tranquille, the pork 
 butcher from Terre Blanche, ap- 
 proaching, his round red face 
 beaming like a sunburst. He 
 stopped and dismounted. 
 
 " Bien, Praxade ! Wishing you 
 had a wife as fat and tender as one 
 of your own pigs?" Here Prudent 
 laughed at his own porcine wit. 
 Everything was piggy with Pru- 
 dent, from long associ;»tion with 
 that animal alive and dead. 
 
 "H 
 thinkii 
 Praxa( 
 "Ba 
 age is 
 nothin 
 keeps 
 mangy 
 plump 
 "Pe 
 "W: 
 throug 
 "Of 
 "Nc 
 "Th 
 "An 
 
 "Qt 
 
 "Wi 
 full bin 
 "Yo 
 "An 
 "Ha 
 describ( 
 
A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 "How do you know I was 
 thinking of a wife?" answered 
 Praxade somewhat sheepishly. 
 
 " Bah ! When a man of your 
 age is not married he thinks of 
 nothing else, my friend, and it 
 keeps him poor in flesh, and 
 mangy. What you want is a nice 
 plump little wife . 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "With some streaks of lean 
 through her?" 
 
 " Of course ! " 
 
 " Not too heavy or old." 
 
 " The Lord forbid ! " 
 
 " And easy on her feed." 
 
 " Quite true ! " 
 
 " With a nice little outfit and a 
 full bin." 
 
 " You are inspired, Prudent ! " 
 " And lots of root in her." 
 " Ha ! ha ! Prudent, you have 
 described an angel ! " 
 5 
 
A Ridiculous Couru > 
 
 
 " Bah ! I find such angels every 
 day grunting because they can't 
 find husbands. It takes a pork 
 butcher to weigh you all up and 
 pen you," laughed Prudent. 
 " Come, Praxade, promise me the 
 fattest pig in your pen if I find you 
 a wife." 
 
 Prudent's freehand sketch of 
 charming femininity had quite 
 captivated Praxade, and the oflfer 
 seemed to promise him relief from 
 his perplexity. He closed with 
 Prudent at once, only cautioning 
 him to be very sure; one could not 
 be too careful. 
 
 " Bon, you will see. Come to 
 me Sunday after mass," replied 
 Prudent, as he drove oflF. 
 
 About half-way down the long 
 hill which led directly into the 
 heart of the village of Terre 
 Blanche lived Urbaia Clarisse and 
 
 6 
 
o 
 
 gels every 
 they can't 
 es a pork 
 i\\ up and 
 Prudent, 
 lise me the 
 I lind you 
 
 sketch of i 
 had quite 
 1 the oflfer 
 relief from ] 
 osed with 
 :autioning 
 ! could not m 
 
 Come to 
 5," replied 
 
 n the long 
 
 ' into the 
 
 of Terre 
 
 larisse and 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 his daughter Ursule. The Clarisse 
 house was high-peaked and dor- 
 mered, and stood flush with the 
 roadway. It was painted a pale 
 green, with orange trimmings. A 
 highly polished brass knocker 
 graced the door, but the house's 
 principal claim to distinction lay 
 in its windows, which were ablaze 
 with gorgeously printed paper 
 shades representing pots of rare 
 exotics in fullest bloom. It was 
 very deceptive, very gay; but then 
 Urbain could afford such luxuries. 
 Was he not entered on the rolls 
 of the secretary-treasurer of the 
 parish as a rentier, and his income 
 from his investments was certainly 
 not less than one hundred and 
 fifty dollars a year. To live up to 
 all this with dignity, Urbain did 
 nothing but smoke and talk poli- 
 tics with his neighbors. He was a 
 
 7 
 
A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 widower with only the one daugh- 
 ter, Ursule. She had passed the 
 first blush of maidenhood, but was 
 still comely of appearance, dark- 
 haired, black-eyed, and round of 
 figure. As became the daughter 
 of a rentier, she possessed a num- 
 ber of acomplishments not given 
 to girls less fortunately bom. She 
 could play an accompaniment on 
 the wheezy little harmonium that 
 graced the parlor while she sang 
 "A la Claire Fontaine" and "Vive 
 la Canadienne" in fair voice, if in 
 somewhat uncertain time with the 
 instrument. At the village con- 
 vent she had also learned that 
 pleasing art of embroidering on 
 perforated board the figures of 
 saints and angels in heavenly col- 
 ors, so much admired when 
 framed and hung in the Sunday 
 room. She was a thrifty house- 
 
 8 
 
 ■ 
 
 i 
 
irting 
 
 ne daugh- 
 ^assed the 
 d, but was 
 nee, dark- 
 i round of 
 daughter 
 ed a num- 
 not given 
 )orn. She 
 fiiment on 
 nium that 
 i she sang 
 and "Vive 
 /oice, if in 
 le with the 
 llage con- 
 rned that 
 dering on 
 figures of 
 Lvenly col- 
 •ed when 
 le Sunday 
 fty house- 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 \ 
 
 wife, moreover, and could spin 
 and knit and make her own cata- 
 lagne. The only reason she had 
 not married will shortly appear. 
 
 Close beside the pretentious 
 house of Urbain Clarisse stood the 
 modest tiny home of the Widow 
 Denancour. It was whitewashed 
 very clean and red-gabled. In the 
 one little window which looked 
 upon the street were several pots 
 of real g^eraniums, by no means as 
 effective as the printed flowers 
 upon the shades of the windows in 
 Urbain's house; but the Widow 
 Denancour was not entered as a 
 rentier, and such things make all 
 the difference in this world in the 
 point of esteem in which our sur- 
 roundings are viewed. 
 
 The widow at one period of her 
 loneliness had cast tender eyes at 
 Urbain, and had hoped — ^but that 
 
 9 
 
 k 
 
1 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 was all past. For some years prior 
 to our story her woman's subtle 
 arts had been directed to makiiig 
 a match between her son Joe and 
 Ursule, as the only means left for 
 uniting the fortunes of the two 
 families. The Denancours* for- 
 tune consisted of the little cottage, 
 two feather beds, and a chest of 
 homespun, hand-woven linen 
 carefully packed in bergamot; but 
 then they had expectations. The 
 widow's uncle, the Abbe Pontin, 
 was very old and rich, and he had 
 no other relatives. This relation- 
 ship enabled the Denancours to 
 hold their heads high in the parish. 
 When the widow went to spin 
 for the afternoon with Ursule, and 
 the two spinning-wheels were 
 humming in unison, the former 
 would cunningly turn the conver- 
 sation to Joe. Poor fellow ! He 
 
 lO 
 
 1 
 
fting 
 
 ears prior 
 I's subtle 
 
 making 
 
 1 Joe and 
 ns left for 
 
 the two 
 )urs* for- 
 e cottage, 
 I chest of 
 in linen 
 imot; but 
 )ns. The 
 e Pontin, 
 id he had 
 ; relation- 
 icours to 
 he parish. 
 It to spin 
 rsule, and 
 els were 
 le former 
 e conver- 
 iow ! He 
 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 worked so hard, she was really 
 anxious about him. M'sieu' La 
 Farge, the mill owner, had told 
 her that Joe was the steadiest fel- 
 low in his employ. Had Ursule 
 noted how thin Joe had grown 
 lately? Her uncle, the Abbe, had 
 made Joe his heir, and some day 
 he, too, would be a rentier. 
 
 There was a time when Ursule 
 enjoyed listening to these praises 
 of Joe, but of late she had grown 
 somewhat impatient of the dis- 
 course, and the subject of it. Her 
 wheel would go completely out of 
 time with the widow's, an occur- 
 rence which never failed to break 
 the latter's thread, as well as the 
 thread of her argument. 
 
 It was about time Joe proposed 
 
 if he was ever going to, thought 
 
 Ursule. Her looking-glass told 
 
 her she had lost some of the fresh- 
 
 II 
 
A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 II! 
 
 ness of youth, and the hour-glass 
 of Time that she was older. Most 
 of her school companions were 
 married, while she remained sin- 
 gle. She would soon be called an 
 old maid, and that was a disgrace. 
 Here a vicious dig on the pedal 
 was certain to break her own 
 thread; then she would leave her 
 wheel to make the cup of tea that 
 brought the spinning to a close for 
 the day. 
 
 A friendship had begun be- 
 tween Joe and Ursule in mud-pie- 
 making childhood. It had en- 
 dured through the callow period 
 ot youth, when it found expression 
 in bouquets and marguerites on 
 Joe's part, and book-markers on 
 hers, inscribed in wools "A tnon 
 fl V In maidenhood and man- 
 hfj^> tt fr ,md its note in a liking 
 for .-i h other's - jmpany, and that 
 
 13 
 
 perfect 
 follows 
 I friends 
 breathi 
 though 
 other 
 hithert 
 Urbair 
 "Wher 
 Ursule 
 we will 
 laughei 
 was nc 
 must b( 
 Joe! ] 
 was. I 
 
 virove i 
 evening 
 with I 
 Ursule 
 "Go( 
 Pruden 
 
A Ridiculous Conitmfr 
 
 perfect freedom of intercourse that 
 follows an ea*-' , \nd uninterrupted 
 friendship; but Joe had never 
 breathed of love or marriage, 
 though he was impatient of any 
 other suitors, and Ursule had 
 hitherto been indifferent to them. 
 Urbain had once said to Joe: 
 "Whenever you want to marry 
 Ursule I will buy you a farm and 
 we will all live togrether." Joe had 
 laughed, and replied that there 
 was no hurry, that his mother 
 must be cared for yet a while. Sly 
 Joe! It was all so pleasant as it 
 was. He felt so sure. 
 
 VVh-n F'-'jdent Tranquille 
 drove into Terre Blanche in the 
 evening of the day of his interview 
 with Praxade Jenesse, he met 
 Ursule coming from vespers. 
 
 "Good evening, little piggy," — 
 Prudent was on terms of easy 
 '3 
 
1^ 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 familiarity with every one in the 
 parish, as a man of substance and 
 weight, and of intimate acquaint- 
 ance arising from his frequent 
 visitations in the way of business 
 — "I found a fine bachelor grunter 
 to-day who is Coming to be 
 weighed next Sunday after mass, 
 but he is losing flesh fast in his 
 anxiety to meet you, and he is 
 soft, very soft, of heart. What do 
 you say, little squealer, shall I 
 bring him to you to be cured?" 
 
 "You may do just as you like, 
 Prudence Tranquille. Bachelors 
 are always pigs, anyway, and Fve 
 no use for them." 
 
 "So, so, little one; but not 
 after they have had their bristles 
 shaved and the marriage-ring put 
 through their noses. They lead 
 easily then." 
 
 Praxade came on Sunday, but 
 »4 
 
ting 
 
 le in the 
 ance and 
 icquaint- 
 frequent 
 business 
 r grunter 
 ^ to be 
 ter mass, 
 ist in his 
 nd he is 
 What do 
 , shall I 
 ired?" 
 you like, 
 bachelors 
 and I've 
 
 but not 
 r bristles 
 -ring put 
 Tiey lead 
 
 [day, but 
 
 1 
 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 with some misgivings — one had 
 to be so very careful. He made a 
 fine appearance, however, in his 
 castor, frock-coat, flaming red tie, 
 and kid gloves. He drove in a 
 buggie, and seemed to have diffi- 
 culty in restraining the fiery ardor 
 of his horse, and actually brought 
 him on his haunches at Prudent's 
 door before he could be stopped, 
 after many arretez-doncs. It was 
 very well done, and showed a high 
 spirit in the horse and a nice mas- 
 tery on the part of Praxade. Pru- 
 dent awaited him, and after un 
 coup they drove away to the house 
 of Urbain Clarisse. 
 
 Ursule welcomed them in the 
 parlor, and during the general 
 conversation both she and Prax- 
 ade took note of each other. Pru- 
 dent quickly departed to walk 
 home. 
 
 15 
 
ii 1 
 
 I , 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 "Have you ever been in the par- 
 ish of Belle Isle, Mamselle?" 
 asked Praxade. 
 
 "No, M'sieu'," replied Ursule; 
 then, somewhat inconsequentially, 
 "but I sometimes go to Quebec." 
 
 "Ah! Quebec is grand, mag- 
 nificent! Belle Isle, though, 
 Mamselle, is a paradise for tran- 
 quillity. I have a belle cage there, 
 but" — ^with a slightly nervous 
 laugh — "no bird in it yet." 
 
 "Birds in Belle Isle, M'sieu' 
 Jenesse, must be shy of cages." 
 
 "Not so, Mamselle; but when 
 one has a belle cap^e one does not 
 want a crow for an occupant, and 
 sometimes we must go far for a 
 rossignol. They are scarce, Mam- 
 selle, and one must be so very 
 careful." 
 
 "Rossignols soon cease singing 
 when caged, M'sieu' Jenesse; and 
 
 i6 
 
 ! 
 
rting 
 
 n the par- 
 amselle?" 
 
 d Ursule; 
 
 [uentially, 
 
 Quebec." 
 
 nd, mag- 
 though, 
 for tran- 
 
 age there, 
 nervous 
 
 t." 
 
 , M'sieu* 
 
 :ages." 
 
 but when 
 does not 
 
 pant, and 
 far for a 
 
 ce, Mam- 
 
 ; so very 
 
 e singing 
 lesse; and 
 
 A Ridiculous Co urting 
 
 then what matters it, there is only 
 the difference of feathers." 
 
 "If fine feathers make fine 
 birds, Mamselle, then there are 
 two great differences. Will you 
 permit me, Mamselle, to drive 
 you as far as my belle cage, that I 
 may have the pleasure of showing 
 it to you?" 
 
 "You are too kind, M'sieu' 
 Jenesse. I should, however, like 
 to see the church of Belle Isle." 
 
 When Praxade gallantly hand- 
 ed Ursule into the buggie she 
 glanced triumphantly toward the 
 Denancour house, but as neither 
 Joe nor the widow was visible her 
 pleasure was somewhat damp- 
 ened. She made herself agree- 
 able to Praxade, however, and the 
 drive was an enjoyable one. 
 
 The following Sunday Praxade 
 came again, but this time he drew 
 17 
 
■""m 
 
 ! » 
 
 f 
 ■ « 
 
 V( 
 
 i 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 up before Urbain Clarisse's door 
 with a great flourish. His caution 
 had now given place to the ardor 
 of a man whose mind was quite 
 made up to a certain line of action 
 without having to lose any fur- 
 ther time in considering it. Ur- 
 sule played and sang for him, and 
 when she had finished she seated 
 herself at one end of the little hair- 
 covered sofa. Praxade took the 
 other. The time had come for 
 him to declare himself. 
 
 "I trust, Mamselle, that you 
 found a liking for Belle Isle after 
 your drive there?" 
 
 "The church of Belle Isle, 
 M*sieu' Jenesse, is very pretty." 
 
 "And what do you think of my 
 belle cage, Mamselle?" 
 
 "An empty cage, M'sieu' Jen- 
 esse, is but a dreary place." 
 
 "You are right, Mamselle, but 
 
 i8 
 
^J 
 
 rting 
 
 sse's door 
 [is caution 
 
 the ardor 
 was quite 
 e of action 
 ; any fur- 
 git. Ur- 
 r him, and 
 she seated 
 ; little hair- 
 2 took the 
 
 come for 
 
 that you 
 e Isle after 
 
 Belle Isle, 
 pretty." 
 hink of my 
 
 i 
 
 ['sieu' Jen- 
 ce. 
 mselle, but 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 all that would change if you 
 would consent to occupy it." 
 
 "But my papa, M'sieu' Jen- 
 esse?" 
 
 "He shall live with us, Mam- 
 selle." 
 
 "In that case, M'sieu' Jenesse, 
 I consent." 
 
 "Ursule, you are an angel." 
 
 "Praxade, you are crushing my 
 sleeve." 
 
 "Will you name the day, 
 Ursule?" 
 
 "Let us say the Wednesday 
 before Michaelmas, Praxade." 
 
 "I will tell the cure to publish 
 the first notice next Sunday." 
 
 Gossip sped swiftly in the par- 
 ish of Terre Blanche; Madame 
 Sylvain, who kept the toll bridge, 
 was the receiver and dispatcher. 
 As she slowly made the change for 
 passer-by she asked the news, and 
 
 19 
 
A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 ( : 
 
 then gave her own budget, inter- 
 spersed with liberal comments 
 considerably tinged with mali- 
 ciousness. It was not good to 
 come under her unsparing review, 
 but it was quite delicious to listen 
 to her discussing the affairs of 
 others. When old Madame Ne- 
 veau, early on Monday morning, 
 on her rounds through the village 
 with her little load of eggs, pars- 
 ley, onions, potatoes, and other 
 odds and ends, came to the bridge, 
 Madame Sylvain held her in con- 
 versation while she fumbled about 
 in her pocket for a penny in 
 change. 
 
 "Bon Dieu! the duplicity of 
 some people. To think of Ursule 
 Qarisse keeping Joe Denancour 
 hanging about her, and yet re- 
 ceiving the attentions of Praxade 
 Jenesse. Unmarried women no 
 
 'i 
 
 
 
 longer 
 When 
 she hs 
 coming 
 and he 
 not ait 
 that n 
 had an; 
 send P 
 and gi 
 mind, 
 slow, ( 
 him. . 
 Madan: 
 Befo 
 Terre ] 
 affair, I 
 gossip 
 cemed 
 learn w 
 that de: 
 Joe anc 
 Sunday 
 
 ao 
 
ret, inter- 
 :omments 
 ith mali- 
 good to 
 ig review, 
 s to listen 
 affairs of 
 iame Ne- 
 moming, 
 :he village 
 ggs, pars- 
 ind other 
 he bridge, 
 ler in con- 
 bled about 
 penny in 
 
 iplicity of 
 : of CJrsule 
 Denancour 
 id yet re- 
 )f Praxade 
 vomer, no 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 
 longer possessed any modesty. 
 When Praxade passed last night 
 she had asked him if he were 
 coming often to Terre Blanche, 
 and he had replied with a laugh, 
 not after Michaelmas. What did 
 that mean? If Joe Denancour 
 had any spirit left in him he would 
 send Praxade to the right-about 
 and give Ursule a piece of his 
 mind. But he is so soft and 
 slow, one has no patience with 
 him. Ah! here is the penny, 
 Madame Neveau." 
 
 Before midnight everybody in 
 Terre Blanche had discussed the 
 affair, but it is a curio"-) phase of 
 gossip that the parties most con- 
 cerned in it are always the last to 
 learn what is said. This lends to it 
 that delightful charm of mystery. 
 Joe and his mother had spent the 
 Sunday with Madame's uncle, the 
 ai 
 

 ■.i 
 
 ■ 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 Abbe Pontin. Monday evening, 
 however, he dropped in to pass an 
 hour with Ursule, as was his wont. 
 She wore a rinp: which Praxade 
 had given her, and she took sev- 
 eral occasions to make it conspicu- 
 ous, but Joe seemed most stupid, 
 and failed to notice it. Neither 
 did he observe a nervousness of 
 manner on her part. Would he 
 never understand? Was he never 
 to show any sign, thought Ursule; 
 must she tell him? 
 
 "Joe." 
 
 "Well, Ursule." 
 
 "I am going to be married at 
 Michaelmas." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Joe, and 
 his heart gave a big thump. 
 
 "I have accepted Praxade Jen- 
 
 esse." 
 
 "That fellow!" said Joe in dis- 
 gust. "Why, Ursule, I always in- 
 
 22 
 
A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 tended marrying you myself some 
 day." 
 
 "Did you, Joe; and do you still 
 feel the same about it?" 
 
 "Such a question, Ursule." 
 
 "Would you marry me yet, 
 Joe?" 
 
 "Mon Dieu! just you try me, 
 Ursule." 
 
 "But what about Praxade, 
 Joe?" 
 
 "Bother Praxade!" 
 
 "Let us go to the cure, Joe, and 
 hear what he has to say." 
 
 "He must be made to listen to 
 us, Ursule." 
 
 Cure Saucier was at work in his 
 little garden when they arrived. 
 He pushed his spectacles over his 
 forehead, and just the faint tremor 
 of a smile appeared at the comers 
 of his mouth. He more than half 
 suspected the errand which had 
 23 
 
 
\ 
 
 t, 
 
 ■l, 
 
 ■i li 
 
 1 ; I 
 
 I .1 
 I i 
 
 i 
 
 
 i:i 
 
 A Ridicu lous Courting 
 
 brought them. Searching minds 
 through the confessional must, in 
 time, give one the power of divin- 
 ing motive. 
 
 "Good evening, my children." 
 
 "Father Saucier," said Joe, after 
 acknowledging the cure's saluta- 
 tion, "Ursule's banns with Prax- 
 ade Jenesse were to be called next 
 Sunday in church." 
 
 "Yes, my son." 
 
 "Now, Father, for Praxade Jen- 
 esse you must call Joe Denan- 
 cour." 
 
 "How is that, my son; we do 
 not marry by proxy?" 
 
 "Praxade's proxy !" roared Joe; 
 "the saints forbid! No, Father 
 Saucier, Ursule has changed her 
 mind and she is going to marry 
 
 me. 
 
 >» 
 
 "This is a serious matter, my 
 children, and we must consider." 
 
 24 
 
 I ! : 
 
A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 ''But it must be done," persisted 
 Joe. 
 
 "And what do you say to all 
 this, l^rsule?" asked the cure. 
 
 "I will marry no one but Joe 
 now. Father Saucier." 
 
 "You have received a ring from 
 Monsieur Jencsse." 
 
 "Yes, Father; but Joe will send 
 him its cost, and I will keep it as 
 Joe's gift." 
 
 "Since it must be, my children, 
 come into the house and I will dic- 
 I tate a letter for Ursule to send to 
 Monsieur Jenesse." 
 
 It read about as follows: "I 
 
 have reconsidered my answer to 
 
 you, Monsieur Jenesse, and I am 
 
 to be married to Joe Denancour at 
 
 I Michaelmas. Accept my sincere 
 
 [wishes for your future happiness." 
 
 Praxade's reply came a few days 
 
 [later. It was laconic, but ap- 
 
; „■ 
 
 It 
 
 II 
 
 ! i 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 peared to breathe a generous 
 spirit. "Mademoiselle Clarisse 
 will receive a wedding present 
 from me the day after she becomes 
 Madame Denancour." 
 
 "How nice of him," said Ursule. 
 "What do you think it will be, 
 Joe?" 
 
 "Perhaps the pig he promised 
 Prudent," slyly insinuated Joe. 
 
 "0,Joe!" 
 
 The wedding was a very gay 
 one. After the ceremony the 
 bride and groom entered an open 
 barouche drawn by a pair of white 
 horses, driven by a coachman inj 
 top boots and livery, with whipj 
 bedecked with bright ribbons. A 
 retinue of friends followed in less 
 pretentious rigs, and a round of 
 the parish followed, with much| 
 feasting and dancing wherever^ 
 they stopped; the fiddler accom- 
 
 a6 
 
 : 'I 
 
A Ridiculous Cou rti ng 
 
 panied the party from the start. 
 When the bride and groom 
 reached home the following morn- 
 ing a courtly stranger met them at 
 their threshold. "Madame and 
 Monsieur Denancour, I presume," 
 politely touching his hat. 
 "Yes," said Joe. 
 "I've a wedding present for you 
 both from your friend Monsieur 
 Jenesse," and the courtly gentle- 
 man smiled and handed each of 
 them a bulky envelope. 
 
 Ursule quickly tore hers open. 
 "The wretch !" was all she said as 
 she handed the paper to Joe. 
 
 The courtly gentleman came to 
 Joe's assistance. "It is the service 
 of a writ at the instance of Prax- 
 ade Jenesse in a suit for fifty dol- 
 lars* damages against Ursule, wife 
 of Joe Denancour, for the loss of 
 her affections, the cost of a stove, 
 a? 
 
« 
 
 'ill 
 
 ! 1 
 
 A Ridiculous Courting 
 
 and the value of a new suit of 
 clothes," and here the courtly 
 gentleman smiled again. 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Joe; "it's cheap 
 to get rid of Monsieur Praxade at 
 such a price." 
 
 a8 
 
rting 
 
 w suit of 
 e courtly 
 
 'it's cheap 
 'raxade at 
 
 The Return of Little Papita 
 
•MM* 
 
 I i -,]• 
 
The Return of Little Papita 
 
 T^HE potency of Trader La 
 J- Brue's whisky blanc, raw 
 high wines from an illicit still, had 
 lent to Honore Gouleau that high 
 order of fighting courage which 
 enables a man to beat his wife with 
 the pleasurable satisfaction that 
 comes of wiping out old domestic 
 scores and of restoring harmony 
 in the family circle. There are no 
 divorce courts on the Labrador 
 Peninsula for ventilating and set- 
 tling marital infelicities. Justice 
 is administered by the aggrieved 
 party in such fashion as commends 
 itself to his liking and with a due 
 sense of the enormity of the of- 
 fense. Such public opinion as 
 31 
 
sattM 
 
 :5l! 
 
 The Return of Little Papita 
 
 there was left at LaBrue's camp at 
 the forks of the Nisiicatchin in the 
 late October days fully justified 
 Honore for the castigation he had 
 given his good-looking Montagn- 
 ais wife. Gossip had long been 
 busy with her name and that of 
 Flavien LaMarche, and LaBrue 
 had been heard to declare that 
 trouble would come of it when 
 Honore returned from Port of 
 Brest. Perhaps it was he who in- 
 formed Honore, for he bore La 
 Marche no good will, as his rival 
 for the trade of the two or three 
 dozen families of Montagnais 
 which centered at the camp in the 
 golden days of summer to bask in 
 the sunshine of a brief plenty from 
 the traders' stores. 
 
 Having driven his wife cower- 
 ing to a corner of the cabin, Hon- 
 ore, overcome with his exertions 
 
 32 
 
 i 
 
 
 ( 
 
The Return of Little Papita 
 
 and the effects of the whisky, and 
 with a sneaking pity for the 
 mother of his child, snatched up 
 the little Papita, and mingling his 
 maudlin tears with her terrified 
 ones, together they fell asleep on 
 the bed, and silence reigned in the 
 house. 
 
 That night the snow came, and 
 with the gray dawn of day the 
 white mantle of Northland winter 
 lay deep on the ground. The east 
 wind, through the gloomy spruce 
 forest, sang the requiem of de- 
 parted summer, and the river 
 flowed dark and angrily to the 
 gulf. 
 
 It was LaBrue, covered with 
 snow, standing over him and 
 roughly shaking him by the shoul- 
 der, that awakened Honore late in 
 the morning. 
 
 "Well, my pretty dreamer, 
 33 
 
The Return of Little Papita 
 
 I i 
 
 '■, ■ i-, 
 
 It I 
 
 would you spend all your time in 
 sleep? Come, up with you, for by 
 my heart of hearts you need to be 
 stirring. The gay birds have 
 flown before the winter's storm, 
 and LaMarche's cabin is empty 
 and barred. Do you hear," ex- 
 claimed LaBrue, "what I am say- 
 ing?" 
 
 Honore, but half comprehend- 
 ing, sat stupidly staring at La 
 
 Brue. 
 
 "I say," repeated LaBrue, "that 
 LaMarche is gone and your cage, 
 my fierce one, seems to be emp- 
 tied." 
 
 Grasping now the full import of 
 LaBrue's words, Honore sprang 
 to his feet with a cry of pain like 
 that of a wounded animal. Even 
 hardened LaBrue was touched be- 
 fore the first terrible outbreak of 
 the man's grief at the loss of the 
 34 
 
The Return of Little Papita 
 
 darling little Papita, "the light of 
 his eyes," "the joy of his days." 
 
 "A thousand maledictions upon 
 them that robbed me of ma Petite, 
 but I will trail them, LaBrue," and 
 Honore, brushing LaBrue ast'de, 
 rushed wildly in the direction of 
 LaMarche's cabin. The trail, 
 however, lay buried beneath the 
 snow. 
 
 The comedy was played, the 
 tragedy had begun. 
 
 Public sentiment being quite 
 satisfied that Honore had done all 
 that was necessary to vindicate the 
 fair name of the camp, refused fur- 
 ther to concern itself with his af- 
 fairs. Besides, who could tell 
 whither LaMarche had gone? 
 Perhaps to the coast, or into the 
 mountains of the north. Honore 
 stormed and wept, but no one 
 would stir. 
 
 35 
 
 
The Return of Little Papita 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 It was at this juncture that 
 Honore sought me at my cabin, 
 where I was busy completing my 
 report of exploration in the in- 
 terior for the government at 
 Quebec. Honore and I had 
 shared many camp-fires, had 
 starved together in the Pipou- 
 noukhi mountains, and once win- 
 tered upon the great tableland of 
 the interior. I sat long with him 
 that night, and we smoked many 
 silent pipes before I finally said : 
 
 " Honore, we will go up the 
 river into the mountains of the 
 Khichikoua, and we will trap and 
 hunt there and look for the trail 
 of LaMarche where the three 
 rivers head." 
 
 And Honore bowed his head 
 and answered: "It is well; the 
 master has decided wisely." 
 
 A week later we entered the 
 36 
 
The Return of Little Papita 
 
 silent, somber forest, and for 
 many days thereafter the trail of 
 our snowshoes lay through it or 
 upon the frozen river, until we 
 came to the stream that led us 
 to the great Lake Meskenan. At 
 the Indian trappers' camps, where 
 we stopped, our inquiries about 
 LaMarche met with the one re- 
 sponse; he had not passed that 
 way. 
 
 A deep gloom settled upon 
 Honore; he spoke but little and 
 brooded over his trouble. When 
 our camp-fire at night sent danc- 
 ing shadows far into the forest, he 
 went forth and knelt long and 
 reverently in the snow, and with 
 simple faith offered up supplica- 
 tions to the Holy Virgin to restore 
 to him his child. 
 
 Near the shores of the great 
 lake we built a camp of spruce 
 37 
 
II 
 
 .l',;ll 
 
 li ' 
 
 I lil 
 
 ! .1' 
 
 til \h<i i'i 
 li' I 'I i li.ii 
 
 II' ' ii 
 
 The Return of Little Papita 
 
 logs and set our trails of dead-falls 
 for many miles. The season and 
 fortune favored us at first, and our 
 camp was hung with stretched 
 pelts; but as the season of Christ- 
 mas approached fierce storms 
 swept over the lake, and drove 
 the snow in wild confusion far into 
 the forest. Our traps were buried , 
 but it mattered little, for no animal 
 moved. The cree-cree of nuthatch 
 was alone heard above the winds. 
 Honore now took to carving 
 strange things out of wood that 
 bore fanciful resemblances to dolls 
 and animals. He also dressed 
 some beaver-skins and fashioned 
 them into queer garments, but he 
 vouchsafed no information and I 
 refrained from questioning him. 
 But I understood. He had not 
 given up hope. 
 
 Two days before Christmas I 
 
 38 
 
The Return of Little Papita 
 
 packed a few necessaries, and an- 
 nounced to Honore that I in- 
 tended crossing the mountains 
 into the valley of the Amiscouakhi 
 to look for caribou wherewith to 
 make our Christmas dinner, for 
 meat had now become a scarcity 
 in camp. 
 
 "The bon Dieu be with you, 
 master, and bring you back safe. 
 You will also look for ' the trail'?" 
 And Honore with a deep sigh 
 turned again to his carving. 
 
 Near the dusk of the Christmas 
 eve I labored up the valley of the 
 Amiscouakhi under a heavy bur- 
 den of caribou meat, but my mind 
 had turned to the Christmas times 
 of long ago, and recalling some bit 
 of boyish pleasantry, I laughed 
 aloud. An answering cry came 
 back— so weird, so penetrating in 
 the keen, still air, so unlike that of 
 39 
 
1 
 
 9 
 
 1 
 
 j 
 
 i 
 
 111 
 
 
 ■ Ijlillfl 
 
 
 The Return of Little Papita 
 
 an animal, so unlike anything that 
 I could recall, that I instantly 
 dropped my pack, cocked my rifle, 
 and stood at guard. Again the 
 cry, but fainter; and now it bore a 
 human sound. Nevertheless I 
 advanced cautiously, and pushed 
 aside the branches of a little bal- 
 sam thicket. There, before me, 
 was a small birch-bark tepee, half 
 buried in the snow. Opening the 
 flap I peered into the darkened 
 interior. 
 
 A child's voice, querulous with 
 illness, said : " Is that you, ma- 
 man? Papita cold and hung^." 
 
 For an instant I stood trans- 
 fixed with astonishment, and then 
 I replied : 
 
 " No, little one; it is not maman, 
 but some one who has come to 
 take you to papa." 
 
 Tearing a piece of birch-bark: 
 40 
 
The Return of Little Papita 
 
 from the wall, I made a torch. 
 Under a pile of old rags and skins 
 lay the little creature. Her wan 
 face was uplifted to mine, and in 
 her dark eyes was an expression 
 of great wonder. Taking off my 
 coat I enveloped her in its 
 warmth, and giving her a biscuit 
 to eat, I made haste with a fire, 
 and prepared food, which I gave 
 her sparingly, but often. 
 
 I could only read the story from 
 
 the signs about the camp; but it 
 
 was not an unusual one in the 
 
 cruel and hungry Northland. 
 
 The child, too ill to travel with, 
 
 had been abandoned by La 
 
 Marche and the mother to save 
 
 themselves from starvation, for 
 
 there was little evidence of food 
 
 about the camp; LaMarche's hunt 
 
 had been a failure, and the pair 
 
 had fled before the avenger. 
 
 4« 
 
i 
 
 M\ 
 
 ;'■ l' 
 
 !1 ■';,■! 
 
 I J 
 
 The Return of Little Papita 
 
 Papita soon nestled into my 
 arms and fell into sound slumber, 
 and I held her there until the dawn 
 of Christmas Day. I started 
 early, little Papita packed in the 
 caribou-skin and slung over my 
 back. Never seemed a Christmas 
 more joyous, as I gayly trudged 
 over the mountain with visions 
 floating through my brain of the 
 coming reunion and the Christmas 
 feast to properly celebrate the day. 
 
 I approached our cabin silently 
 and was about to lift the latch, 
 when Honore's voice reached me : 
 
 " O Mother of Heaven, upon 
 this day hallowed by the birth of 
 Christ, have pity and compassion 
 upon my sins and give me back 
 my child !" 
 
 And I made answer : 
 
 Commit thy way unto the 
 
 4* 
 
 (( ( 
 
The Return of Little Papita 
 
 Lord; trust also in him; and he shall 
 bring it to pass* " 
 
 Opening the door I placed the 
 tiny bundle in the father's arms. 
 Overwhelmed with the great joy 
 which had come to him, tears 
 rolled down his cheeks as he 
 pressed the wee mite to his breast. 
 The story was soon told. Little 
 Papita, now clothed in all the gor- 
 geousness of beaver raiment and 
 propped up on piles of furs, sur- 
 rounded by the toys of Honore's 
 workmanship, prattled away in 
 childish glee, while Honore and I 
 made busy in preparing a dinner 
 which was tc be a landmark in 
 memory for the many strange 
 dishes we served under familiar 
 names, not forgetting a plum pud- 
 ding, with wild cranberries as sub- 
 stitute for the raisins, and a spray 
 of pembina to replace the holly. 
 43 
 
Mam! 
 
 tfj 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau*s Burglar 
 

 Mamj 
 
 APP 
 
 shoema 
 
 He enj( 
 
 parity z 
 
 ordinary 
 
 He had 
 
 washed 
 
 den. H 
 
 the few 
 
 daily bre 
 
 the pea s 
 
 of salt pc 
 
 suit of c 
 
 Sundays 
 
 hlz .ieigh 
 
 all marri 
 
 geny, Aj 
 
f ' 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 A PPOLION NANTEAU 
 -^ was the stone-breaker and 
 shoemaker in Terre Blanche. 
 He enjoyed only the same pros- 
 perity as falls to the lot of the 
 ordinary laborer in that parish. 
 He had inherited his tiny white- 
 washed cabane and its tinier gar- 
 den. His labor supplied him with 
 the few necessities of life— the 
 daily bread and the graisse de roti, 
 the pea soup with its modest piece 
 of salt pork, and tea; also a decent 
 suit of clothes for mass-going on 
 Sundays and holidays. Unlike 
 h!: .ieighbors, however, who were 
 all married, with numerous pro- 
 geny, Appolion was a bachelor. 
 
 47 
 
 
 I ! 
 
IH 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau*s Burglar 
 
 Now old non-marrying bachelors 
 are held in poor esteem by all the 
 fair sex in Terre Blanche, and Ap- 
 polion was no exception to this 
 rule. Among the men he enjoyed 
 a certain distinction. He could 
 read, took a daily Quebec paper, 
 and was somewhat of a politician. 
 He had been known, even, to 
 argue a question of morals with 
 good Cure Saucier with much 
 skill. He was further regarded 
 as being somewhat revolutionary. 
 He called himself a liberal, what- 
 ever that means. His occupation 
 fitted well with his naturally in- 
 dolent nature. From early May 
 until the cold and snow drove him 
 indoors to his shoemaking, Ap- 
 polion sat under the shade of the 
 maple that stood sentinel on the 
 roadside at the top of the big hill 
 that led from and into Terre 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 Blanche, and plied his hammer 
 upon the piles of stone gathered 
 there to be broken up for mac- 
 adamizing the hill road. It was 
 a fine point of vantage. The vil- 
 lage lay directly beneath, and the 
 big river ran on and on until lost 
 in the mists of distance. The 
 cove which harbored vast rafts of 
 pine from the Ottawa extended 
 well into the little river. In the 
 soft droning days of summer the 
 c-r-i-c-k-r-i-c-i-c of busy axes was 
 borne to Appolion's ears and the 
 ye-he-yo-o as giant logs were 
 turned over to receive their dress- 
 ing. From the open windows of 
 the convent school came the hum 
 of children's voices at recitation, 
 while from many open doorways 
 the whirr of busy housewives' 
 spinning-wheels and cradle-songs 
 mingled through the day with the 
 
 49 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau*s Burglar 
 
 ■i'. 
 
 m 
 
 
 wild bird melody in the maple tree 
 overhead. It was a spot to in- 
 duce philosophizing and bjget 
 day-dreams. Appolion indulged 
 in both when he was not other- 
 wise engaged in discussing poli- 
 tics with M'sieu' Clarisse, who 
 came often for that purpose, he 
 being a stanch conservative as be- 
 fitted his position as a rentier. 
 
 Those who climbed the hill on 
 their way from the village found it 
 necessary to take a breathing- 
 spell at its top, and this also g^ve 
 Appolion a breathing-spell from 
 his work, although he was oft- 
 times quite breathless before his 
 auditor wished him bon jour and 
 went on his way again. 
 
 Appolion had reached fifty 
 
 when the calm placidity of his life 
 
 was interrupted by the death of 
 
 his sister and housekeeper. Im- 
 
 50 
 
 1 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 mediately there fell a blight upon 
 him. Man after all is a helpless 
 creature without the good right 
 arm of woman. Appolion's me- 
 nage went all awry. His pea soup 
 was often burned now, and his 
 loaf of bread grew stale and taste- 
 less before it was finished. It 
 was decidedly uncomfortable and 
 dreary in the disorderly and lone- 
 some little house. The tiny gar- 
 den that had always blossomed 
 with peonies, asters, dahlias, and 
 hollyhocks was rank and choked 
 with weeds. The bobolink that 
 hung outside the door through 
 the summer, Appolion gave to 
 p'tite Zelia, a neighbor's daughter. 
 It required all of his philosophy to 
 reconcile him to life during these 
 dismal days. He continued to 
 pound away at the stones under 
 the maple, but think as he might 
 SI 
 
 ! i 
 ! 1 
 
m 
 
 jil 
 
 I? If 
 
 5 
 
 i 
 I 
 
 ps' V *fi 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 he could evolve no solution for his 
 perplexities. 
 
 P'tite Zelia, in one of her wan- 
 derjahrs through the fields one 
 morning, came upon Appolion as 
 he was lighting his pipe for the 
 fifth time. 
 
 "Bon jour, mon p'tit choux" 
 said Appolion with a smile, for 
 Zelia was an especial favorite with 
 him. 
 
 " I don't like to be called that 
 any more, M'sieu' Nanteau. 
 Mama says that only babies are 
 called pHit choux. Vm not a baby, 
 and you must call me voire p'tite 
 ange." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Appolion, 
 " that's the way it must be. Well, 
 ma petite ange, what brings you 
 here this morning? " 
 
 Zelia, flattered, laughed, but 
 answered Appolion's question by 
 
^amselle Jarbeau's Burg lar 
 
 asking some others : " Do you 
 like marguerites, M'sieu' Nan- 
 teau? I do," holding up a large 
 bunch, " and I can tell your for- 
 tune with them, too. Would you 
 like me to tell your fortune? " 
 
 " Yes, most certainly, ma petite 
 ange," replied Appolion. 
 
 Zelia came close to Appolion, 
 seated herself on the last fresh 
 mound of broken stone, and with 
 much deliberation selected the 
 largest and fullest-petaled daisy 
 from her bunch, and holding it 
 before her, said: "Now, you 
 mustn't laugh, M'sieu' Nanteau, 
 because that spoils the charm." 
 
 " I'll be as serious as a crow," 
 answered Appolion. 
 
 " She loves you," pulling oflf a 
 petal, " she loves you not," pull- 
 ing oflf another, and so on until 
 the last one, "She loves you. 
 53 
 
I 
 
 Maniselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 li 
 
 \yfi 
 
 Ah ! ha !" cried Zelia, bobbing her 
 wise Httle head exultingly, " she 
 loves you, M'sieu' Nanteau." 
 
 " Who is she, ma pHite? " asked 
 Appolion. 
 
 "Ma p'tite ange, don't forget, 
 M'sieu' Nanteau, or I won't tell 
 you." 
 
 "Ma p'tite ange, then, who is 
 this she?" 
 
 " Why don't you know, M'sieu' 
 Nanteau?" 
 
 " How can I know when you 
 haven't told me?" said Appolion. 
 
 " Well, then, it's Mamselle Jar- 
 beau," and Zelia went into fits of 
 laughter. 
 
 " Mamselle Jarbeau," sniffed 
 Appolion, "and what put that 
 into your head, stupide? " 
 
 "Ma p'tite ange, you mean, 
 M'sieu' Nanteau. Well, I heard 
 mama tell Madame Sylvain last 
 
 54 
 
! li 
 
 Mamse lle Jarbeau's Burg lar 
 
 night that it was a pity you didn't 
 catch that old cat, Mamselle Jar- 
 beau, and tame her, and that she 
 would soon sing a different tune 
 after you had cut her claws. Ma- 
 dame Sylvain said she thought 
 Mamselle Jarbeau would do some 
 scratching before she was caught, 
 but if any one could tame her she 
 thought you could, and it would 
 be a good thing for you, too. Do 
 old maids have to be tamed and 
 have their nails cut, M'sieu' Nan- 
 teau, when they get married? 
 I'm not going to be an old maid. 
 Old maids are tiresome. If I stop 
 to look over Mamselle Jarbeau's 
 fence, she always calls out to me, 
 ' VVell, what do you want? ' and I 
 run away. Do you think you can 
 tame her, M'sieu' Nanteau?" 
 
 But this sudden opening of a 
 new world of ideas to Appolion 
 55 
 
Ml 
 
 f 4 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 paralyzed his speech, and he sat 
 there staring into Zelia's face with 
 such a foolish grin upon his own 
 as to send that young lady into 
 peals of laughter. This roused 
 Appolion to say : " Tete singe, if 
 you don't run away home after all 
 that nonsense, I'll come for that 
 bobolink this evening." 
 
 And Zelia, afraid to lose her 
 bird, scurried down the hill and 
 across the fields as fast as her short 
 legs would carry her. 
 
 When Urbain Clarisse came 
 puffing up the hill a half-hour later 
 for his usual political argument, 
 he found Appolion still sitting idle 
 under the maple with ! is mouth 
 open and staring into vacancy. 
 So preoccupied was he that he vir- 
 tually admitted the force of his 
 opponent's arguments by several 
 times saying, " Cest correct" but 
 
 56 
 
 Li 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 when Urbain brought his final 
 clincher and Appolion's reply was, 
 " Cest drole Ca," Urbain stalked 
 off in disgust, muttering under his 
 breath, " Bah ! this Appolion is a 
 fool; he has gone craque" 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau and mar- 
 riage continued to occupy Ap- 
 polion's thoughts for the remain- 
 der of the day. Not that Cupid, 
 in the disguise of Zelia, had sud- 
 denly transfixed him with a dart 
 and sent a convulsive wave of love 
 surging through his heart. Ap- 
 polion and Cupid had not even a 
 chance acquaintance. It was the 
 vista of well-cooked meals, the 
 most imposing house in Terre 
 Blanche, an independence from all 
 further labor, that suddenly 
 opened before Appolion. It was 
 true Mamselle Jarbeau bore no 
 character for amiability, while her 
 57 
 

 ■^ 
 
 
 (^^■^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 'i 
 
 If 
 
 I'll 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau*s Burglar 
 
 appearance, if not actually forbid- 
 ding, was at least far from attract- 
 ive. But she was rich. Ap- 
 polion's eyes, for the rest of the 
 day, when raised from his work, 
 sought the sumptuous dwelling of 
 Mamselle Jarbeau with a certain 
 light of satisfaction; but whenever 
 Mamselle herself appeared in her 
 garden, tall, erect, and severe in 
 manner, dressed in the half-mas- 
 culine attire that she affected, Ap- 
 polion winced, and his heart sank 
 within him. " This matter must 
 be well thought out," said he to 
 himself. The capture and tam- 
 ing of Mamselle Jarbeau was no 
 task to be enterec^ lightly upon. 
 Had he not overheard Dery, a few 
 days before, telling the English- 
 man that " Mamselle was ver 
 queer ole gal, wicked lak de deb- 
 bil, an' wan she go on her bed on 
 58 
 
Mamselle Jar beau*s Burglar 
 
 de night tarn she 'ave two pistil 
 onder her pil'. Any man wat 
 brok troo her 'ouse ave mooch 
 troub' an' get kill for sure." This 
 conquest of Mamselle Jarbeau 
 must be by cunning siege or a 
 bold assault on the citadel of her 
 affection. 
 
 Appolion's behavior for several 
 weeks thereafter, if it did not indi- 
 cate a ni< n in love, was otherwise 
 suspicious. After dark he would 
 pace back and forth before the Jar- 
 beau house, peering into the win- 
 dows. Once, while he was stand- 
 ing at the fence gazing into the 
 back kitchen, Mamselle came sud- 
 denly upon him. Appolion man- 
 aged to stammer out a bon soir, 
 Mamselle, but not before she had 
 shut and bolted her door for the 
 night. Like a cautious general, 
 Appolion was only surveying the 
 59 
 
I i 
 
 l> V 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau*s Burglar 
 
 field of coming action, but as yet 
 dared not advance his forces until 
 the strength of the enemy was 
 further revealed. 
 
 Madame Tardif, Zelia's mother, 
 watched Appolion's proceedings 
 with amused interest. " He will 
 succeed yet," said she to herself, 
 softly laughing. 
 
 One day Appolion went to 
 Quebec, and there he met some 
 convivial friends. They joined 
 forces to such good purpose 
 that when they separated later 
 in the day they exemplified 
 that excellent motto of the United 
 States, " United we stand, divided 
 we fall," but Appolion once in his 
 cart was safe, for his old Belle 
 mare was accustomed to these 
 periodic town vaeraries of her mas- 
 ter and governed herself accord- 
 ingly by going quietly home of 
 te 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau*s Burglar 
 
 her own accord while Appolion 
 slept serenely through the journey 
 in the bottom of his cart. Some- 
 what refreshed by his long nap, 
 and braced by another pull at a 
 small flask he carried, Appolion 
 upon arriving home, felt himself in 
 condition for adventure. His 
 thoughts turned to Mamselle Jar- 
 beau. Why not try his fortune 
 then and there. He would, and 
 she must succumb to his advances. 
 So he took another pull at the 
 flask and sallied forth full of the 
 courage of conquest. There was 
 no hesitation upon his part. The 
 castle must be stormed and cap- 
 tured at once. He rapped three 
 great double raps upon the 
 knocker of Mamselle Jarbeau's 
 door There was no response. 
 Agam he rapped. Still no one 
 answered. "She is out," said 
 
 6i 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau s Burglar 
 
 Appolion to himself, " but I will 
 go iii and await her coming." He 
 opened the door, stumbled into 
 the darkened bouse, found his way 
 into the parlo% and sank into a 
 chair. The monconous tick, 
 tick of a big clock bnt emphasized 
 the stillness of the room. From 
 somewhat disjointed thinking Ap- 
 polion fell to dozing, and from 
 dozing into sound slumber. 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau, returning 
 home somewhat later, locked and 
 barred the door for the night, took 
 the candlestick from the hall table, 
 and marched upstairs to her bed- 
 room. 
 
 The two " pistil " were carefully 
 placed under the " pil'," the 
 rosary was said, and Mamselle re- 
 tired to her virtuous couch with 
 no thought of the impending 
 
 62 
 
M^msdle Jarheau's Burglar 
 events so soon to follow, and she 
 
 too, Goon feli a 
 
 si 
 
 eep. 
 Now a chair, as we all know, 
 hcH'/ever comfortable for a short 
 after-dinner snooze, becomes full 
 of kinks for a longer sleep, and be- 
 get =; restlessness, and finally wake- 
 fulness. About midnight Ap- 
 polion half waked with a violently 
 stiflf neck, but quite forgetful that 
 he was in other than his own 
 house. He arose, stretched him- 
 self to take out some of the knots 
 yawned, and said to himself:' 
 "Ugh! IVe been dreaming, FH 
 ^o to bed now," but with his first 
 step forward he stumbled over a 
 chair. This roused him some- 
 what, but the next instant over 
 
 went a small table and its contents 
 The crash thoroughly awakened 
 Appc V ;; it also awakened Mam- 
 "-^He jarbeau. Appolion heard 
 63 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau's Bu rglar 
 
 f!f ; 
 
 the latter jump out of bed, strike a 
 match, a hurried scuffling of feet, 
 and then a door at the head of the 
 stairs opened, the glimmer of a 
 light appeared, and Mamselle de- 
 manded : " Who is there? quick, 
 or I will shoot." 
 
 Appolion had reached the hall, 
 had his hand on the door-knob, 
 but the door refused of course to 
 yield. At the dread summons his 
 hair fairly stood on end with 
 fright. 
 
 " For the love of God, Mam- 
 selle, don't shoot! It's me, Ap- 
 polion Nanteau." 
 
 By this time Mamselle was 
 descending the stairs with up- 
 raised candle in one hand and a 
 revolver threateningly extended 
 in the other. " Don't you stir," 
 said she, " or I'll fire. So, M'sieu' 
 Nanteau, this is why you've been 
 64 
 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau's Burgla r 
 
 hanging around my house lately, 
 but I've got you now, and I'm 
 goimr to keep you." 
 
 Appolion's teeth were chatter- 
 ing in his head with dread at the 
 end of this adventure. All sorts 
 of fearful consequences con- 
 fronted him. His able general- 
 ship quite deserted him at the 
 mouth of that revolver and its 
 resolute owner. He could only 
 stammer out: "I call all the 
 angels of heaven to witness, Mam- 
 selle, that I did not break into the 
 house. I came—I came, Mam- 
 selle, to ask you to marry me." 
 
 " A likely story indeed, M'sieu' 
 Nanteau, but I don't think you'll 
 get any one to believe it," inter- 
 rupted Mamselle Jarbeau. 
 
 Appolion, with the grotesque 
 and forbidding figure before him, 
 had to admit to himself, with a 
 65 
 
h i 
 
 i fA 
 
 Mamselle Jarheau's Burglar 
 
 sinking heart, that it was hardly 
 likely that any one would give him 
 credit for an> such desire. 
 
 Whether Appolion's statement 
 lessened Mamselle's wish to shed 
 his blooa or not is uncertain, but 
 she now ordered him into the 
 sitting-room, and to seat himself 
 in a chair while she took another 
 one opposite. 
 
 " I'm going to keep you here 
 until morning," said she, "then 
 I'll hand vou over to the coii- 
 stable." 
 
 Appolion shivered, ' nt hy this 
 time his wits were alive again. 
 " If you, Mamselle will r<;:ce me 
 to Cure Saucier now, this ureadful 
 mis— I mean this awful blun— 
 what I would say is, Mamselle 
 that I love yon, and— aid I wil 
 marry you. M'sieu' le cure will 
 understand." 
 
 66 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 Who knows the innermost re- 
 cesses of a woman's beart—what 
 romance or sentiment may be hid- 
 den from all human sight or prob- 
 ing? Mamselle seemed to be con- 
 sidering for some moments, then 
 she said, with decision : 
 
 ''Bon! we will go. Put on 
 your hat, M'sieu' Nan'eau, and 
 walk ahead of me, but no oo far, 
 and mind you, dun't you at >mpt 
 to run away." 
 
 In Appolion's wholesome fea. 
 of Mamselle's revolver there was 
 little danger of this happenmg. 
 
 Mamselle rang the door-bell of 
 the presbythe with vigor. A 
 moment after a window opened 
 and Cure Saucier called out • 
 
 " Hello ! " 
 
 " It's me, Father Saucier, and 
 I've go. a burglar." 
 
 "But this isn't the lockup, 
 67 
 
:i 
 
 Si 
 
 n 
 
 I 
 
 'tl 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau. Take your 
 burglar to Le Fort, the con- 
 stable," said Cure Saucier. 
 
 " But he says he isn't a burglar, 
 Father, and that he can explain 
 everything to you," replied Mam- 
 selle. 
 
 "Yes, Father Saucier, you 
 know that I, Appolion Nanteau, 
 am no burglar." 
 
 " What, you, Nanteau? Well, 
 well, ril be down in a moment." 
 As soon as the cure opened the 
 door, Mamselle, still revolver in 
 hand, marched the trembling Ap- 
 polion into the house. 
 
 The absurd appearance of the 
 couple would have sent a man less 
 well trained than the cure, to keep 
 his emotions under control, into 
 fits of laughter. Mamselle still 
 wore her nightcap, a jupon took 
 the place of a skirt, and a man's 
 68 
 
 W 
 
coat but ill-concealed a night- 
 gown beneath, while a pair of car- 
 pet slippers adorned her feet. 
 
 Appolion, cowed and crestfall- 
 en, with an abject fear of Mam- 
 selle showing in every line of his 
 countenance, was such an absurd 
 object that the cure felt himself at 
 last fully revenged upon Appolion 
 for having ventured to argue 
 morals with him. 
 
 " Now, Mamselle, put that re- 
 volver down, please; it makes me 
 nervous. And what is the mean- 
 ing of this visit? " demanded the 
 cure, with what gravity he could 
 command. 
 
 "She says I'm a burglar, 
 Father; I, who want to many 
 her, blurted out Nanteau. 
 
 " Oh ! I see. Mamselle accuses 
 you then of trying to break in 
 upon her affections, and," gazing 
 
 f t 
 
'liji 
 
 If ■• 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 somewhat fixedly at Mamselle, 
 " some people might consider this 
 in the light of a crime, but not the 
 law," said the cure. 
 
 "What," exclaimed Mamselle 
 Jarbeau, "not for a man to be 
 caught in a single woman's house 
 after midnight?" 
 
 "Most highly improper, of 
 course," replied the cure with a 
 twinkle in his eye, " and it might 
 give rise to scandal; but such con- 
 duct is criminal only in the eyes of 
 the Church, Mamselle." 
 
 " But I didn't bring him there, 
 Father; I found him there." 
 
 " I am afraid you might find it 
 difficult to make people believe 
 it," dryly rbserved his reverence. 
 "Come, Nanteau, explain this 
 mystery." 
 
 Whereupon Appolion, with 
 many protestations as to the inno- 
 70 
 
cence of his motives, related the 
 occurrences of the night, ending 
 by declaring that he was ready to 
 marry Mamsdle at once. 
 "Me marry? " said Mamselle 
 
 Jarbeau. " Why, I never thought 
 
 of such a thing, Father." 
 "More than likely," replied the 
 
 cure; but the experience of this 
 
 n.ght, Mamselle, must have 
 
 i°n1" ^°" ^^^ '^^^^' °' "^'"^ 
 Mamselle rather sniffed at this 
 and would have answered, but the 
 cure continued : 
 
 " What you need, Mamselle is 
 a protector, a husband, a go^d, 
 steady man like Appolion here 
 who has shown his bravery to- 
 n>ght in so conspicuous a man- 
 
 Appolion wondered whether 
 this speech of the cure's was to be 
 T 
 
 ii 
 
 i ! 
 
Ir'i 
 
 i i 
 
 Mamselle Jarbeau*s Burglar 
 
 construed as a compliment to his 
 courage in aspiring to Mamselle's 
 hand or was a bit of sarcasm lev- 
 eled at him for having been 
 marched away at the mouth of a 
 revolver. 
 
 Mamselle evidently chose the 
 latter view of the case, and grimly 
 smiled. 
 
 "To-morrow," went on the 
 cure, " you will go with me to the 
 city, Appolion, for a special dis- 
 pensation from the banns and for 
 a license. And you, Mamselle, 
 will be ready to be married the fol- 
 lowing morning." 
 
 " But, Father, it is all so sud- 
 den," said Mamselle, evidently 
 weakening. 
 
 " You have both wasted many 
 years, and now there is no time to 
 be lost. Let it be as I say," re- 
 plied the cure. " Appolion, you 
 
Mamselle Jarbeau's Burglar 
 
 will escort Mamselle home," and, 
 handing him the revolver, " take 
 this for Mamselle's protection, 
 and see to it that there is no other 
 burglar in the house. I wish you 
 both joy and good night." 
 
 The next morning as the cure 
 and Appolion passed on their way 
 to the city. Madam Tardif caught 
 sight of them. She laughed 
 aloud. " The taming of Mam- 
 selle Jarbeau has already com- 
 menced," said she to herself. 
 
 I i 
 
 73 
 
Th 
 
 <■» wieimems-JAi 
 
The Tragedy of Anse aux 
 Canards 
 
Ti 
 
 A' 
 
 slowl; 
 
 throa 
 "B 
 
 again 
 
 What 
 
 to kn< 
 
 ruins? 
 
 a stor} 
 
 I've j 
 
 would 
 
 tion, j 
 
 I wak( 
 
 wind t 
 
 upon tl 
 
The Tragedy of Anse aux 
 Canards 
 
 A FTER allowing a good half- 
 ^ ^ gill of whisky to gurgle 
 slowly and pleasurably down his 
 throat, old Narcisse said: 
 
 ''Bon, that puts the fire of life 
 again into an old man's heart. 
 What was it that M'sieu' wanted 
 to know? The history of these 
 ruins? Thunder of God ! Such 
 a story! If it was not for the C(?w/, 
 I've just taken my old blood 
 would creep again at the recollec- 
 tion, just as it always does when 
 I wake in the night, and the east 
 wind blows, and the surf booms 
 upon the rocks off the point." 
 
 77 
 
•r''f 
 
 Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 Here Narcisse went into a pro- 
 found revery, during which I 
 passed him my tobacco-pouch, 
 from which he quite unconscious- 
 ly filled his pipe, lighted it, and 
 puffed away for a few moments, 
 with no words spoken by either 
 of us. 
 
 "Mysterious are the ways of 
 God ! " exclaimed Narcisse at last, 
 through a dense cloud of smoke,' 
 and then another silence. 
 
 I saw that the old man was busy 
 with the memories of the past, and 
 I waited patiently. 
 
 He shifted his position uneasily 
 once or twice, walked over to the 
 little point of rock, gazed fixedly 
 out across the Anse into the 
 stormy waters of the Gulf, re- 
 turned and sat down again, rest- 
 ing his elbows upon his knees, and 
 
 78 
 
holding his pipe dose to his 
 mouth with both hands, he began : 
 " Child, boy, and man, I have 
 lived at Anse aux Canards, never 
 but once leaving it as you shall 
 learn. My father and mother 
 came from the Gaspe coast and 
 settled here before I was born. 
 Angels in heaven ! that was a long 
 time ago. There were no neigh- 
 bors nearer than sixty miles up 
 the coast. My father hunted 
 ^eals, netted the salmon at the 
 mouth of the river, and in winter 
 hunted caribou and trapped. Two 
 or three times in the summer a 
 tradmg schooner from Quebec 
 dropped anchor in the Anse, and 
 left us such supplies as we needed 
 m exchange for our seal oil, skins 
 and salted fish. Twice in the win- 
 ter, on his way up and down the 
 coast, good Pere La Branche 
 79 
 
Tragedy of Anse a ux Canards 
 
 stopped a night with us, heard our 
 confessions and said mass in the 
 morning, before continuing his 
 journey in his dog-sleigh or on his 
 snowshoes, as it happened. Other- 
 wise than this we saw no one. 
 The Labrador coast is a lonesome 
 one, as M'sieu' knows, but we 
 never complained of this. It was 
 only when the seals were scarce or 
 fishing failed hiu we grumbled. 
 "There were only two chil- 
 dren, myself and a sister, and 
 she died before she reached 
 womanhood, and my mother soon 
 followed her. My father and I 
 stayed on, never thinking of leav- 
 ing the only home we knew. 
 When I was twenty-five my father 
 died, and yet I remained here, fol- 
 lowing the old life. The captains 
 of the trading schooners laughed 
 at me for not taking a wife, but I 
 80 
 
Tragedy of Anse aux Car ards 
 
 knew little of the ways of women, 
 and it was perhaps as well. I had 
 been living alone five years, some- 
 times craving for some one to talk 
 with during the long winter 
 nights of fierce storm when there 
 is nothing to do but hug your fire 
 and think, thihk, until the mad- 
 ness that is always in your veins 
 sets year brain in a whirl, and 
 things for days become a blank. 
 They say it is not good to live 
 alone like me, and that men go 
 demente, though God knows more 
 women suffer thus on our coast. 
 " It was September, early in the 
 month, but already the ptarmigan 
 and hares were turning to white. 
 Snow-squalls and frost had visited 
 the coast. I had gone up the 
 river to the big pool to bring 
 down my salmon-nets; our rivers 
 were not leased in those days to 
 
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 Tragedy of Anse aux Canard 
 
 s 
 
 les Americains, but it is better as it 
 is, and I am always glad to see 
 you, M'sieu'. I was hurrying 
 back, for I was daily expecting 
 the arrival of the schooner Belle 
 Isle from Quebec with my winter 
 supplies. When I arrived at the 
 top of the hill that overiooked my 
 cabane I saw riding at anchor in 
 the Anse a strange schooner, big- 
 ger than any I had ever seen be- 
 fore, and a flag with many stars 
 and stripes was flying from her 
 masthead. She seemed full of 
 men, and some of them were low- 
 ering a boat. Presently this boat 
 put off and made for the shore. 
 I ran very quick to hoist my flag, 
 and then waited on the beach in 
 much wonder. 
 
 " Two men only landed; one I 
 knew to be the captain of the 
 schooner from his appearance, the 
 8a 
 
 
Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 other a m'sieu' from his dress and 
 air of authority. He was tall and 
 dark, with flaming black eyes that 
 ate into your soul and made you 
 creep, with a mouth that snapped 
 to like a mink-trap when he spoke. 
 He was perhaps forty years of age, 
 but I do not know; his hair was 
 gray, but not the gray of old age. 
 " The captain spoke to me in 
 his English, and I replied in 
 French that I did not understand. 
 Then the other, whom the captain 
 addressed as Mr. Barlow, turned 
 to me and said to me in good 
 French : 
 
 You live here? ' pointing to 
 my cabane. 
 
 " * Yes, M'sieu'.* 
 
 "'And alone?' 
 
 " ' Yes, M'sier'.' 
 
 Are you much disturbed by 
 visitors? ' 
 
 83 
 
 i ! 
 

 ? ! 
 
 Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 "*Not often, M'sieu'; those 
 who have no business here give 
 our coast a wide berth, and those 
 who have soon hurry away.* 
 
 Who owns the land on the 
 opposite side of the Anse? ' 
 " * The bon Dieu, M'sieu'.' 
 " ' No better title,* he replied, 
 with a curl of his lip. 
 
 "'And your name, my good 
 friend?' 
 
 " 'Narcisse Le Clair.' 
 
 "*That will do, Narcisse; we 
 will know each other better by 
 and by.* 
 
 " I was puzzled by this speech, 
 but his appearance did not invite 
 questioning. Instead of rowing 
 back to the schooner they made 
 across the Anse and landed. 
 After walking about some time 
 they drove some sticks into the 
 
 84 
 
^■'*i ' 
 
 Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 ground, and then they were 
 rowed back to the schooner. 
 
 " Immediately upon their ar- 
 rival there was a great commo- 
 tion. While some of the men 
 busied themselves in making the 
 schooner snug, as though for a 
 long stay, others were lowering 
 boats and loading them, and some 
 were throwing overboard timbers 
 of diflFerent kinds. I watched the 
 work the long day, so strange and 
 curious were all these movements. 
 Ev- thing taken off the schooner 
 wao Glided near the spot staked 
 off by the two men. No one came 
 near me again, and I remained in 
 ignorance of what it all meant. 
 
 "The following morning I 
 crossed the Anse and found some 
 ten or twelve men breaking out 
 stone and preparing lumber, but 
 as not a man among them spoke 
 8s 
 
Tragedy of Anse aux Canard? 
 
 French I could only sit and smoke 
 and watch. By and by the cap- 
 tain and Mr. Barlow came ashore, 
 and the latter, after gfiving some 
 instructions to the men, turned to 
 me and said : 
 
 "*Well, my brave Narcisse, 
 what do you think of this as a site 
 for a house?' 
 
 " * A house, M'sieu*, for whom? 
 No one wants to live at Anse aux 
 Canards.' 
 
 Perhaps not, perhaps not ; 
 but you will soon have neighbors, 
 nevertheless.' 
 
 "*And might I ask, M'sieu', 
 who they will be?' 
 
 Oh,' replied he with a snap 
 of his mouth, 'all in good time, my 
 brave Narcisse,' and he walked 
 away to direct some of the men. 
 " The season for trapping was 
 now commenced, and I could de- 
 86 
 
Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 lay no longer. The next day I 
 set out up the little river to the 
 lakes at its source. I was absent 
 some three weeks. Upon my re- 
 turn I saw that the schooner had 
 departed, but on the site staked 
 out there stood a long low house 
 and several large outbuildings, 
 and smoke was curling upward 
 from the chimney of the house. I 
 had killed a caribou on my way 
 down, and as I was all impatience 
 to know my neighbors, I cut off 
 some steaks as a gift and as an 
 excuse for my visit, and paddled 
 across the Anse. Before I reached 
 the door of the house it was 
 opened, and to my astonishment 
 Mr. Barlow came out. 
 
 " 'Ah, my brave Narcisse, then 
 you did not run away after all ; but 
 come in,* and so saying he almost 
 elbowed me into the house. 
 87 
 
 ^' 
 
 1 ! 
 
li 
 
 Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 "Bon Dieuf such a house. 
 There were shelves and shelves of 
 books in the room we entered, and 
 above them every inch of wall was 
 hung with pictures. The floor 
 was covered with carpet, not like 
 our catalagne, but thick and soft 
 like a bear's skin, and there were 
 tables covered with ornaments, 
 and soft chairs, and much silver on 
 a buffet. Such things I had never 
 seen before, and I stood there 
 gasping like a fresh-landed sal- 
 mon. 
 
 "*And you have brought us 
 some fresh meat. That is well, 
 and now you will drink the health 
 of your new neighbors,' and step- 
 ping to the buffet, Mr. Barlow 
 poured me out half a tumbler of 
 whisky. 'But wait,' he added. 
 ' Madame would like to be pres- 
 ent.* Here he called out * Clare.' 
 88 
 
 |.p'aR'.fiB» . 
 
 m 
 
Tragedy o f Anse aux Canards 
 
 Almost immediately there entered 
 the room a woman so beautiful 
 that to me she seemed like one of 
 those madonnas Pere La Branche 
 had once shown me pictures of in 
 a book, but the face was sad, so 
 sad I could have wept. 
 
 Clare, this is Narcisse, our 
 neighbor, and he would drink 
 your health,' said Mr. Barlow in 
 French. 
 
 "Mrs. Barlow smiled and 
 nodded. I thought I saw tears in 
 her eyes, but I was too confused 
 to feel certain, for the husband's 
 eyes were searching my very soul 
 with a look that made me squirm. 
 I could only stammer out, * Bonne 
 sante, Madame,' and then I fled, 
 and for days I did not return. 
 
 " But the face of the sad, beauti- 
 ful woman haunted me at all 
 hours, and I fell into deep reveries 
 
 { M 
 
I:' 
 
 Irggedy of Anse aux Canard. 
 
 as to the cause of their coniinfr to 
 Anse aux Canards; but I knew 
 nothing of the world's ways, and 
 could arrive at no answer to my 
 own questionings. 
 
 "Gradually my visits to the 
 Barlows became more frequent 
 and when the Anse froze over I 
 went daily to perform some ser- 
 vice in or about the house, for all 
 of which Mr. Barlow insisted 
 upon payment, though I would 
 have served his wife on my knees 
 and without thought of money. 
 
 " Mother of Heaven ! she was 
 kmd and good to me. Our win- 
 ters are long— God ! but they are 
 long sometimes, when you are left 
 alone with memory. But that 
 winter, to me, fled on wings. I 
 did not fail to note, however, that 
 Madame grew thin and pale, and 
 her expression sadder, as the 
 90 
 
l!: agedy of Anse aux^ anarHa 
 
 months passed by, and for this 
 alone I grieved, and longed for 
 the bright sunshine of spring 
 which I foohshly thought was all 
 tliat was necessary to restore her 
 health and spirits. 
 
 " Mr. Bariow confined himself 
 mostly to his books and papers, 
 and paid little attention to either 
 of us. I came in time to fear this 
 man, who, when he did speak, did 
 so in bantering tones and with 
 quick, snappy speech, that took 
 away my senses and left me help- 
 less. To his wife he was all polite- 
 ness, but in time I came to think 
 there was devilishness in it, when 
 it brought tears to her eyes and 
 rage to my heart. 
 
 " In May the ice moved out of 
 
 the Anse, and great flocks of out- 
 
 ardes made the water noisy with 
 
 their honking. There were green 
 
 91 
 
l! ^ 
 
 Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 patches on land, and the days were 
 long and full of sunshine. One 
 took a fresh hold on life with every 
 breath. Mr. Barlow had gone 
 for a walk one morning to the 
 point, and I was alone in the house 
 with Madame. She came into 
 the kitchen presently, and I saw 
 there was something unusual, for 
 her face was flushed and her eyes 
 were filled with a strange light. 
 " ' Narcisse.' 
 
 Well, Madame?* 
 'May I trust you in all 
 things? ' 
 
 "'Trust me, Madame! I 
 would die in your service.' 
 
 Listen, then. You must aid 
 me to escape from this dreadful 
 place. I will die here if I am com- 
 pelled to remain much longer. It 
 is awful, awful! What have I 
 done to deserve such a fate? ' 
 
 93 
 
 (( t 
 
 it 
 
 Ifl-K B'oS 
 
Tragedy of Ansc aux Canards 
 
 "Her tears and sobs at this 
 point so unnerved me that I, too, 
 wept, and seizing her hand I 
 kissed it and implored her to calm 
 herself, that I pledged my life for 
 Iier escape. 
 
 "When she had recovered 
 somewhat she told me her story. 
 " ' I was twenty years of age 
 when I became engaged to the 
 man I loved, but my father and 
 mother both opposed our mar- 
 riage because my lover was poor, 
 and they wished me to marry Mr. 
 Barlow, who was rich and had a 
 position in society. Finally I 
 yielded to their repeated urging 
 and dismissed the man 1 loved. 
 My marriage with Mr. Barlow 
 soon followed, and this was the 
 end of all my happiness. He was 
 insanely jealous, though heaven 
 knows I gave him no cause, and 
 
 93 
 
 » i 
 
IBli 
 
 Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 tried faithfully in every way to 
 make him a good wife. I did not 
 love him, but this was my hidden 
 cross as I supposed. Perhaps he 
 divined it. We were at a ball, and 
 among those present was the man 
 I had sacrificed. We had never 
 met since the day I dismissed him. 
 All the tender memory of the old 
 love welled up into my heart 
 upon seeing him again. He came 
 to me at the end of a dance and 
 smilingly extended his hand, say- 
 ing, " Mrs. Barlow, may I claim a 
 dance for old times' sake? " 
 
 With the old spell upon me 
 I weakly assented, for I yearned 
 to know what his life had been in 
 the long years that had intervened 
 since we had parted, and some- 
 how a sudden burst of sunshine 
 flooded my heart. 
 "'We danced but part of a 
 
 94 
 
 ilW!)' 
 
waltz, when he suggested a walk 
 through the conservatory. I do 
 not know how long we remained 
 
 there for he had much to tell me 
 of h,s hfe in the West, but he was 
 still unmarried. 
 
 " \ \ was the voice of my hus- 
 band that interrupted our conver- 
 sation. "Ah, Mr. George, how 
 doyoudo.^ Clare, my dear, I 
 fear that m the pleasant company 
 of an old friend you have for- 
 gotten discretion; the tempera- 
 ture of the conservatorv is not 
 goodforyou. Clare, Mr.' George 
 Js so sensitive to changes. YoJ 
 
 will let me, my dear, conduct you 
 hack to the ballroom." He said 
 not another word, but led me 
 away, after slightly bowing to Mr. 
 George. I was too confused and 
 terrified to say anything, for I felt 
 that I should be made to suflFer in 
 95 
 
m 
 
 Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 some way for my indiscretion. 
 He, however, made no allusion to 
 the matter for days, and I began 
 to hope he had overlooked my 
 offense, if offense it was, but I was 
 mistaken. 
 
 "* While at breakfast one 
 morning he looked over his paper 
 at me and said, " Clare, you may 
 announce to your friends that we 
 will leave Boston in a few days for 
 an extended cruise in Northern 
 waters, and that our address will 
 be uncertain." I knew my pun- 
 ishment had come, though I little 
 suspected the form it was to as- 
 sume. Some ten days later we 
 boarded the schooner at Portland, 
 which brought us to this place. I 
 was kept in profound ignorance of 
 my husband's intention, and sup- 
 posed our stay here was to be of a 
 few weeks' duration only. This 
 
morning he informed me he had 
 decided to remain at least another 
 year, perhaps longer. It is his 
 fiendish cruelty, his desire to make 
 me suffer, and the satisfaction 
 which it affords him, but I have 
 suffered all I will, and it is he who 
 drives me to do what I intend. 
 
 " ' I want you, Narcisse, to give 
 this letter to the captain of the 
 first trading schooner that puts in 
 to Anse aux Canards and ask him 
 to mail it from Quebec. When- 
 ever the answer comes you will 
 give it to me, and be prepared to 
 aid me.' 
 
 " I promised, and no more was 
 said then, as we saw Mr. Barlow 
 returning to the house. 
 
 " The Belle Isle was the first 
 schooner to put into the Anse, and 
 to Captain LeGrand I gave the 
 letter just as he was upon the 
 
 97 
 
\i: 
 
 Tragedy of Anse aux CanarH. 
 
 point of sailing, with manv injunc- 
 tions of caution. He was filled 
 with curiosity to know more 
 about Mr. Barlow, who had pur- 
 chased so largely of him, and had 
 given him orders for such strange 
 things to be brought down on his 
 return trip; yet this Mr. Barlow 
 had never asked him into his 
 house to drink his health even 
 though he paid like a gentleman! 
 Sacrebleti, mon ami Narcisse, you 
 may depend upon it your neigh- 
 bor is hiding from justice.' I did 
 not enlighten him on this point, 
 but took my departure. 
 
 " I was sitting before my cabane 
 one morning early in August, 
 when looking up from my work I 
 saw the schooner La Tartare sail- 
 ing into the Anse. I knew her 
 captain well, and when he came 
 
 98 
 
Tragedy of Anse aux j^^^ 
 
 oflf in his boat I went down to the 
 beach to meet him. 
 
 Bien, Captain Trudeau, an- 
 other cargo of fish for Quebec? * 
 " ' No, my good friend Nar- 
 cisse, rm looking for another sort 
 of cargo this time/ Here he dug 
 me in the ribs and winked know- 
 ingly. 
 
 "I knew at once what he 
 meant, so I led him aside where 
 we could converse without being- 
 overheard by his men. 
 
 "^ You have brought news,' 
 1 said. 
 
 " ' I have brought more than 
 that, mon ami, and with your help 
 I'll take more away. Aboard my 
 schooner is a brave m'sieu' who is 
 all anxiety for the success of our 
 mission and news of a certain lady 
 we are to assist. You are to give 
 her this note, Narcisse, and tell 
 
 99 
 
 Ji 
 
 I » 
 
tl 
 
 ^^^^^HlE 
 
 
 m 
 
 ■sjbiMh^h 
 
 mmmmp'f'>*s<^.mi:', 
 
 
 
 n 
 
 Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 her to be at the point bei . .n ten 
 and twelve to-night. You will 
 say to Madame's husband that La 
 Tartare has put in here to await 
 the Belle Isle to exchange cargo, 
 you understand.' 
 
 "As soon as he had gone I 
 crossed the Anse on my mission. 
 Mr. Barlow was impatiently pac- 
 ing up and down before his house. 
 What schooner is this, Nar- 
 cisse, and what does she want 
 here?' he angrily asked. 
 
 " ' That, M'sieu', is La Tartare, 
 a noted smuggler. She is await- 
 ing the Belle Isle to take on a 
 cargo of whisky from St. Pierre 
 for Quebec' 
 
 " * I wish they would find some 
 
 other place to rendezvous,' and 
 
 with this he went into the house. 
 
 " Madame was all nervousness, 
 
 but I found a chance to deliver the 
 
 lOO 
 
note and the message, with a few 
 words of courage, and promised 
 to be on hand to guide her safely 
 to the point. 
 
 " ' Am r doing right, Narcisse?* 
 God must be the judge, Ma- 
 dame, for you in this matter * I 
 answered, and as my heart was 
 heavy I hurried away. 
 
 " Late in the day I went off to 
 the schooner. Mr. George met 
 me m the cabin, seized my hand 
 and warmly thanked me for all I 
 had done. 
 
 "'I intend, Narcisse, taking 
 Mrs. Barlow to friends who will 
 know how to protect her in future 
 from this crazy husband of hers 
 for crazy he must be. God ! that 
 
 we shall never know the happiness 
 that mi^ht have been ours! Now 
 I can only show her that my love 
 was true and faithful through all. 
 
 lOI 
 
Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 And you, too, my good Narcisse, 
 
 for I see by your tears that you, 
 
 too, love and pity her. There, go 
 
 along and we will meet to-night.' 
 
 " Captain Trudeau was on deck 
 
 when I came from the cabin and 
 
 growled out, * Bad weather not 
 
 far off. We will do well to be 
 
 out of this as early as possible 
 
 to-night.' 
 
 Mon Cher capitaine, I don't 
 know about to-night, but I am 
 certain a storm will break to-mor- 
 row morning, and I will be in the 
 midst of it.' 
 
 " Captain Trudeau laughed. 
 
 "He was right, however. 
 When I again crossed the Anse 
 the night was black and the wind 
 was moaning over the point. I 
 waited close to the kitchen door of 
 the Barlow house, and when it 
 silently opened I was at Madame's 
 
 I02 
 
side in an instant. We hurried to 
 the point where the boat awaited 
 us. A tall figure rose out of the 
 darkness and extended a hand to 
 Mrs. Barlow, saying a few words 
 »n English. She gave a little sob, 
 threw her arms around my neck 
 and kissed me on both cheeks A 
 moment later and they were lost 
 in the night. I heard the anchor 
 bemg hoisted and the sails set on 
 the schooner, and all was still but 
 ^or the moaning wind. 
 
 " God, such a storm as soon 
 broke! I sat the rest of the night 
 and prayed and shivered, as the 
 wind and rain lashed my cabane. 
 
 " It was a little after daybreak 
 when there came a fierce pound- 
 ing on my door. I opened it, and 
 Mr. Barlow, drenched with rain 
 but with a fierce light burning in 
 
 103 
 
Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 ii I 
 
 Ml 
 
 ini 
 
 his eyes that terrified me, stood 
 before me. 
 
 " * You damned scoundrel ! ' 
 said he. * You have helped my 
 wife to escape, and I would kill 
 you where you stand, but I've use 
 for you. Don't remain there 
 gasping, but out of this and get 
 the whaleboat rigged, for, by 
 heavens, I'm going to follow the 
 schooner.' 
 
 "'But in such a storm, and 
 whither, M'sieu*? ' 
 
 " He made as though to strike 
 me. * No words, but do at once 
 what I tell you or—' He did not 
 finish the sentence, but his looks 
 did, and I hastened to do his bid- 
 ding, he feverishly helping and 
 execrating me for all the devils in 
 hell. 
 
 " We nearly swamped going 
 over the bar, and with scarce a rag 
 104 
 
Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 of sail set we flew up the coast be- 
 fore the gale. Mr. Barlow bailed 
 while I managed the boat, but no 
 word was spoken. As night drew 
 on and no sign of the schooner, 
 the necessity for seeking shelter 
 became apparent to even this 
 crazy man, and he ordered me to 
 find a cove to run into. I knew 
 nothing of the coast except from 
 hearsay, but kept a keen lookout, 
 and finally saw Isle au Bout, 
 which guards the mouth of the 
 river Au Sable. I ran the boat 
 into its mouth just at dusk. 
 
 "I made a shelter with the 
 boat-sails and a fire at which to 
 warm ourselves. The gale in- 
 stead of decreasing worked up 
 into a tempest early in the night. 
 Mr. Barlow, exhausted, had fall- 
 en into a deep sleep, but I knelt 
 
 105 
 
Tne 
 
 I*. 
 
 '# 
 
 ngedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 and prayed for the safety of the 
 two in deadly peril. 
 
 " About midnight I plainly saw 
 the faint flash of a vessel's light 
 beyond the point. Again it 
 appeared, but nearer. Btessed 
 angels of heaven ! the schooner, 
 and rushing blindly upon the 
 rocks. I seized a burning brand 
 from the fire and stumbled my 
 way to the shore. Again and 
 again I waved my torch over my 
 head, but I saw or heard nothing 
 more. In an agony of fear I sank 
 upon the rocks. The terrible 
 blackness of the night rendered 
 me powerless to extend aid, even 
 were it not already too late. 
 
 "I remained there in all the 
 storm, crouching behind the 
 rocks for shelter from the wind, 
 uti. » daylight, when I hastened up 
 the l;v .u., lliere was no sign of 
 io6 
 
Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 the schooner, but J soon came 
 upon some -/rerkage, and not far 
 off the Hody of a boy whom I 
 recogUAzed as the son of Captain 
 Trudeau. A few hundred yards 
 farther on, amidst a great mass of 
 wreckage, there lay the bodies of 
 the two who, separated in life, now 
 locked in each other's arms, were 
 united in death. I fell upon my 
 knees beside the dead woman and 
 kissed the cold lips that had so 
 short time before pressed my 
 cheek. I thought quick at that 
 moment. Mr. Barlow should 
 never know of these two dying 
 together. I would bury them as 
 hey ha- died. Like a man pos- 
 sessed, I dug a grave in the sand 
 with a piece of the wreck, and say- 
 ing a hurried prayer for the repose 
 of the souls of the dead, I hastily 
 covered the bodies, removing all 
 I07 
 
 
 I Jv 
 
Tragedy of Anse aux Canards 
 
 trace of my work except for a rude 
 cross of stones which I placed flat 
 on the sands above the grave. 
 M'sieu*, my heart lies buried in 
 that grave, but I live on. It is 
 God's will." 
 
 Narcisse rose and knocked the 
 ashes out of his pipe. " The tide 
 is rising, M'sieu'; it is time we 
 were off." 
 
 "And Mr. Barlow," I ex- 
 claimed; " what of him? " 
 
 "They took him to Quebec, 
 M'sieu', quite crazy, and ever call- 
 ing to his wife to save him." 
 
 xo8 
 
 wmm 
 
^ \ 
 
 
 i i 
 i \ 
 
 \ 
 
 I - 
 
 ex- 
 
 At St. Therese 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 A MONO t'aq families of the 
 *^ guides and canoemen which 
 inhabited the four or five little log 
 cabins that perched on the moun- 
 tain-side above the brawling St. 
 Therese, he was familiarly known 
 as Prince Rollo. He was always 
 more formally addressed as 
 M'sieu' Rollo, for though a prince 
 in his own right of American citi- 
 zenship, yet when he traveled 
 abroad he sank his title in the in- 
 cognito of plain Mr. Rollo. Fran- 
 cois and Pierre and their families 
 were not, however, to be deceived 
 by so transparent a disguise. 
 None other than a prince could be 
 such a royal dispenser of luxuries 
 III 
 
II, t. 
 
 At St. Therese 
 
 M II 
 
 hu' 
 
 among them. Ah! but he was 
 both good and generous, this 
 Prince Rollo ! When St. Therese 
 gathered together to veillee of a 
 long winter's evening, much spec- 
 ulation would be indulged in as to 
 the contents of the great box that 
 Prince Rollo was so certain to 
 bring with him when he came to 
 fish in the spring, that magic box 
 than from which no conjurer ever 
 produced so many and such beau- 
 tiful things for every member of 
 the community, not even forget- 
 ting the latest arrivals—there 
 were always rattles and tooth-cut- 
 ting rings for these unknown 
 comers. 
 
 Frangois Ceras would end the 
 discussion by exclaiming, "In 
 the name of God, but the Prince 
 must be certain to have good fish- 
 ing when he comes again ! " 
 
 112 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 And the others would fervently 
 answer, "In the name of God 
 he shall ! " 
 
 Curious things were sought for, 
 and still more curious things were 
 wrought from bark and wood for 
 Prince Rollo to take home again 
 in the magical box, until in time 
 that home in a far-away state be- 
 came a veritable museum of curi- 
 osities. 
 
 To Prince Rollo, St. Therese 
 represented the great blessed 
 thing in life — rest. For one short 
 month of the year the heavy bur- 
 dens and responsibilities of a busy 
 man dropped from his shoulders, 
 and he gave himself unreservedly 
 to nature and fishing, and the in- 
 tercourse with the delightfully 
 simple and primitive people who 
 were all so fond of him. Before 
 he fairly realized it, his weariness 
 "3 
 
 
 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 slipped away from him; his pessi- 
 mism disappeared before the 
 chee* 'al optimism of St. Therese; 
 his step grew springy and elastic, 
 and his spirits rose to boiling 
 point. 
 
 Such days there were of fishing 
 in the rapids with Francois and 
 Jacques Beaulieu as his canoemen, 
 such symposiums at his camp-fires 
 on the shores of the sweetest of all 
 sweet lakes, the little Evangeline, 
 that nestled among a labyrinth of 
 mountain-tops, when mon oncle 
 Pierre Gausin told his stories of 
 the hup garou and la jongleuse 
 with that rare dramatic skill that 
 comes of long practice; and then 
 Pierre's nephew, Calixte, sang 
 those old French songs that have 
 echoed down the centuries among 
 the Canadians. The Prince would 
 sino- "Ma Normandie" in his 
 114 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 sweet tenor until the tears came to 
 the eyes of Pierre and Calixte, 
 though the old Normandy of 
 France was but a tradition with 
 them, but the air and words are full 
 of a tender pathos. And Pierre 
 and Calixte never tired of hearing 
 the poem of " Evangeline " read 
 to them in the French of Pam- 
 phille LeMay. When the reading, 
 however, came to an end for the 
 evening, mon oncle Pierre and 
 Calixte would retire into the shade 
 of the forest to repeat the long 
 chaplet While they were at their 
 devotions the Prince, after light- 
 ing a cigar, would stroll down to 
 the lake, and sitting there in the 
 moonlight, dream such pleasant 
 dreams that his heart would quite 
 overflow and a great peace take 
 possession of him, which was not 
 
 "5 
 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 like unto anything else in the 
 whole world in sweetness. 
 
 Which leads me to my story; 
 for what I have already related is 
 only the prelude that carries the 
 air, to use a musical phrase. 
 
 The Prince set his rod down 
 carefully in the canoe, for the sun, 
 climbing over the mountains, had 
 flooded the placid lake in a liquid 
 golden light, and the trout had 
 ceased to rise. 
 
 " Now, Calixte," said he, " we'll 
 tie up under that big birch and 
 have a smoke while we wait for 
 the wind." 
 
 Calixte did as he was directed. 
 
 The full beauty of late May was 
 upon all the mountain-sides. 
 Maples in half-open leaf of many 
 reds blended with the birches in 
 their delicate yellow-greens, while 
 about the lakeshore the wild 
 
 ii6 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 cherry and poire were in masses of 
 wh'te flowers. From many spruce- 
 tops came the call of little " white 
 throat," the sweet— sweet—Can- 
 ada— Canada. The Prince was 
 silently happy. 
 
 It was Calixte who, after some- 
 what noisily knocking the ashes 
 from his pipe against the canoe's 
 side to attract the Prince's atten- 
 tion, thus delivered himself: 
 
 " It is a good thing, is it not so, 
 M'sieu' Rollo, for a man to have 
 a wife and family?" 
 
 Calixte laid particular stress 
 upon "a man." He was just 
 twenty-one, with a downy mus- 
 tache. 
 
 The Prince, awakened from his 
 reverie, turned slowly in Calixte's 
 direction, with just the faint 
 tremor of a sad little smile at the 
 corner of his mouth. The ques- 
 117 
 
 / J-'i 
 
 t - n 
 
J- 
 
 At St. Therese 
 
 tion had recalled a sad period in 
 his early life, but he replied 
 cheerily enough, " It all depends, 
 Calixte, upon the kind of wife and 
 the size of the family. Are you 
 seriously thinking of the widow 
 Ledroit, with her fourteen chil- 
 dren?" 
 
 "Heaven defend me, M'sieu* 
 Rollo, but what put that idea in 
 your head ? Do you think I want 
 to live on blueberries and spruce- 
 gum until I die? " 
 
 " I couldn't say, Calixte; when 
 a young man's thoughts turn to 
 love and marriage in the spring, 
 he isn't responsible for what he 
 does. I dare say now it's Aman- 
 da Leveille." 
 
 Amanda was a grim-visaged old 
 maid who lived on the border of 
 St. Therese. 
 
 Calixte almost choked with in- 
 
 ii8 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 dignation. "BonDieu! M'sieu' 
 Rollo, but you think I have gone 
 dements. That one, indeed I 
 Why, I naghi as well think of 
 marrying niy grandmother." 
 
 " Well," replied the Prince, ap- 
 parently trying to rack his brains 
 for the proper person, " perhaps 
 It IS a little black-eyed Noema 
 ^^^s who is filling your mind 
 with love and marriage." 
 
 A great light of joy swept over 
 the boy's face as he answered, 
 "You are right, M'sieu' Rollo; 
 she is an angel." 
 
 " I don't know that I said she 
 was an angel exactly," observed 
 the Prince, "but I dare say you are 
 right. All women are angels and 
 men heroes during the lover stage 
 of existence; but when once mar- 
 ried, my brave Calixte, earthly 
 angels and heroes no longer live in 
 119 
 
 * 1 
 
«', 
 
 At St. Therese 
 
 the air, or on it either, so how do 
 you propose to manage to exist at 
 St. Therese if Mamselle Noema 
 and you join forces for better, for 
 worse?" 
 
 " We have thought of all that, 
 M'sieu' Rollo, but the bon Dieit 
 will help us, and we have no fear 
 on that score; but Noema has 
 another lover, M'sieu', that big 
 black Jacques who comes from 
 Les Jardins, and because he has 
 a farm gives himself the airs of a 
 bourgeois. But he shall eat dirt. 
 Yes, I say he shall eat dirt, even 
 though Noema's father makes 
 much of him. Bah ! that Jacques 
 is a pig, to come to St. Therese 
 looking for a wife." 
 
 The Prince barely restrained a 
 laugh at this last unconscious 
 thrust at the good people in St. 
 Therese, but he consolingly said : 
 
 120 
 
At St. Th erese 
 
 "Courage, Calixte; no woman 
 worth winning was ever won with- 
 out a struggle. You must let me 
 know, though, how it all comes 
 on." 
 
 A dark ripple upon the waters, 
 stealing slowly across the lake,' 
 announced the sought-for breeze,' 
 and Calixte, pushing the canoe 
 from under ihe branches, the 
 Prince was soon intent upon the 
 fishing, and the subject of Cal- 
 ixte's love afifair was not further 
 alluded to. It was not forgotten 
 by the Prince, however, for a day 
 or two before his departure from 
 St. Therese he met Mamselle 
 Noema at the roadside spring, 
 where, under an improvised shel- 
 ter of branches, that young lady, 
 seemingly in no wise cast down, 
 was washing a length of cafalame 
 
 sr 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 f ' 
 
 in a tub and singing most cheerily 
 to herself. 
 
 " Good morning, Mamselle 
 Black Eyes; you seem in great 
 good humor. Is it because big 
 Jacques is coming soon to carry 
 you away from St. Therese? In 
 that case," continued the Prince, 
 " I shall miss the wedding." 
 
 This occasional event was al- 
 ways set for the period of the 
 Prince's visit to St. Therese. It 
 was he who first signed the regis- 
 ter after the bride, and danced the 
 first dance with her at the subse- 
 quent festivities. If the births 
 and deaths were not deferred until 
 his presence in the parish, it was 
 because of reasons quite beyond 
 the control of its inhabitants, but 
 always a matter of sincere regret. 
 
 The girl stopped her washing, 
 and turning a blazing pair of eyes 
 
 122 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 upon the Prince, stamped her foot 
 angrily as she said: "You 
 know, M'sieu' Rollo, I hate that 
 Jacques, and it was not because I 
 was thinking of him but of some 
 one else that I was singing. Ah ! 
 you — you know very well. 
 Sainted Virgin, but is it not sad 
 that Calixte is not rich like that 
 other? He is smart, though, is 
 Cahxte; and this winter he is 
 going to take a contract to cut 
 logs for the Englishman. He 
 is worth two like that— that 
 Jacques, who can only smoke and 
 spit. As for me I hate him." 
 
 The Prince was in teasing 
 mood, for he answered : " Well 
 Mamselle Spitfire, we have a say- 
 ing, we Americans, that hate oft- 
 times is the beginning of love." 
 
 " That may be so with you 
 Amencans, for you do nothing 
 133 
 
 ! ! ! 
 
 !,n 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 like us Canadians," replied 
 Noema, " but all the same, I'll die 
 first before I marry that ugly 
 Jacques." 
 
 The Prince laughed, and ex- 
 tending his hand to the girl, said : 
 " Now I must say good by, little 
 one; keep a tiny corner of your 
 heart for me, and I'll dance at your 
 wedding, never fear. And that 
 Jacques shall eat dirt. Yes, he 
 shall eat dirt," added the Prince, 
 who just then recalled Calixte's 
 expression. A day or two later, 
 when the Prince and his magic 
 box and other sundry belongings 
 had been safely deposited on the 
 platform of the St. Elmond station 
 by Calixte, the two men stood 
 sadly silent, the Prince thinking of 
 the pleasant scenes just aban- 
 doned for the ugly cares of life so 
 soon to be resumed, the other at 
 124 
 
ill 
 
 At St. Therese 
 
 the loss of the one who alone 
 seemed to stand between him and 
 despair in the success of his life's 
 object. The whistle of the ap- 
 proaching train recalled them 
 both to the present, and as the 
 hurried good by was said, the 
 Prince slipped a roll of bills into 
 Calixte's hand with a simple, 
 " Just to help along the lumbering 
 operations this winter, my brave 
 Calixte." 
 
 As the train started, the Prince 
 caught a last sight of Calixte still 
 standing rooted to the platform, 
 with his hands clutching the roll 
 of bills, mouth wide open, and 
 looking after the train with a look 
 of blank astonishment upon his 
 face. And the Prince chuckled. 
 
 It was late in the Jiinuary fol- 
 lowing that the Prince received a 
 strangely addressed and still more 
 
 125 
 
 ,,^'; I 
 
 5 
 
 ( ; 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 oddly worded letter. It was 
 signed Noema Ceras; it read as 
 follows : 
 
 "I have much trouble to ex- 
 plain that Calixte and his horse 
 tumble over the big mountain. 
 The horse he die, and CaJixte 
 nearly die, too, but he lives now 
 with a leg broke. Angels of 
 heaven! it is sad. That fellow 
 Jacques comes very often, but I 
 hate him. My father says I shall 
 mirry, for there are many children 
 in the house. My father is very 
 poor with children, and now there 
 is one more. Calixte says he will 
 go on the brickyards in the States. 
 If he goes I will die for sure." 
 
 The Prince was accustomed to 
 dealing with the emergencies of 
 life. 
 
 The following week Notary 
 Planet, of St. Elmond, acting 
 126 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 under instructions, appeared at St. 
 Therese. He put up at Frangois 
 Ceras's. After his horse was un- 
 harnessed and a place found for it 
 in the stables, the two men lit their 
 pipes and stood around for the bit 
 of confidential gossip before en- 
 tering the house. 
 
 " Well, Francois, I've come to 
 St. Therese, thinking that you 
 might want me to draw up your 
 claim upon the government for 
 the ninety acres for the twelfth 
 child." The Notary laughed. 
 
 "You are always welcome at 
 St. Therese, M'sieu' Planet, but if 
 you have no other business here 
 this time you will have come for 
 nothing, for the last is only the 
 eleventh." 
 
 " So," said the Notary. " Well, 
 it is fortunate I have some other 
 matters to attend to here. The 
 127 
 
tfi 
 
 At St. Ther ese 
 
 first is, Frangois, you are shortly 
 to have a neighbor. I have pur- 
 chased the lot of land next to you 
 and Avii commence to build upon 
 It at once. A fine place this for a 
 summer home. You don't hap- 
 pen to know of a steady young 
 man, with a wife, who would take 
 charge of the place? Tve been 
 thmkmg of Calixte; but he's not 
 married. Still, I suppose that 
 could be arranged." Here the 
 Notary dug Francois in the ribs 
 and looked very knowing. 
 
 Francois forced a little laugh 
 but looked somewhat surprised at 
 this sudden and unexpected dec- 
 laration of the Notary. " I dare 
 say you are right, M'sieu' Planet- 
 we must think it over," said he. ' 
 Whereupon the two men en- 
 tered the house. 
 
 What the Notary said to Cal- 
 128 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 ixte was only confided to Noema 
 by the latter, who no longer spoke 
 now of going to the brickyards, 
 but occupied himself very actively 
 in carrying out the plans of No- 
 tary Planet. A house and barn 
 were pushed steadily to the finish. 
 A horse and cow, several sheep, a 
 pig, and some chickens were sent 
 from St. Elmond by the Notary 
 and shortly before the breaking 
 up of the winter roads four or five 
 loads of furniture arrived, with a 
 letter from him asking Mamselle 
 Noema to kindly attend to its 
 arrangement, as he desired to 
 give a house-warming about the 
 period of M'sieu' Rollo's arrival, 
 which would soon take place. 
 
 The giri was delighted with her 
 
 task, and set about it with all the 
 
 love that a woman feels for new 
 
 finery. So much good taste and 
 
 129 
 

 At St. Therese 
 
 housewifery did she display that 
 Calixte spent more time indoors 
 in undisguised admiration of the 
 worker than was altogether com- 
 patible with his outside duties. 
 Big Jacques was not so frequent a 
 visitor now at St. Therese, and 
 hope was strong in the heart of 
 youth, but the girl could not 
 help wondering sometimes why 
 M'sieu' Rollo did not answer her 
 letter. 
 
 The day of the arrival of Prince 
 Rollo, St. Therese was en fete. At 
 the arch of evergreens which 
 spanned the road, the entire pop- 
 ulation had gathered at the hour 
 of his expected arrival. It was 
 Prince Rollo who led the proces- 
 sion, accompanied by P^re Andre, 
 and followed by Notary Planet 
 and a string of buckboards all 
 heavily laden with boxes, among 
 130 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 which the magic box was con- 
 spicuous. When the priest's 
 blessing had been given, and the 
 many warm greetings exchanged, 
 the visitors first proceeded to 
 Francois Ceras's. The Prince, a 
 few minutes later, drew Francois 
 into the spare room and held a 
 hurried conversation with him, 
 the precise nature of which was 
 never disclosed, but when they re- 
 turned to the others Francois had 
 a hopeless grin of astonishment 
 upon his face. Several times he 
 made as though to speak, and as 
 suddenly checked himself with a 
 half choke. 
 
 "Now, Noema," said the 
 Prince, " I am all curiosity to see 
 this new house of Notary Planet's. 
 Come, we will go together." 
 
 After they had carefully in- 
 spected the house, and the Prince 
 X3I 
 
I '■ 
 
 At St. Th erese 
 
 had expressed his approval and 
 complimented the girl upon her 
 skillful arrangement of it, she sud- 
 denly burst out, "Mother of 
 Heaven! but one could be very 
 happy here, it is all so beautiful." 
 "Do you think so?" inter- 
 rupted the Prince, eagerly. " Let 
 us call in Calixte and hear what he 
 has to say." And going to the 
 door he called, " Calixte ! " 
 
 That young man responded so 
 promptly as almost to lead to the 
 suspicion that he was prepared for 
 the summons. 
 
 "Mamselle Bright Eyes tells 
 me, Calixte, that she thinks she 
 could be very happy here, even 
 with that fellow Jacques," said the 
 i^nnce, looking quite serious. 
 "What? "said Calixte. 
 
 No2a' ^''''''' ^•"^'" '"^^ 
 132 
 
At St. Therese 
 
 "But," continued the Prince, 
 " she would no doubt be happier 
 with some one else while that fel- 
 low Jacques was eating dirt. I 
 believe, Noema, I told you that he 
 should eat dirt. Well, I don't 
 mind telling you both that he will 
 commence at once. I've taken a 
 fancy to do a foolish thing 
 You'll both think so, I know, 
 when I tell you that my answer 
 to Noema's letter is a deed for this 
 place to her, but it's all upon con- 
 dition that you are both married 
 to-morrow, for I cannot afford to 
 lose any of my fishing." 
 
 Noema and Calixte looked at 
 each other, and then at the Prince, 
 as though doubting their ears. 
 
 " Yes," said the Prince, " P^re 
 Andre has a special dispensation 
 from the banns, and the marriage 
 
 133 
 
 i tl 
 
r^*. 
 
 m 
 
 cannot be postponed an hour be- 
 yond the time set " 
 
 the' Prce" ^°^''^''" ^— <1 
 fh^^^-T^ *'"^^ ■'■■^ ^™« "bout 
 
 2' ^''^*^''^'>«h« answered 
 our prayer, Noema; the good 
 Prince has helped us." 
 
 The Prince missed Calixte at 
 h s c^p-fires that spring, but the 
 
 hshmg was never better. He still 
 goes to St. Therese an^ i,- 
 li-ftu I L '^^^**' ana his own 
 to^ log house, not far from the 
 Lalixte homestead, is much re- 
 sorted to during the period of its 
 occupancy by several small scion 
 of the latter house, who find an 
 
 unfailmg source of pleasure in the 
 magic box. 
 
 '34 
 
irms about 
 
 r fervently, 
 
 s answered 
 
 the good 
 
 Calixte at 
 ig, but the 
 He still 
 d his own 
 from the 
 much re- 
 Jod of its 
 all scions 
 > find an 
 ire in the 
 
 
 Two Old Soldiers 
 
 ■I 
 
 i 
 
Hi! 
 
Two Old Soldiers 
 
 pAPTAINLE GARDE was 
 ^^ of the army that had fought 
 under Maximilian in Mexico. 
 Old and battle-scarred, he had 
 come from Quebec to Terre 
 Blanche with scant means to eke 
 out his declining years. He 
 boarded at the De Camps. Terre 
 Blanche was much too concerned 
 that summer in its struggle for 
 existence, in the scarcity of work 
 that prevailed, to give much 
 thought or time to strangers. 
 Captain Le Garde, therefore, went 
 his lonesome rounds of the parish 
 unnoticed and friendless. It was 
 a sad time for him, for he chafed 
 under this isolation from his fel- 
 lowman. 
 
 137 
 
 
I -■ 'S 
 
 Two Old Soldiers 
 
 i .? • 
 
 One autumn day, as he stood 
 on the bridge that spanned the 
 little river, warming his old body 
 in the bright sunshine, he saw 
 coming toward him from the op- 
 posite side of the river a tall man 
 with fierce, grizzled mustachios 
 and goatee. He limped painfully. 
 When he had approached closer, 
 the two men seemed simultane- 
 ously to recognize the comrade- 
 ship of arms, and both gave the 
 military salute. 
 
 The tall man stopped and re- 
 garded the other somewhat critic- 
 ally. Then he said: "Comrade, 
 thou art an old soldier; in whose 
 service hast thou fought? I am 
 Lieutenant Constant, late of the 
 " Chasseurs d'Afrique." This last 
 was said with an air of pride. 
 ^^ "And I," replied the other, 
 "am Captain Le Garde, late of 
 138 
 
Two Old Soldiers 
 
 the army of Maximilian, of 
 Mexico." 
 
 Hereupon they clasped hands 
 in the warmth of sympathetic ac- 
 quaintance, and fell into the easy 
 confidences of old campaigners. 
 The world, bounded by the hori- 
 zon of Terre Blanche, was at la^^! 
 illumined in their sight. 
 
 " Hein ! but it is good to meet 
 an old comrade; it has been very 
 lonesome here," said Captain Le 
 Garde. 
 
 "Lonesome," exclaimed the 
 Lieutenant, in a gruff voice, in 
 which he manfully tried to stifle 
 an emotion; " what knowest thou 
 of lonesomeness, comrade, who 
 hast not suffered loss of wife, who 
 hast never had a wife's love ? Ah ! 
 comrade, there are few on earth 
 like my Lucie was; she is among 
 the saints in heaven now." The 
 139 
 
 -f 1 
 
Two Old Soldiers 
 
 Lieutenant raised his hat in si- 
 lence. 
 
 Captain Le Garde did likewise, 
 and then he extended his tobacco- 
 pouch to the other: "We will 
 sit here and smoke," said he, " it 
 is warm and comfortable, and 
 thou, comrade, wilt tell me of thy 
 Lucie." 
 
 So the two old men sat there in 
 the sunshine, and the one told the 
 simple story of his love and mar- 
 riage, and the happy years that 
 had followed, until, both grown 
 old and somewhat useless in the 
 big world, they had come to Terre 
 Blanche as caretakers for the 
 empty house of the Englishman. 
 Here his Lucie fell ill, though she 
 would never admit it was any- 
 thing serious. One night she 
 awoke him, saying: "Thou wilt 
 get up and light a lamp at the 
 140 
 
Two Old Soldiers 
 
 crucifix, and then sit at the ued- 
 side where I can see thee. Nor- 
 bert, thou art brave, for thou art 
 an old soldier, and hast faced 
 death ofte.i thyself, and seen 
 others die. I am dying, Norbert, 
 and thou must face the world 
 alone. May God be good to 
 thee." She reached up her arms 
 and drew the rough old face down 
 to hers, and kissing it once, twice, 
 sighed gently, and her soul passed 
 to God. 
 
 Both the old men were weeping 
 now. 
 
 Captain Le Garde blew his nose 
 vigorously. " Comrade," said he, 
 " we will be friends." 
 
 That night Madame de Camp 
 heard her boarder in his room 
 singinp- "The Brigadier." "I 
 am glad he is more cheerful," said 
 she to her husband. 
 
 «4« 
 
 r 
 
Two Old Soldiers 
 
 Life had again taken on an in- 
 terest for the two old soldiers. In 
 the sympathy of understanding 
 they had found the balm for some 
 of the troubles that afflict old age. 
 They met daily on the bridge, 
 aid if the day was cold they 
 stamped up and down its length 
 fighting over the battles in which 
 they had taken part, or living the 
 campaigns again of their youth or 
 manhood. When the days were 
 stormy. Captain Le Garde walked 
 to the quarters of the Lieutenant 
 in the house of the Englishman. 
 There they smoked, and the Lieu- 
 tenant would talk of his Lucie, for 
 his heart was still tender of mem- 
 ories of the dead wife. 
 
 It was early in December that 
 
 Captain Le Garde, coming from 
 
 mass one Sunday morning, met 
 
 the Widow La Jeune, and fell 
 
 14a 
 
Two_01d_Soldiers^ 
 
 under the spell of her big soft 
 brown eyes and the low voice with 
 Its pleasant cadences. Hein! 
 though, this widow was a fool 
 with her coquettishness that set 
 other women against her, and the 
 men against each other, and made 
 her name a byword in the parish 
 I say she was a fool, for her ambi- 
 tion set no bounds to her man 
 conquests, so the universal hatred 
 of the women became her portion. 
 It is not well to incur the ani- 
 mosity of an women. It left the 
 widow defenseless, and finally 
 drove her from Terre Blanche; 
 but this is getting ahead of my 
 story. 
 
 The widow dropped her muff. 
 
 The Captain, walking behind 
 her, picked it up and restored it to 
 Its owner with a gallant bow, and 
 a " Madame, permit me ! " 
 
 '43 
 
 I I 
 
im 
 
 Two Old Soldiers 
 
 I , 
 
 " Oh ! thanks so much," replied 
 the widow, as she shot an appeal- 
 ing glance from under her long 
 lashes directly into the eyes of the 
 Captain. It was most deadly of 
 aim, and the simple old soldier's 
 heart beat a tattoo upon the 
 bosom of his starched shirt. 
 
 They walked together in silence 
 until they reached the widow's 
 cottage. " You will come in and 
 warm yourself, and take a glass of 
 wine with me? " said she. 
 
 The Captain found voice to 
 stammer out, " I shall have much 
 pleasure, Madame." 
 
 " It is very lonesome in Terre 
 Blanche," said tht widow; " there 
 is no companionship," and she 
 looked questioningly at the Cap- 
 tain, who was seated opposite to 
 her at the little table in the snug 
 
 144 
 
Two Old Soldiers 
 
 parlor. On the table were a de- 
 canter of wine and two glasses. 
 
 The Captain, in the joyousness 
 of the moment, was about to reply 
 that life was never more pleasant, 
 but a sudden flash of memory of 
 some past dreary days led him to 
 answer, " Really, there had been 
 times when life had been most 
 lonesome." 
 
 "But now?" queried the 
 widow, with an engaging smile. 
 
 " Madame, in the sunshine of 
 your presence life could not be 
 other than pleasant," and here the 
 old soldier raised his glass to his 
 lips, adding, "Your very good 
 health, Madame." 
 
 The widow laughed in her rip- 
 pling way. "Ah! you men, a 
 sad, sad lot. But you will come 
 again, M*sieu* le Capitaine, and 
 you will tell me of your battles." 
 
 J 
 
 It I 
 
The Captain left the house 
 ^wmg^ng; his stick and carrZ 
 
 "e was even humming "'ii/a/' 
 h-ouckjen va-t-en guerre." Ma- 
 dame Fardif, who had watched i^L 
 departure, turned to her gossj 
 
 Madame Rancon, and ?,'T' 
 
 " Tho,^ " said : 
 
 i here goes another of the old 
 
 oojandhemustbehardbitt:;^ 
 Lieutenant Constant paced the 
 
 de£ fr *"'* '"°"""^' --- 
 
 at the contmued absence of his 
 
 "end. Madame Sylvain, at the 
 
 toll-house, finally taking pity on 
 
 ;? /'""^"ff-'ooking fid' LX 
 
 came out of her door. 
 
 le'rlT- "'* ^'"'"^ '°' ^'^^'• 
 feCa/.ite«^,,s,tnotso?"saidshe. 
 
 146 
 
Two Old Soldiers 
 
 " You are right, Madame; the 
 Captain is late to-day." 
 
 " Little wonder, mon ami; he is 
 only like other men I know, who 
 think the joys of Paradise are 
 concealed behind a widow's veil. 
 If you would find your friend you 
 must look for him at the feet of 
 Madame La Jeune." 
 
 Lieutenant Constant, without a 
 word in reply, strode across the 
 bridge. 
 
 Sacrebleu! So his friend had be- 
 come a victim to the widow's 
 wiles, and his life was to be 
 wrecked to afford her an idle holi- 
 day. The old man stamped his 
 stick with passion upon the frozen 
 ground. " But it shall not be," 
 added he to himself. 
 
 The following morning the 
 Lieutenant, arrayed in his semi- 
 military dress, his mustachios hav- 
 H7 
 
 ■^fi 
 
fcifaB 
 
 
 •ng a fiercer curl than usual 
 crossed the bridge, and walked 
 
 ''ir"V?;'!f''°"'''°f 'he widow. 
 
 Ah ! Madame," said he, as the 
 
 widow admitted him, "I have 
 
 come to you for sympathy and a 
 
 The widow beamed upon him. 
 Were was another conquest 
 another tribute to her chL;! 
 
 " Yo,,''" ■^°:^°' "'•= Captain. 
 You are right in coming to me 
 
 J"7~ It is I who know 
 what .t .s to be lonesome, and can 
 
 sympathize with you." 
 
 She brought out the decanter 
 of wme, and the Lieutenant pro- 
 
 Ah he was so droll with his camp 
 ^ones ,ith their naughty flavor 
 The w.dow was in tears of laugh- 
 Here there was a rap at the 
 
 148 
 
Two Old Soldiers 
 
 door. The widow admitted Cap- 
 tain Le Garde. 
 
 " Ho ! comrade, it is you?" said 
 the Lieutenant. " I am glad to 
 see you. Madame and I were 
 having a laugh together over old 
 times." And without giving any 
 further heed to the Captain he 
 continued his attentions to the 
 widow. He acted his part well. 
 The widow was flattered; she had 
 no eyes or ears for the Captain, 
 who mostly sat silent and morose 
 until his departure. 
 
 The Lieutenant came again; so 
 did the Captain; but the former 
 was all ardor, and the Captain 
 furious. He sat and glared at 
 both the widow and the Lieuten- 
 ant; then he rose to take his leave. 
 At the door the widow said to 
 him, " You will come again? " 
 
 149 
 
rii 
 
 Two Old Soldiers 
 
 1^!:,; 
 
 {( 
 
 Never," thundered the Cap- 
 tain, as he rushed away. 
 
 " Oh ! fie, fie ! " said the widow, 
 as she closed the door, " how jeal- 
 ous you men are of one another." 
 The Lieutenant could not re- 
 press a chuckle, and he, too, de- 
 parted to return no more, but this 
 he did not say to the widow. He 
 quite forgot, however, the Cap- 
 tain's anger toward himself. But 
 as days went by and the Captain 
 came not to the bridge, the truth 
 dawned upon the Lieutenant. 
 "He will get over it," said he to 
 himself; but the winter days were 
 gray and dreary now without his 
 comrade, and from very worry he 
 took to his bed and sent for Ma- 
 dame Magloire to care for him. 
 
 So long as the Captain's rage 
 lasted his daily walks were in the 
 direction away from the bridge, 
 ISO 
 
Two Old Soldiers 
 
 but he soon grew tired of nursing 
 his anger, and sighed for a return 
 to the friendship in which he had 
 been so happy. He went to the 
 bridge daily now, his old heart 
 yearning for a reconciliation, but 
 the Lieutenant came not. " He 
 is still stiff," thought the Captain, 
 " but he will come round yet." 
 
 And so the eve of Christmas 
 came. Terre Blanche was aglow 
 with lights and excitement pre- 
 ceding the midnight mass, that 
 joyous event which, in a French 
 village, transcends all others in 
 the hearts of the people. The 
 church blazed amid the brilliant 
 decorations. As the Captain en- 
 tered the sacred edifice the beauti- 
 ful Christmas motto, " Gloire d 
 Dieii, paix aux hommes de bonne 
 volonte," stared him in the face. 
 Its potent meaning never seemed 
 
hi. ■ 
 
 I 
 
 
 11 
 
 III 
 
 t 
 
 Two Old Soldiers 
 
 so dear to him. He glanced in the 
 direction of the Lieutenant's seat. 
 It was vacant. The mass went on, 
 but the Captain's mind was with 
 his old comrade. He could scarce 
 contain his anxiety until the first 
 mass was finished and the bene- 
 diction pronounced. Then he 
 left the church. 
 
 The stars, and an aurora that 
 spanned the heavens, lighted his 
 road to the house of the English- 
 man. A faint voice answered his 
 rap by saying: " Enter, comrade, 
 and ' Glory to God and peace on 
 earth to men of good will.' " 
 
 As the Captain stepped into the 
 room, the Lieutenant, haggard- 
 looking, but with a smile of sweet- 
 ness upon his rugged old face, sat 
 bolt upright in his bed. "Ah! 
 comrade," said he, " I knew thou 
 wouldst come this night that I 
 152 
 
liers 
 
 meed in the 
 nant's seat. 
 iss went on, 
 d was with 
 ould scarce 
 til the first 
 the bene- 
 Then he 
 
 urora that 
 lighted his 
 e English- 
 swered his 
 , comrade, 
 I peace on 
 ill/ " 
 :d into the 
 haggard- 
 ; of sweet- 
 i face, sat 
 i. "Ah! 
 new thou 
 It that I 
 
 Two Old Soldiers 
 
 might tell thee that what I did 
 was to save thee pain and suffer- 
 ing from a woman's hands; but it 
 has been lonely waiting, comrade. 
 I feared to send for thee lest thou 
 wouldst not understand. We 
 shall be friends as before? " and he 
 looked wistfully at the Captain. 
 
 The latter for answer stooped 
 over and kissed the Lieutenant on 
 both cheeks, and the silence of a 
 great joy fell upon the two old 
 men that Christmas morn. 
 
 153 
 
i ! I 
 
 II I 
 
Love Transferred 
 
l.^immH 
 
 V> I 
 
 It - »1 
 
love Transferred 
 
 T RMA sat on the little gallery of 
 •*■ the house just outside the 
 doer. The last bell, preceding 
 the commencement of the mass, 
 had ceased ringing, and the late 
 stragglers had all hurried by. She 
 was quite alone now except for the 
 bobolink that hung in the cage 
 under the eaves above her head. 
 It was full of love-song this beau- 
 tiful morning, and answering song 
 came from the fields across the 
 road that were still yellow with 
 marsh-marigolds. The joyous- 
 ness of budding summer lay upon 
 all t* >ind in a soft, sensuous haze 
 and v\ elusive fragrance of flowers 
 •' ; • ^?aves and all green things. 
 157 
 
Ill '" 
 
 
 Ml 
 
 
 
 iii 
 
 iI^^Hb, 
 
 Love Transferred 
 
 To the girl sitting on the 
 porch, violently rocking back- 
 ward and forward and chewing 
 gum, with a heavy frown upon her 
 face, the idyllic morn and scene 
 was but an insult to her unrest and 
 discontent. She was not at mass 
 because her banns with Gaudiose 
 Noreau were to be called for the 
 third and last time, and the wed- 
 ding would follow on Wednesday. 
 It was simply hateful, thought the 
 girl, that she should be hurried 
 into marriage with Gaudiose just 
 as Phillipe Chalon, her old lover, 
 had returned from the States with 
 every desire apparently to resume 
 the relationship of former days. 
 She contrasted the plodding back- 
 woods Gaudiose, in his homespun 
 suit and bottes sauvage, with the 
 dashing Phillipe in the glory of 
 store-clothes, a castor, patent- 
 158 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 leather shoes, a massive gold 
 watch-chain, and that impress- 
 ment of the man who had seen the 
 world, and it made her feel like- 
 like doing something desperate, 
 she hardly knew what. Her life 
 now was to be a blank in a back 
 parish, whereas with Phillipe she 
 would take her position in Terre 
 Blanche as the social ecual of the 
 wives of the notary, the advocate, 
 and the mill-owner. 
 
 Backward and forward she 
 rocked more violently than be- 
 fore, and her jaws were working 
 like a trip-hammer on the piece of 
 pm, but htr eyes were staring 
 into vacancy. She did not even 
 hear approaching footsteps, but a 
 well-known voice almost at her 
 side brought her to earth again 
 with a start, and a flushed look of 
 joy in her face : 
 
 159 
 
1 
 
 ■1 
 
 %^^HB|B; 
 
 
 
 
 iHiK' ' 
 
 
 L^^^H^I 
 
 
 ."^^^■IHi 
 
 
 'm^MMl ■ 
 
 
 !;^^^IHf 
 
 
 if^HI 
 
 
 ■|| 
 
 
 i^llf 
 
 
 ! !!i 
 
 Love 1 ransferred 
 
 "Ah! Mamsclle, looking n.oie 
 charming than ever," and Phillipe 
 gave a graceful flourish of his hat. 
 Irma gave her head a little toss 
 as she answered, " You are late in 
 finding if out, M'sieu' Chalon." 
 
 " Not so, Mamselle; only in 
 making it known. But that -s 
 where that fellow Gaudiose has 
 the advantage of me; he is clev- 
 erer, as you know." 
 
 " And better, perhaps? " added 
 Irma, somewhat defiantly. 
 
 " Without doubt, Mamsell* 
 but goodness and >ttes sauva^. 
 go together; and how could it be 
 otherwise, — ont has r loi e time to 
 think and pray in the backwoods," 
 said Phillipe, with a malicious 
 laugh, as he made a place for i m- 
 self on the gallery at the g I's 
 feet. 
 
 The girl winced at this coarse 
 i6o 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 home thrust, but she only replied 
 by saying, " How is it, Phillipe, 
 that you are not at mass this 
 morning? " 
 
 " For the same reason, Irma, 
 that you are not there, — a. certain 
 announcement that I do not care 
 to hear until it comes from your 
 own lips, replied PhxHipe; then 
 rising, he suddenly seize the girl 
 by both hands, saying, " Is it 
 still too late, Irma, to tuui a pr'r 
 of bottes sauvage away from Te. 
 Blanche? " and he fixed the girl 
 with a pair of ardent eyes. 
 
 She made no attempt to disen- 
 gage her hands. Phillipe's firm 
 grasp of them lent her the 
 strength to answer: "I don't 
 kno^-, Phillipe; it might depend 
 upon the pair of shoes that took 
 their place, and what their owner 
 meant." 
 
 i6x 
 
il 
 
 Love Transferred 
 
 Phillipe lowered his face to the 
 girl's until she could feel his hot 
 breath on her cheek. " He 
 means," said he, "that he will 
 marry you if you will turn that fel- 
 low Gaudiose away when he 
 comes to-day." 
 
 The girl seemed to consider for 
 a moment before she replied : " Fll 
 do it, Phillipe, for I've hated him 
 ever since you came back." 
 
 " No wonder, ma cherie,' said 
 Phillipe, as he kissed the girl's 
 burning cheek; "he is only a 
 habitant;' and Phillipe tried to 
 look the superiority that he felt at 
 heart over the unfortunate Gau- 
 diose. " Now I must be off be- 
 fore the church people come 
 along, but I'll be back to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 The girl watched him down 
 the road with admiring eyes. 
 162 
 
 ml'i.^. 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 " Saints ! " said she to herself, '* he 
 is so gentil." 
 
 When old Beaulieu, Irma's 
 father, had divested himself of his 
 mass-going coat and collar and 
 sat himself down for a quiet smoke 
 while the girl was preparing the 
 midday meal, she stopped in the 
 midst of her work, and addressing 
 him, said : 
 
 " Were the banns called in the 
 church this morning? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well, it's a pity! Phillipe 
 Chalon has asked me to marry 
 him, and I have given * yes ' for 
 an answer." 
 
 The old man gave the re- 
 semblance of a whistle through 
 his toothless gums. "You've 
 changed your mind somewhat 
 late," said he. 
 
 "I have never changed my 
 163 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 mind," replied the girl. " I have 
 always said I would marry Phil- 
 lipeifheaskedme." 
 
 As old Beaulieu's interest in the 
 rival claimants for the hand of his 
 daughter lay in their ability to 
 provide him a home, he himself 
 looked with the most favor upon 
 Phillipe, so he contented himself 
 by simply remarking, " You must 
 arrange this thing yourself." 
 
 " I am quite certain not to call 
 upon you," said the girl, with an 
 emphasis upon the " you " that 
 left no doubt as to her meaning. 
 
 164 
 
 Mr 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 II 
 
 Gaudiose Noreau, in blissful 
 unconsciousness of what changes 
 fate had in store for him, and with 
 his mind filled with Irma and mar- 
 riage, had spent the pleasant 
 morning in a satisfactory looking- 
 oyer his worldly possessions. 
 Montagne d'Erable, on which 
 Gaudiose lived, bears an unenvia- 
 ble name among the people who 
 dwell in the rich valley at its foot. 
 It is true that the outcrop of rock 
 IS always more in evidence than 
 the incrop of grain or hay, but the 
 cut of cordwood in winter made 
 good to some extent the other 
 shortages, and as happiness is not 
 to be measured by mere wealth, 
 but by the contentment with one's 
 165 
 

 
 ji^ ove Transfe rred 
 
 lot, the inhabitants of Montague 
 c Erable had no occasion for en- 
 vying their lowland neighbors. 
 Gaudiose was delightedly content 
 with his survey of his holdings. 
 His little house of squared logs 
 had recently received a fresh coat 
 of whitewash from chimney-top to 
 foundation, and shone very bright 
 under the June sun. The nastur- 
 tiums, in the lattice-inclosed beds 
 alongside of the house, were well 
 up, and would soon require train- 
 ing, but that would be Irma's 
 work. If, as yet, there were few 
 other plants planted in the little 
 garden, there was a fine showing 
 for a good return of carrots, 
 onions, parsley, millet, lettuce, 
 radishes, that are in such good de- 
 mand upon the open market in 
 Quebec on the Saturday; for since 
 he had purchased another cow he 
 
 1 66 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 would have to go to the market 
 
 to sell his butter and the eggs from 
 the hens. In winter, now, he 
 could draw cordwood while Irma 
 looked after the stock. There 
 was no danger; she would find 
 Montagne d'Erable a pleasant 
 place to live in. 
 
 After an early and frugal meal 
 Gaudiose made immediate prep- 
 arations for his long drive to Terre 
 Blanche. Several mysterious and 
 Huffy-looking parcels were packed 
 away in the rear of the two-wheel 
 sprmg cart, then followed a large 
 bandbox, which he handled as 
 carefully as though it contained 
 eggs. The horse was harnessed 
 to the cart, and then allowed to 
 graze by the house while Gaudi- 
 ose put the last finishing touches 
 to his toiltt, coming out of the 
 house a few moments later with 
 167 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 such a shine upon his freshly 
 shaven face that it might have 
 been mistaken for the glow of 
 satisfaction that lay at his heart. 
 
 Irma was alone in the house 
 when he arrived, and his reception 
 by her would have at once aroused 
 the suspicion of a less obtuse man 
 than Gaudiose that there was 
 something wrong, but in the in- 
 nocent simplicity of his heart, and 
 with a smirk of much contentment 
 upon his face, he produced the 
 parcels and the bandbox, exclaim- 
 ing, " There, Irma, is your mar- 
 riage outfit. Bon Dieii, but it 
 gave me much trouble to select 
 It! It is fine, though; not such 
 another has ever come to Mon- 
 tagne d'Erable." 
 
 She seized the box somewhat 
 rudely from him, and opening it, 
 extracted from its depths a hat 
 i68 
 
Love Transfe rred 
 
 which she held up in her hand at 
 arm's length, and twirling it about 
 with an affectation of scorn and 
 contempt, thus delivered herself: 
 " And this is what you call a hat, 
 M'sieu' Gaudiose,— a thing not fit 
 to cover a cabbage-head! Do 
 you intend to set me up in one of 
 your fields as a scarecrow? Dieu 
 defend that I should ever sit at the 
 altar-rail with such an affair on mv 
 head ! " ^ 
 
 Poor Gaudiose was stunned. 
 He had gi/en almost a day of 
 anxious thought and worry in de- 
 ciding upon this hat among the 
 many gorgeous creations that had 
 been submitted to him by the 
 shopkeepers in St. Rochs, and he 
 had laid unction at his heart that 
 his final selection contained more 
 various colors in it than any other 
 he had seen, and was most chic. 
 169 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 " Why, Irma," he managed to 
 stanmer out, " the young ladies 
 in the shop told me it was most 
 beautiful ! " 
 
 "Did they, indeed, and you 
 were just fool enough to believe 
 it? Did they also tell you that I 
 would look most charming in this 
 old bed-gown 5^ou are pleased to 
 call a dress? And these shoes," 
 holding up a pair of rather clumsy- 
 looking articles of footwear, " did 
 you buy me these to help you 
 plow with ? Bah ! a man who has 
 no more sense than you have don't 
 deserve a wife." 
 
 " Why, Irma, how can you say 
 such things?" repHed Gaudiose, 
 somewhat feebly. 
 
 "Say such things?" said the 
 
 girl, in a high-pitched voice, for 
 
 she had now wrought herself up 
 
 to a rage. " Well, M'sieu' Gau- 
 
 170 
 
Love Transfer red 
 
 diose, I've more to say ! You can 
 bundle yourself and your outfit 
 away from here as fast as you 
 please, for marry you I won't, and 
 there's an end of it ! " 
 
 Gaudiose stood silent and ir- 
 resolute as though doubting his 
 sense of hearing. 
 
 "Why don't you go?" said 
 Irma, impatiently stamping her 
 foot. "I mean every word I 
 say." 
 
 "But the banns have been 
 called for the last time," replied 
 Gaudiose, not knowing what else 
 to say for the moment. 
 
 "Thank heaven it's nothing 
 worse!" the girl answered 
 Now go," and she pointed to 
 the door. 
 
 Gaudiose in silence gathered up 
 the scattered wardrobe. At the 
 door he turned and would have 
 171 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 spoken, but the girl anticipated 
 him, and with finder still pointing 
 at the door, she again said, " Now 
 go!" 
 
 Gaudiose, with a dull sense of 
 disappointment and shame at 
 having been thus unceremoni- 
 ously dismissed, bundled the 
 wardrobe into his cart, and 
 mounting to the seat, gave his 
 horse a crack of the whip and 
 rattled across the bridge and past 
 the toll at such a rate that Ma- 
 dame Sylvain only reached the 
 open door in time to see the cart 
 going up the long hill; but she 
 noticed the bandbox, as she had 
 noted it an hour before going the 
 other way. 
 
 "I wonder," thought she to 
 herself, "if Gaudiose is eating 
 oats?" which is our Canadian 
 way of expressing being crossed 
 in matters of love. 
 
 TTa 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 III 
 
 " Liza," said Madame Aigral to 
 her good-looking daughter/' you 
 will set the table again to-day at 
 the roadside." 
 
 " But, mama, no one stopped to 
 buy last Sunday, and it is discour- 
 aging." 
 
 " Nevertheless, Liza, you will 
 try again; to-day it will be differ- 
 ent, and the croqiiignoles are 
 growing stale. Then, how are 
 we going to pay for those cigars 
 and tobacco if we do not sell 
 any? " 
 
 " Mama, I will go to Quebec to 
 service." 
 
 " Liza, never let me hear you 
 say that again. No Aigral ever 
 did such a thing." 
 
 173 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 " But we must live," persisted 
 the girl. 
 
 " The bon Dieu will protect us," 
 answered Madame Aigral, with 
 simple faith in the all-providing 
 care of the Deity that admitted of 
 no further argument. 
 
 The little table accordingly was 
 placed under the n; .de of the big 
 willow, and ir5,\iti sgiy decked with 
 the wares likely l ;) tempt the cas- 
 ual passer-by — a dish of croquig- 
 noles, a half-dozen doubtful cigars 
 in a tumbler, some small packages 
 of tobacco, a dozen sticks of pep- 
 permint candy in another tumbler, 
 and several bottles of Madame 
 Aigral's home-made spruce beer. 
 The girl brought out her rocker 
 and placed it so that she could 
 command the road and at the 
 same time hold eas> conversation 
 
 174 
 
 lii: ii' 
 
j^ve Transferr ed 
 
 with her mother through the near- 
 est open window. 
 
 The road from Terre Blanche to 
 Monta^ne d'Erable is never a 
 much traveled one, but it was 
 more than usually deserted this 
 pleasant Sunday afternoon. Hope 
 at first ruled strong in the heart of 
 the girl, for Prudent Tranquille, 
 passmg early, had stopped to pur- 
 chase a cigar and a cooling drink 
 of Madame's spruce beer, while 
 exchanging compliments with the 
 daughter; but as after his depart- 
 ure several hours went by with 
 no further sale to record, Liza's 
 hope gave place to despair. 
 Besides, some ominous-looking 
 clouds rolling up from the east 
 foretold a coming shower ere 
 long. 
 
 " I tell you, mama, it is no use," 
 
 '75 
 
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 j^s 1653 East Main Street 
 ^^li Rochester, NY 14609 USA 
 "" Phone: 716/482-0300 
 .^=r.S= Fax: 716/288-5989 
 
 1993, Applied Image, 'nc., All Rights Reserved 
 
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Love Transferred 
 
 «*■ 
 
 said the girl through the open 
 window. 
 
 " Patience, my child; who 
 knows what may happen yet? " 
 
 " It is always patience, patience, 
 with you, mama, until Fve no 
 more patience left," and Liza's 
 tones indicated the truth of the 
 latter part of her statement. 
 
 Was it the simple faith of Ma- 
 dame Aigral, or simply fate, 
 that within a few minutes after 
 the above conversation between 
 mother and daughter, Gaudiose 
 Noreau stopped, and jumping 
 from his cart, said somewhat ab- 
 ruptly to the girl, " Come, Liza, 
 tie up those croquignoles for me; 
 give me two or three cigars and a 
 glass of beer " ? 
 
 " You seem to be in something 
 of a hurry to-day, M'sieu* Gaudi- 
 ose, and much earlier than usual in 
 176 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 returning from Terre Blanche; 
 but I suppose you were afraid of 
 getting the bandbox wet." 
 
 "Hang the bandbox, Liza! 
 Tm never going to Terre Blanche 
 again!" blurted out poor Gau- 
 diose. 
 
 "What? "said Liza; but some 
 big drops of rain just then led her 
 to hastily add, " Help me carry 
 the table into the house, Gaudiose, 
 and then bring the bandbox and 
 parcels out of the wet." 
 
 When the house had been se- 
 curely shut against the storm, 
 Liza turned to Gaudiose, who was 
 silently pulling away at his cigar 
 in a comer, and said : 
 
 " So you are not going again to 
 Terre Blanche?" 
 
 " No, never," replied Gaudiose 
 in the voice of a martyr. " IVe 
 been invited to stay away. My 
 X77 
 
m 
 
 Love Transferred 
 
 outfit was not fit to dress a scare- 
 crow with. Madame Aigral, I 
 call upon you and Liza to judge 
 whether such is the case," added 
 he, in a passion, getting up and 
 opening the bandbox and lifting 
 out the much-despised hat. 
 
 Both women uttered a de- 
 lighted " How beautiful ! " 
 
 " Liza, you will put it on," said 
 Gaudiose. 
 
 And Liza, nothing loath, stood 
 before the little looking-glass and 
 arranged it in the most becoming 
 manner. When she turned a 
 laughing face to her mother and 
 Gaudiose, they were both filled 
 with admiration. 
 
 " Hein ! " exclaimed Gaudiose, 
 exultingly, " does Liza look like a 
 scarecrow, Madame?" 
 
 " She looks like an angel," re- 
 plied Madame. 
 
 178 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 " Ah ! Madame, you could bet- 
 ter judge if Liza would also put on 
 the dress and cape," said the now 
 proud Gaudiose. 
 
 *' You hear what Gaudisoe says, 
 LJ^a; you will pat on the dress 
 and cape." 
 
 When the girl returned to the 
 room a few moments later, attired 
 in the finery intended for another, 
 she herself was pleased with her 
 own appearance, and the height- 
 ened color and the sparkle in her 
 black eyes lent an added charm to 
 the ensemble. 
 
 Gaudiose was in an ecstasy of 
 delight, and readily assented to 
 Madame's invitation that he 
 should take tea with them. He 
 lighted his pipe now, and follov^ed 
 every movement of the girl with 
 devouring eyes, as she glided 
 
 >79 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 about the room getting ready the 
 meal. 
 
 When Madame, about nine, re- 
 tired for her devotions, Gaudiose 
 seated himself on the " settle " be- 
 side Liza. 
 
 "So you like the outfit?" 
 said he. 
 
 " I think it's lovely," answered 
 Liza, honestly. 
 
 "And it is so becoming to 
 you," said Gaudiose, edging 
 closer to the girl. " Say, Liza, 
 will you take the outfit and me 
 with it?" 
 
 " But, Gaudiose, you are eating 
 oats." 
 
 "Well, Vm not going to eat 
 them any longer if you'U say * yes.' 
 I've been a fool, Liza, but I am 
 not an animal." 
 
 " Mama," called the girl, "Gau- 
 doise asks me if I will take the 
 
 i8q 
 
Love Transferred 
 
 outfit and him with it. What 
 shall I say? " 
 
 " What will you say? " queried 
 Madame, appearing at the room 
 door, rosary in hand. " Why," 
 with great decision, "you will 
 say 'yes,' and not disturb me 
 again at my prayers." 
 
 Some few weeks later, by one 
 of those strange coincidences, two 
 wedding parties met on the road. 
 Madame Chalon (nee Irma Beau- 
 lieu) was resplendent in silks and 
 feathers; but as Gaudiose turned 
 to his wife beside him, a great 
 wave of pride and contentment 
 swept over him. She certainly 
 looked very handsome in the 
 " outfit." 
 
 i8i 
 
U i 
 
The Apotheosis of Paddy 
 Larrisey 
 
mm 
 
 ii 
 
The Apotheosis of Paddy 
 Larrisey 
 
 ■p ROM whatever point of view 
 -■- you regarded it, our parish 
 was a flat contradiction of all the 
 laws which are supposed to reg- 
 ulate the coming into being of a 
 community whose only means of 
 subsistence was from the land. 
 The elements physical and human 
 were rugged and austere, with 
 little to lighten the gloom of the 
 fierce contest between them for 
 supremacy. 
 
 A noisy, rapid-tossed river 
 made possible a narrow valley in- 
 closed with granite-ribbed moun- 
 tains. A road followed the tortu- 
 ous river windings, and the farms 
 185 
 
Apotheosis of Paddy Larrisev 
 
 ran up the mountain-sides in 
 three-acre strips, as was the cus- 
 tom of the country. As the val- 
 ley became populated, settlement 
 pushed over and along the tops of 
 the mountains—wherever a foot- 
 hold could be obtained. A worthy 
 Scotchman was the founder of our 
 parish, the government having 
 conceded him a vast tract of wild 
 lands in the rear of the old French 
 parishes in the rich and fertile val- 
 ley of the St. Lawrence River, and 
 north of the city of Quebec. He 
 had peopled it with all conditions 
 and races of men, with the famines 
 of the Old Worid behind them, 
 and the land hunger of the New 
 Worid in their hearts. Few of the 
 settlers had been bred farmers, but 
 were of many trades and occupa- 
 tions. Cast upon the wharves of 
 Quebec with no capital other than 
 
 i86 
 
^addy Larriscy I Apotheosis of Paddy Larrisey 
 
 untain-sides in 
 IS was the cus- 
 V' As the val- 
 ted, settlement 
 ong the tops of 
 herever a foot- 
 ned. A worthy 
 founder of our 
 nment having 
 5t tract of wild 
 the old French 
 and fertile val- 
 nce River, and 
 Quebec. He 
 all conditions 
 th the famines 
 behind them, 
 r of the New 
 5. Few of the 
 i farmers, but 
 and occupa- 
 le wharves of 
 al other than 
 
 sturdy arms and a numerous pro- 
 geny, the offer of land for almost 
 the taking was not to be resisted, 
 and once in possession nothing 
 could root them from it. Yet, 
 every acre had to be reclaimed 
 from dense forest, and gaunt hun- 
 ger would have stalked in their 
 midst before the settlers obtained 
 a sufficiency from the soil to sup- 
 ply their wants, had not fish and 
 game been abundant. 
 
 Spring came late, summer 
 was short, and autumn merged 
 quickly into the long winter of 
 fierce cold and deep snows. We 
 were forced to adopt some of the 
 customs of our French neighbors, 
 and our rude houses of logs, with 
 few windows, kept out the win- 
 ter's blasts, while the great ob- 
 long three-decker stove kept 
 us warm. We dressed summer 
 187 
 
Apotheosis of Paddy Larrisey 
 
 and winter in the itoife du pays, 
 and we soon adopted the long beef 
 moccasins for our feet. In all 
 other respects, however, we clung 
 tenaciously to the customs of our 
 respective countries. We were as 
 Scotch as a Highland glen, as 
 Irish as Killamey, or as English as 
 Yorkshire, and the dividing lines 
 were but a line fence or a piece of 
 bush. National prejudices and 
 rancor were strongly implanted in 
 us, and we made active contention 
 to keep alive our ancient customs 
 and to assert our dislikes. The 
 dependency upon one another's 
 good services in time of need or 
 trouble might temporarily estab- 
 lish a truce to our hostilities in 
 order that we might make cause 
 against the common enemy, 
 want and nature, but peace was 
 never proclaimed. 
 i88 
 
Apotheosi s of Paddy Lar risev 
 
 When Moriarty fell sick at the 
 potato planting it was Bbck Gor- 
 don and his boys who put his crop 
 in for him, and shortly upon his 
 recovery gave him a beating at the 
 end of a dispute over a line drain. 
 Moriarty retaliated by pulling 
 Gordon out of the river that win- 
 ter amid the floating ice, to the 
 imminent peril of his own life, and 
 Gordon felt no coals of fire heaped 
 upon his head. 
 
 When the entire parish took 
 sides, and matters began to as- 
 sume a critical aspect, the three 
 clerical gentlemen who presided 
 over the spiritual aflfairs of the 
 people would suspend their own 
 religious differences for the mo- 
 ment to preach a gospel of tolera- 
 tion and good will among men; 
 this was most edifying to listen to' 
 but somehow failed of its purpose 
 189 
 
ii 
 
 I >l 
 
 
 1 1 
 
 'i*iiiil 
 
 ii I 
 
 Apotheosis of Paddy Larrisey 
 
 in the crisis of a municipal election 
 or a school-board meeting — for 
 the same reasons perhaps that old 
 McAnney failed to establish 
 " pace " at such gatherings. He 
 would skirmish upon the outer 
 edge of the crowd with pockets 
 well filled with stones, one of 
 which he would let fly with telling 
 effect whenever unobserved. The 
 row then breaking out afresh, old 
 McAnney would force his way 
 into the thickest of the fray, call- 
 ing out in indignant tones : "Pace, 
 boys ! pace ! Remember wat the 
 clergy do be after tellin' us." 
 
 Removals from our parish in 
 those early days were rare. The 
 pride of possession, and the at- 
 tachment to the homes hallowed 
 by the creation of our own hands 
 and the sweat of brow, had set our 
 roots firmly into the granite of the 
 190 
 
 iw 
 
idy Larrisey I Apotheosis of PaddTHi^ 
 
 mountains, and we were not to be 
 stirred except by the one great 
 leveler-Death. It was a sur- 
 prise, therefore, when Sergeant 
 Robin Maxwell, late of her Majes- 
 ty's 78th, announced to his neigh- 
 bor, Sandy McAlmon, as the two 
 toil-stained men stood leaning 
 wearily over the fence that divided 
 their land late in the day of a 
 September plowing, that he was 
 a-wearyin' wi' the struggle, and 
 gin he could find a purchaser for 
 the Ian' he would 'een be a flittin'. 
 ^^ "Dods, mon," continued he, 
 " a life o' sojerin' a'm thinkin' no 
 fits a mon for farmin'. The soun' 
 o' the pipes and the clank o' sword 
 an' rifle are mair to ma taste than 
 fechtin' wi' stumps an' wrastlin' 
 wi'ploo. A claymore, Sandy, is 
 handier in ma hand than ma ax." 
 Sandy was speechless for a time, 
 191 
 
Apotheosis of Paddy Larrisey 
 
 regarding his neighbor as a man 
 who had suddenly taken leave of 
 hib senses, and then he answered 
 cautiously : 
 
 " A'm no sayin' your no richt, 
 Robin, but it's a bonnie farm, an' 
 it's a' your ain, an' you'r' your ain 
 maister." 
 
 " Ma ain maister," contemptu- 
 ously replied Robin. "A'm a 
 slave, an' a'm driven nair to death 
 in chains of ma ain forgin'. A'm 
 gangin' to Quebec, Sandy, to en- 
 list the noo." 
 
 The lurid flame of late sunset 
 hung upon the mountain-top, 
 deep shadows crept into the little 
 valley, while the mists from the 
 new plowed fields lay close to the 
 ground, ere the two men sepa- 
 rated, but Robin's determination 
 remained unshaken. 
 
 A few evenings later he jogged 
 192 
 
y Larrisey I Apotheosis of Paddy Larriscy 
 
 slowly homeward from Quebec m 
 a beatific condition of mind and 
 body, which proceeded from two 
 causes: a Queen's shilling lay 
 buried in his pocket, and a little 
 brown jug was ensconced in a 
 position of safety and readiness 
 between his feet in the front of the 
 cart. When he overtook Paddy 
 Larrisey trudging along some- 
 what unsteadily under the double 
 burden of over-indulgence and a 
 sack of flour, he invited Paddy to 
 a seat beside him. 
 
 The drive is a long one, the 
 roads were rough, and the night 
 grew dark and cold. At the turn of 
 the road at Lee's corners a steep 
 unfenced hillside made a close 
 turn a necessity. Robin had just 
 handed the reins to Paddy, and 
 the jug was being uplifted to his 
 mouth, when old Bess, with a per- 
 193 
 
t H 
 
 U 'K 
 
 ^^ 
 
 m 
 
 \ i 
 
 
 1 m 
 
 ^■|l_ 
 
 juiii 
 
 } ; 
 
 
 mn 
 
 bl! 
 
 Apotheosis of Paddy Larris ey 
 
 versity born of all her sex liber- 
 ately went over the declivity, and 
 men, cart, and horse rolled to the 
 bottom in a confused heap. 
 
 It was Robin who first found 
 voice. " Paddy," exclaimed he, 
 faintly, " a'm 'een maist deid, but 
 a keepit ma thumb i' the mooth o' 
 the jug, an* if you'll cam to me, 
 Paddy, and pull me frae the cairt, 
 a'm thinkin' anither wee soop wod 
 restore me." 
 
 " Holy saints! " answered Pad- 
 dy. "ShtTe the top of the 
 worrold's upon me, and the divil 
 is pullin' at me extremities; if the 
 angels of hiven can't get a lever 
 to pry me out of his clutches, I'm 
 afeared, Robin, man, it's 'deid' 
 you'll be for want of a drap afore 
 I'm able to hilp you." There was 
 a confused sound of struggle here, 
 and deep groans from Paddy, as 
 194 
 
addy Larrisey I A^o^h^o^^ 
 
 old Bess, who had been lying atop 
 of the Irishman, scrambled to her 
 feet, and released from the cart, 
 contentedly commenced to graze! 
 " Shure me heart's dishplaced 
 and me bowels is crushed by the 
 dirthy baste," growled Paddy. 
 " Robin, man, have you got your 
 thumb in the nick of that jimmie- 
 john yit? for be gobs it's only me 
 mouth around that same nick 
 that'll convinche me that me 
 own's sthill on me shoulders." 
 
 " Ay, Faddy," responded Rob- 
 in, " but I'll no tak ma thumb oot 
 ontil 'am loosed frae the cairt. 
 Ma heed's a'tween the spokes o' 
 ane wheel, an' ma two feet are 
 tangled i' the ither. It's i' the 
 stocks I am, like the covenanters 
 o' old, but a'm thinkin' nane o' 
 them e'er haud a jug o' whuskey 
 at his thumb aind. It's a mercifu' 
 195 
 

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 Hi 
 
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 ■■< S'^ 
 
 ■ 
 
 ; 
 
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 1 
 
 I.. ' 
 
 A potheosis of Pa ddvJ^msey 
 
 deespensation o' Providence, Pad- 
 dy, and as the Bible says—" 
 
 " Shure av ye's goin' to be dish- 
 putin* religion with me, it's divil 
 the sthip I'll take to help you from 
 your commernantin' position. 
 It's sthrange to me ears wat your 
 Bible says, out I know full well 
 wat Father O'Brien will say to me 
 for this night's doin's." 
 
 Robin extricated at last, the 
 two worthies sat them down in the 
 dewy grass amid the wreckage, 
 and, after a prolonged gurgling 
 observation of the stars through 
 the little jug, proceeded to make 
 a night of it. The mellowing in- 
 fluences of the common misfor- 
 tune and that of the httle jug 
 established a bond of amity be- 
 tween the two, which soon led to 
 mutual confidences; but it was 
 Paddy who first voiced the 
 196 
 
 ; 'i/ 
 
troubles which were seemingly as 
 canker at his heart. 
 
 " It's tired I am wrestlin' with 
 sthumps and advershity. Whin 
 hunger's in your sthumack and 
 hate at your heart it do be sore 
 work Faix, and its lopsided I'm 
 
 f/r" ' ^°''""' -■'h workin' o^ 
 the mountain-side, and me two 
 eyes are cruked with followin' the 
 ^oad m the dark. Shure the 
 tongue of me niver lied till I tuk 
 to chantm- the praises of me crops 
 
 sTJe rl"''..'"°'"^ ^'°"«' ^y the 
 same token. 
 
 " Hoots, mon ! why dinna you 
 cam awa' doun intil the valley? " 
 sa.d Robin, who now saw the 
 chance for a purchaser of his 
 farm. * 
 
 "Kim into the valley is it? " 
 sn-ffed Paddy. " Unless there's 
 an earthquake followed by a land- 
 
 '97 
 
1 
 
 I- 1 
 
 li 
 
 ! J 
 
 I 
 
 Apotheosis of Paddy Larris ey 
 
 slide, or I kirn into me esthates in 
 Oirland, which the rightful own- 
 ers are kapin' me out of, it's only 
 the valley I'll see from me castle 
 on the mountain." 
 
 " Weel, Paddy," responded 
 Robin, " I'm thinkin' I micht sell 
 the fairm gin I could fin' the richt 
 man, an' I wud gie him time to 
 pay for it." 
 
 " Troth, if toime will pay for the 
 farm, Robin dear, I'm your man, 
 so give us your fhist, and we'll call 
 it a bargain," gleefully answered 
 Paddy. 
 
 Robin failed to see the covert 
 qualification in Paddy's ready 
 willingness to take the farm, and 
 the bargain was struck. The two 
 men soon afterward fell asleep. 
 Thus it came to pass that Paddy 
 became the proprietor of Robin 
 Maxwell's valley farm. 
 198 
 
Robin's roupin' (auction) 
 quickly followed. TLc day after 
 the roupin' the Larriseys moved 
 down from the mountain. Biddy 
 drove one horse before a rickety 
 two-wheel cart, upon which was 
 loaded the "childer," a diminutive 
 pig in a crockery crate, and a 
 dozen of squakin' fowl tied to- 
 gether in pairs by the legs. Biddy 
 sat on the brace-bar of the shafts, 
 bare-headed and bare-legged. 
 Shoes and stockings were re- 
 served in those days for church- 
 going on Sundays, and then they 
 were carried under arm until a 
 close approach to the Lord's 
 sanctuary gave warning that it 
 was time to put them on. 
 
 Paddy followed Biddy in 
 
 charge of the household goods, a 
 
 load as light as the owner's heart 
 
 this eventful day: one creaky 
 
 199 
 
t* 
 
 i 
 
 Apofheosis of Paddy i^arrisey 
 
 wooden chair for Biddy's use, or 
 for guest service, wheti it always 
 received a hurried wipe from the 
 hem of Biddy's petticoat, a great 
 three-decker oblong box stove 
 to stand in the center of the 
 one living-room, a home-made 
 rough deal table, two split balsam 
 benches, the family chest, three 
 chipped and cracked " chiny " 
 plates and as many cups, a large 
 iron teakettle and a pot for boil- 
 ing the pig's and " childer's " po- 
 tatoes, several patchwork cover- 
 lets, and some paliasscs, to be 
 filled later with straw for beds. 
 
 Voung Jack trudged behind, 
 driving the cows and the six 
 months' old calf, which was pos- 
 sessed of an insane desire to bolt 
 into every bit of bush, and which 
 kept Master Jack actively em- 
 ployed 
 
 aoo 
 
Mrs. McAImo.i. from her win- 
 dow, watcher! t!ie Larriseys' de- 
 barkation ^' n a divided senti- 
 ment; pity for the ragged 
 neglected-Iooking children, and 
 wrath toward the shiftless parents. 
 Having no bairns of her own, she 
 had taken those of the entire 
 neighborhood under her wing 
 and in time they came to know 
 her as " Mammy McAImon." As 
 became a Scotch housewife, she 
 was orderly and thrifty, with little 
 patience or sympathy for those 
 endowed with less of these quali- 
 ties than she herself possessed. 
 
 When Sandy came in from the 
 chTpm' tha. .evening, and had 
 scoured himself in the basin on the 
 bench outside the door, Janet met 
 him at the threshold with a big 
 jack-towel. While he polished 
 his face to a shining finish, Janet 
 
 20X 
 
>-ik.i^iMiQi£33S 
 
 Apo theosis of Paddy Larrisey 
 
 opened the pent-up floodgates of 
 her disgust with the new neigh- 
 bors. 
 
 "Hoots, Sandy! but you be 
 queer fouk. Aboot an hour frae 
 their comin' Biddy came ben, and 
 she sat her doun, and I fair thpcht 
 she'd tak' root. I heerd some o' 
 the bairns greetin' wi' hunger, an' 
 I speered her to gang awa' to 
 them, but she just said : * Shure, 
 mum, the sand forninst the dure 
 do be fine and clean, and it's much 
 Hke Indian meal, it is. The chil- 
 der, God bless them! will soon 
 have a foine tasthe for it. Is it 
 the loan of a drawin' of tay you 
 could let me have, Mrs. McAl- 
 mon? * 
 
 " About two o'clock I pit some 
 scones intil ma pocket, an' I hied 
 me yon, an' Sandy, mon, ye'U sair 
 belie' me when I tell you what I 
 
 202 
 
Apotheosis of Paddy La rrisey 
 
 speered thro' the winner. Paddy 
 and Biddy were dancin' an Irish 
 jig to Biddy's liltin,' an' the bairns 
 were haudin' their sides wi' lauch- 
 in', and not a thing touched in all 
 a' the hoose. 
 
 Top of the day to you, mum, 
 said Paddy; ' shure Biddy and I 
 were tistin' the flure and cheerin' 
 the childer up a bit. Jack, you 
 red-headed omadhoun, rin down 
 to the fince and bring up a good 
 dhry pole to sthart a fire with, for 
 it's a cup of tay you'll be after 
 havin' with us, mum? ' 
 
 " ' Mony thanks,' said I, ' but 
 when I come to tak' tea wi' you, 
 Maister Larrisey, I'll sen' you 
 word I'm comin'.' 
 
 " * Shure you'll be heartily wil- 
 cum, mum, to the best we have in 
 the house.' " 
 
 Sandy, sparing of words, 
 203 
 
Apotheosis of Paddy Larris ey 
 
 groaned an acknowledgment of 
 all that his wife had said, and went 
 in to his supper. 
 
 Paddy soon became a thorn in 
 the side of thrifty neighbors, but 
 his unfailing Irish wit, unvarying 
 good humor, and wonderful 
 power of mimicry, pulled him 
 through many a scrape with a cer- 
 tain aplomb. The borrowing ca- 
 pacity of the whole family had no 
 apparent limit; it certainly pos- 
 sessed no modesty. There was 
 nothing they hesitated to ask for, 
 and nothing was ever returned 
 until sent for, and not always then. 
 Paddy's fences were soon de- 
 spoiled for firewood, and his horse 
 and cow roamed at will. Old 
 hats and wisps of straw replaced 
 the glasses that were broken by 
 the youngsters, and the barn door 
 hung idly on one hinge. Paddy 
 204 
 
worked in a desultory way, but his 
 luck, as he termed it, was always 
 "agin" him. His neighbors, 
 however, in discussing him, which 
 was often, told a different tale, 
 with many nidignant or laughing 
 comments, as they happened to 
 view the particular case in point. 
 In the early winter of that year 
 the smallpox raged with great vio- 
 lence in the French parishes to the 
 south of ours. We quarantined 
 against them with commendable 
 rigor, and a passing French- 
 Canadian received scant courtesy 
 at our hands. Even the Indians 
 from camps far among the moun- 
 tains were invited to move on, 
 while the dogs made noisy clamor 
 at their heels. It was no time for 
 ceremony or discrimination. 
 
 The night of the commence- 
 ment of the great snowstorm, 
 205 
 
Apotheosis of Paddy Larrisey 
 
 which is even now remembered 
 because it blocked our roads for 
 weeks and cut off all communica- 
 tion throughout the parish, ex- 
 cepting by the use of snowshoes, 
 there came a knock at Anderson's 
 door. Anderson answered it in 
 person, and there stood little Joe 
 Barras, looking like a snow-man, 
 so covered was he. 
 
 "You giv me place for stay; 
 ver' bad night, no can see road? " 
 "Not in the house, Joe; we 
 don't want no smallpox here. 
 Find a place in the straw in the 
 barn; and, Joe, there is an old 
 buffalo-robe on the battery floor 
 to throw over you "—and Ander- 
 son closed the door on the storm 
 and his unwelcome guest. 
 
 In the morning, when Ander- 
 son dug himself into the bam, 
 Joe's snowshoe track led out of it.' 
 ao6 
 
The children played there that 
 day. One of them hid unuer the 
 buflfalo-robe that little Joe had 
 used. Smallpox broke out in the 
 house within a week, and ere 
 many days threatened the extinc- 
 tion of the entire family. 
 
 No one ventured into the in- 
 fected house. The stricken ones, 
 including the mother, were de- 
 pendent upon the half-crazed 
 father for all the care they re- 
 ceived. Two of the children died 
 and it was the father who was 
 compelled to perform all the sad 
 rites for the dead. Our hearts 
 ached for him as we saw him pass 
 with the two little rough deal cof- 
 fins on the wood sleigh to the 
 silent burial; but fear steeled m 
 against exposing ourselves to the 
 loathsome disease. We pitied 
 without the tender of service. 
 207 
 

 in 
 
 li 
 
 b. 
 
 f : 
 
 i 1 
 
 Apotheosis of Paddy La rrisey 
 
 When Anderson from his door 
 next day hailed a passing neigh- 
 bor to say that he, too, was ill, we 
 were paralyzed. Even Paddy 
 Larrisey grew thoughtful, and for 
 the nonce forgot his song and 
 joke. In the evening he sat long 
 with his elbows on his knees and 
 his face buried in his hands, while 
 Biddy moved about uneasily, but 
 speechlessly, in an ecstasy of un- 
 known fear. Paddy finally rose, 
 and, without a word, put on his 
 coat and hat. 
 
 " Where do ye be a-goin' the 
 night, Paddy dear?" anxiously 
 inquired Biddy, who now found 
 voice. 
 
 " To hivin, perhaps," tersely re- 
 plied Paddy; " but do you take 
 care of the childer, Biddy, and 
 God bless yis all." And Paddy 
 disappeared into the night. 
 208 
 
ddy Larrisey I Apotheosis of Paddy Larrisey 
 
 Tom his door 
 passing neigh- 
 too, was ill, we 
 Even Paddy 
 ghtful, and for 
 his song and 
 tig he sat long 
 his knees and 
 s hands, while 
 : uneasily, but 
 ecstasy of un- 
 Y finally rose, 
 d, put on his 
 
 e a-goin* the 
 ?" anxiously 
 now found 
 
 s," tersely re- 
 do you take 
 Biddy, and 
 And Paddy 
 night. 
 
 " Oh, Paddy ! " wailed his wife 
 after him, "come back, come 
 back ! " But there was no reply. 
 As she stood straining her eyes 
 into the darkness, there was a sud- 
 den stream of light from the An- 
 derson house, and all was dark 
 again. Her worst fears for Pad- 
 dy were confirmed, and she 
 uttered a loud cry of terror, which 
 the "childer" in the house re- 
 echoed. 
 
 Paddy's greeting to Anderson 
 was a simple " Shure me heart's 
 bled for you, man, and I've kim to 
 help a while; so into bed with you, 
 and I'll take a luk around." 
 
 The state of things was about as 
 appalling as the nature of the dis- 
 ease, but Paddy, ere the night had 
 passed, in his rude way had re- 
 stored some order, and the house 
 became filled with the sunshine of 
 209 
 
mn 
 
 Apothe osis of Paddy La rrisey 
 
 • 
 
 his presence. In the days and 
 weeks which followed, he labored 
 incessantly, and with a devoted- 
 ness and gentleness that endeared 
 him to each suffering member of 
 the household. In the long nights 
 of restlessness among the chil- 
 dren, he quieted them with won- 
 derful tales of the good fairies. 
 To the parents he was a minister- 
 ing angel of hope. If he slept at 
 all it must have been with wide- 
 open eyes and sitting bolt upright 
 in a chair, for he was ever ready 
 upon the slightest call. He gave 
 little thought to himself. Daily 
 he appeared upon the little hill 
 and shouted words of encourage- 
 ment to Biddy, with many mes- 
 sages for the " childer." 
 
 There came a day at last when 
 Biddy, rushing breathlessly into 
 our house, said : 
 
 2IO 
 
 '>isj|^i;i 
 
Apotheosis of Paddy Larrisey 
 
 " Faix, there do be a hilth doc- 
 tor out at Anderson's, and Paddy 
 says he's dishinfestin' the house, 
 and Paddy's kimmin' home,' 
 though the doctor do be tillin' 
 him that he must burn all the 
 clothes that do be on his back 
 before he kin lave. Troth, if he 
 do, it's the quare soight he'll be 
 rinnin' thro' the snow with only 
 God's lither on him, for divil's the 
 ha'porth ilse he'll have, for Jack, 
 bad luck to that bhoy, cut oflp the 
 legs of Paddy's Sunday pants." 
 
 After much search we finally 
 overcame this difficulty in the way 
 of Paddy's home-coming. It was 
 worth while to see him strutting 
 homeward, quite unconscious of 
 his heroism, but full of the impor- 
 tance of a pair of black pants, a 
 long-tailed coat, and an ancient 
 clerical beaver, with a three 
 
 211 
 
Ijli 
 
 In 
 
 
 
 *' B' 
 
 weeks growth of scrubby beard 
 beneath ,t. When we cheered 
 him as he passed, he took it en- 
 "■•ely as a compliment to his 
 
 f!!f ,,Tf'^"'^' ^"'^ gracefully 
 touched h,s hat in acknowledg- 
 ment, giving it a rakish tilt as he 
 replaced it. 
 
 _ Moriarty, before the mass on 
 the following Sunday, shouted 
 out w the impulsive Irish way: 
 
 Now, byes, since Paddy's alive 
 tod,emh,sow„bid,ifsasind-off 
 
 wellbeaftergivin-him,andivery 
 man of ye's'll bring wan thing or 
 the other to hilp him through the 
 wmter." ^ 
 
 And they all replied, " Amin ! " 
 
 At the kirk door McAlmon 
 
 vcced the sentiment of the as 
 
 fembled elders when he said; 
 
 1 m no sayin' that Paddy does- 
 
 na fash me at times, but his heart, 
 
 212 
 
^^S I ^^S'k^^t:^ 
 
 scrubby beard 
 -n we cheered 
 
 he took it en- 
 >Iiment to his 
 and gracefully 
 1 acknowledg- 
 akish tilt as he 
 
 the mass on 
 '<^ay, shouted 
 *^e Irish way: 
 Paddy's alive 
 
 it's a sind-off 
 lim, and ivery 
 wan thing or 
 
 through the 
 
 J, " Amin ! " 
 f McAlmon 
 t of the as- 
 n he said : 
 Paddy does- 
 ut his heart, 
 
 ye ken, is i' the richt place, an' it's 
 a braw act, an' I forgie him the 
 past. 
 
 \yhat Anderson and his wife 
 smd Paddy never revealed, but the 
 greatest thrashing that Phil Mul- 
 doon ever received was at Ander- 
 son s hands, for some disparaging 
 remark he made about Paddy 
 
 213 
 
si V 
 II 
 
 llii 
 
The Story of Locksley 
 
 i^ 
 
M 
 
 ll. 
 
 I 
 
 k, 
 
 t 
 s 
 a 
 h 
 J 
 tl 
 
 m 
 oi 
 sii 
 se 
 th 
 ua 
 an 
 rei 
 ful 
 
 m 
 
The Story of Locksley 
 
 T OCKSLEY came from the 
 -■— ' state of Maine, so he said, 
 but beyond this item of news per- 
 sonal to himself, no one knew 
 aught of his history previous to 
 his appearance in our parish. 
 Thereafter his doings were upon 
 the tongues of many. 
 
 He was possessed of a grim hu- 
 mor, was Locksley, and one phase 
 of it was to lend the idea to the 
 simple-minded and superstitious 
 settlers that he was in league with 
 the devil. They accepted the sit- 
 uation with unquestioning belief, 
 and treated Locksley with that 
 respect due to so exalted, if doubt- 
 ful, a connection. 
 ai7 
 
The Story of Locksley 
 
 Summer and winter he wore a 
 mink-skin cap, the head of the 
 mink stuffed and looking up at a 
 hen partridge just ready for flight 
 which surmounted the crown. 
 This was certainly picturesque 
 and odd, not to say weird. He 
 never wore a coat, but instead a 
 heavy gray homespun wool shirt, 
 worn outside his pants and belted 
 around his waist with a twisted 
 rope; in this belt he carried an ax. 
 Caribou-skin leggings with the 
 hair and soft moccasins completed 
 an attire that would have caused 
 ridicule, even in our unconven- 
 tional parish, but for reasons 
 which I have given. 
 
 Locksley owned two mongrel 
 dogs of forbidding appearance. 
 One he called Night, the other 
 Day. They were his inseparable 
 companions, as was a long single- 
 ai8 
 
"e had a cabin somewhere in the 
 ~ams but he was re «ess 
 «ov,ng about the parish £ 
 house to house. No one refused 
 
 accessories rather than openlv 
 quarrel wi.h them. WhS 
 
 and ht T*" "^ °f the house 
 
 ^-steitr^^rhrs 
 
 spnnkle holy water about t£ 
 room The children then came 
 out of hiding. * 
 
 This much, and some more I 
 knew of Lock<!ey. The fol ow- 
 
 afee"rT^,''"^ir'^'^«"^tohis 
 career I learned from little Spruce 
 Gum (alias for Prospere d',! 
 
 tig 
 
I !• 
 
 \A > 
 
 \w 
 
 1 1' 
 
 m 
 ft 
 
 The Story of Locksley 
 
 mont) and Phil McGinnis, while 
 hunting caribou lately with those 
 two worthies in the Laurentides. 
 
 Snow had fallen steadily all day, 
 the snowshoeing was bad, and as 
 the afternoon drew to a close I 
 had settled into a stolid yearning 
 for the flesh-pots and comfort of 
 camp. When we stepped sud- 
 denly out of a balsam thicket into 
 a small clearing with a disused log 
 cabin in the center, I shouted: 
 " Hurrah, boys ! We're in luck. 
 We'll camp here for the night." 
 
 Not a word in response, and as 
 I turned to seek an explanation, I 
 saw little Spruce devoutly cross- 
 ing himself and big Phil was evi- 
 dently mumbling a prayer. Both 
 looked terrified. 
 
 " What the devil is the matter 
 with you two — seen a ghost? " 
 
 " Sacre; no see ghos', but ghos' 
 
 220 
 
The Story of Locksley 
 
 'ere all de sam'. Debbil 'ere too 
 ver' mooch," said little Spruce. 
 
 " Faith/it's no lie Spruce do be 
 after tellin' your honor. This is 
 Locksley's camp, and not in it 
 we'll stop the night. We'll be 
 movin' on. It's the mouth of hell 
 is this camp, and it's a foine 
 woman, God hilp her soul, who 
 was lid into it," added big Phil. 
 
 A gust of wind, let free by the 
 opening, swept the snow like a 
 wraith around the cabins into the 
 open door, and there was moaning 
 and creaking within. My two 
 worthies turned tail and fled into 
 the bush. I followed on their trail 
 for some time before the sharp 
 click of an ax and the voice of little 
 Spruce singing : 
 
 " The caribou are white in face, 
 This is the season for the chase, 
 The snow is deep, the cold it bites ! " 
 
 221 
 
The Story of Locksley 
 
 r 
 
 il 
 
 if ' 
 
 I* J V 
 
 J i 
 
 ' 1 
 
 i 
 
 't 
 
 \\L 
 
 
 told me the men were camping. 
 Later, when we had settled down 
 before our fire in that blissful state 
 that follows good digestion, with 
 the companion pipe, I turned to 
 Phil, who was busy repairing the 
 lacing of his snowshoe, and asked 
 him if he had known Locksley. 
 
 Phil stopped his work, looked 
 at me in a surprised and injured 
 way, and said : 
 
 "Wall, wall; and is it know 
 Locksley your honor asks? Faith, 
 me introducshun to him was most 
 quare intirely. One of me calves, 
 bad ^cess to it, had bruk out and 
 sthrayed away back into Mul- 
 doon's bush. It was comin' home 
 I was after lukin' for it, and I was 
 sthumblin^ down along the trail in 
 the dark, whin I hears some one 
 shoutin', 'Now, Night, to hell 
 with you if you don't keep the 
 32a 
 
^^g Story^ fLoHcd^ 
 
 trail/ ^ Locksley/ says I to me- 
 
 silf,andlsthipsbehintabigblack 
 birch. Just as he came fominst 
 me his feet caught in a root, and 
 down he wint, and a bag of pera- 
 ties he was shoulderin' slipt out of 
 his hoult, and as the nick of the 
 bag was untied, the peraties wint 
 rowlin' down the mountain. 
 
 "'May the divil curse Mul- 
 doon,' says Locksley, ' and may 
 the divil curse all those who won't 
 get up at twelve o'clock at night 
 to curse Muldoon. And if that 
 blackguard, Phil McGinnis, don't 
 kim out from behint that tree to 
 blip me gather those peraties, I'll 
 put me blight upon him, too' 
 says Locksley. 
 
 Wall, wall; is that you, Mr 
 Locksley? ' says I, kind of brave 
 like, but it's thrimblin' I was with 
 the fear that was on me. 
 223 
 
Ill 
 
 
 The Story of Locksley 
 
 Just mesilf and his majesty, 
 McGinnis; and you'll do well to 
 luk alive, man, for I'm in a hurry,' 
 says Locksley. 
 
 " Faith, I naded no urgin', and 
 with a light from a rov 1 of hirch- 
 bark I rattled all the peraties I 
 could find into the bag. 
 
 We'll know each other bet- 
 ter nixt time we meet,' says 
 Locksley, as he shouldered the 
 bag and walked off into the dark 
 after the dog. 
 
 " ' Be gobs ! ' thought I, * and 
 may that be a long time away.' 
 Sure it tuk two good glasses of 
 Judy's skalkeen to bring me 
 around whin I got home. Ugh ! 
 it was aisier fur him to play with 
 fire than for me to light me pipe 
 with this coal," said Phil, as he 
 deftly picked out a small live coal 
 from the fire, and keeping it 
 224 
 
Locksley 
 
 d his majesty, 
 I'll do well to 
 m in a hurry/ 
 
 lo urgin', and 
 rov 1 of hirch- 
 he peraties I 
 bag. 
 
 ch other bet- 
 meet,' says 
 ouldered the 
 nto the dark 
 
 ight I, 'and 
 time away/ 
 d glasses of 
 bring me 
 )me. Ugh ! 
 to play with 
 ?ht me pipe 
 Phil, as he 
 lall live coal 
 keeping it 
 
 JlllLStoryof^Locksley 
 
 quickly moving about in the palm 
 of his hand, transferred it to his 
 pipe (puff-puflF). "Wasn't it 
 you, little Spruce, wint clane mad 
 at^the sight av him wan night?" 
 " Tonnerre de Dieu ! I 'av not 
 mooch wat you call sens' lef dat 
 nit for sure. Dat was ver' bad 
 scare I'm 'av. I go for a week to 
 mak' de spruce gum at Lac Ste 
 Cecile, an' for mak' some fishin' 
 Ver' good, but when I'm clos' to 
 Lac I remembre dat I leav' 'ome 
 widout kees ma Rosalie. ' Dat's 
 bad luck,' I say, an' I turn for go 
 ome. Late on de night tam, I 
 arrive on de place we see to-day. 
 Dere was beeg fires for burn de 
 logs an' stumps. Locksley, naked 
 lak' he bom, was run roun' wid 
 beeg hanspik' for move de logs 
 He say, 'Com', debbil, giv' a 
 hand; now, debbil, help; poosh, 
 
 225 
 
 
n . 
 
 The Story of Locksley 
 
 debbil, poosh,' an' de log jump 
 
 roun' on de pile lak' she'm live. 
 
 Ma hair stan' on en* Vm so scare, 
 
 but I say planty prayer. Bime- 
 
 by a log roll on hes toes. He 
 
 dance 'bout an' 'av gran' fight wid 
 
 de debbil an' call him ver' bad 
 
 name, an' he wante on hes cabane 
 
 an' slam de door. Den I nevare 
 
 stop de run ontil I'm hide onder 
 
 de bed-clothes wid ma Rosalie." 
 
 "But who was the woman, 
 
 Phil, who came under Locksley's 
 
 spell, and how did it happen? " I 
 
 asked. 
 
 " Howly Saints ! And did your 
 honor niver hear till of that? 
 Wall, wall ! You must remimber 
 Murtha who was kilt by a tree 
 fallin' on him in the choppin'. 
 Sure, the widdy tuk on foine at the 
 wake with her scramin' an lamint- 
 in' her dear Mike. A tidy bit of a 
 2a6 
 
The Story of Locksley 
 
 cratur was Norah, and as indipin- 
 dent 'n her ways as a led pig, with 
 a fine timper av her own. There 
 was no childer, — incumbrances I 
 think they call them whin they be- 
 long to a widdy-man or a widdy- 
 woman, — but mighty handy at 
 other times, eh. Spruce? '' 
 
 Spruce grinned assent. He was 
 the proud father of fourteen. 
 
 "Sure, it wasn't long after 
 Murtha's dith before siveral of the 
 byes were dancin' attindance 
 about the widdy. Tim Deehey it 
 was who seemed to have the inside 
 thrack, and it's him who towld me 
 the story this way : 
 
 " * I was on me way one night 
 to coort the widdy Murtha, but 
 whin I kim near her house I saw 
 the doore was closed, and there 
 was no pig's kittle bilin' foorninst 
 it. "Sure, the widdy's gone to 
 227 
 
li ^ 
 
 If! 
 
 The Story of Lnrlr.t.y 
 
 kaijey at LeGendre's for the even- 
 in , think I to mesilf, " but I'll 
 take a pake in the windy to be 
 
 T'ff/ Glory be to God. Phil I 
 >f I didn't see that thafe of the 
 worrold, Locksley, sittin' close 
 alongside of Norah on a binch, 
 and th,m as thick as two thaves, 
 while he was puttin' his spell on 
 lier, as I could hear. 
 
 "'"But it's a bad name you 
 ^T. '!^Jt Parish," says Norah 
 
 , ^''edivil is never as black 
 as hes painted. Ah, ha! haw 
 
 haw 'laughed Locksley. "Sure 
 «>eyre mostly simples here, 
 Norah, and I thwist thim 'round 
 We finger. 
 
 ^J","^^' y^ •="""'"' sarpint," 
 
 thmks I, "and it's swate Norah 
 you'd be thwistin' 'round your 
 finger, but I'll prfvint you " 
 
 i^ut, Locksley, it^s not true 
 228 
 
 if 
 
 i 
 
you're in lague with the divil?" 
 says Norah. 
 
 '"" It's clane out of me mind 
 i am to be in lague with the hand- 
 somest woman in the parish," says 
 Lockslev. ^ 
 
 "_ ' " You're a distrestful timp- 
 ter, says Norah, " and I suppose 
 1 must g-ive me ' vpc ' f^ 
 pladin'." ^"" '° ^^' 
 
 "'"Faith, Norah, dear, there's 
 nothm so hard to resist as timp- 
 tation, and since you've yailded 
 to Its seductive ways I'll do the 
 same mesilf by takin' a kiss off 
 those swate lips of your, that 
 would tempt the owld boy him- 
 self," says Locksley. 
 
 "'The blackguard kissed her, 
 ^hi\, and it's truth Tm tillin' ye I 
 saw the sparks fly. 
 
 " ' " We'll lave this cruel cowld 
 land behind us," says Locksley, 
 229 
 
M I 
 
 i f 
 
 II', 
 
 The Story of Locksley 
 
 "but we'll lave no trace of our 
 whereabouts. IVe communicated 
 with the owld one and it's a warm 
 wilcome he says he has for us." 
 
 "* Saints of Hiven! But the 
 
 spell must have bin' strong on 
 
 Norah, for she laughed at this 
 
 t spache of Locksley's, and says 
 
 she : " Indade, Locksley, it's a 
 
 roastin' I'm thinkin' you'll git 
 
 whin the owld fellow sees what 
 
 you've brought back." 
 
 " ' " We'll lave here at onct," 
 says Locksley. 
 
 "'"I'm with you," says 
 Norah; " but you'll be off now, 
 Locksley, for I've some matters 
 to attind to." 
 
 Faith, and so have I," says 
 I to mesilf, and I put off for Father 
 O'Brien's to get his riverence to 
 come at onct to take the spell off 
 Norah. He was in bed whin I 
 
 330 
 
 iifi jijii 
 
The Story of Locksley 
 
 got there, and not too well plased 
 at me visit at that hour av the 
 night. 
 
 You'll kim now, your riv- 
 erence, and the halo of a grate 
 dade will be around your head." 
 
 " * " Go home, you fool," says 
 he. " Sure it's bilious you are, 
 with your halos and other non- 
 since. I'll look you up in the 
 mornin' whin you've kem to your 
 sinses." 
 
 About tin in the mornin' his 
 riverence arrived, and after a cup 
 of tay we started for the widdy's. 
 Phil, she was gone ! As soon as 
 we could git a party of the boys 
 togither, we tuk the thrail for 
 Locksley's camp. The doore of 
 his cabin was open, but there was 
 no one there. In the cinter of the 
 flure a great hole was torn up, and 
 
 /^:' 
 
 aji 
 
i I 
 
 1 
 
 The Story of Locksley 
 
 some of the boys said there was a 
 strong smell of sulphur about. 
 
 " ' " Lit this be a lisson to yes 
 all to have no intercourse with 
 avil," says Father O'Brien. 
 "Poor Norah Murtha! We'll 
 lave this scene now, and you'll 
 mind what I'm after tillin' yes." ' 
 "Little Spruce, pitch some logs 
 on the fire. The insides of his 
 honor are thrimblin' with the 
 cowld, as I can see," said Big Phil 
 
 333 
 
Locksley 
 
 id there was a 
 ►hur about. 
 L lisson to yes 
 srcourse with 
 er O'Brien, 
 rtha ! We'll 
 V, and you'll 
 " tillin' yes." ' 
 ch some logs 
 isides of his 
 n' with the 
 iaid Big Phil. 
 
 The Romance of Ruther- 
 ford's FJat 
 
 m 
 
The Romance of Ruther- 
 ford's Flat 
 
 pAPTAIN HALFORD, of 
 ^^ her Majesty's 3— th Regi- 
 ment of Foot, stationed at Que- 
 bec in 18—, came to our parish 
 by chance, and remained through 
 an accident. He always main- 
 tamed that it was the luckiest 
 thmg that ever happened him, 
 and surely a man should be the 
 best judge for himself in such mat- 
 ters. Some of his brother officers 
 at the time shook their heads and 
 doubted, but we always doubt the 
 wisdom of our friends in affairs of 
 the heart, just as we fail to accept 
 iheir advice when it comes to our 
 turn to be afflicted with that 
 ancient malady — love. 
 235 
 
 '1:1 
 
 /i 
 
■ I- 
 
 ' {I 
 
 i i- 
 
 Ef ?Ml 
 
 Romance of Rutherford's Fl at 
 
 It happened in this wise : Dul- 
 kin, who lived behind the Monk's 
 mountain in our parish, was a fre- 
 quent caller at the Officers' Quar- 
 ters in Quebec, where he sold such 
 produce as his farm yielded, and 
 fairly beg^ged the clothes oflf the 
 backs of the occupants with a 
 charming abandon of modesty, 
 but there was nothing he refused! 
 In time he became a regular pen- 
 sioner upon their bounty—an es- 
 tablished institution, which a 
 ready tongue and unbounded im- 
 pudence helped him to maintain. 
 He was returning home one 
 lovely June morning, by the road 
 which follows the sinuous wind- 
 ings of the St. Charles River. 
 The world was bright and joyous 
 this sunny morning, and the old 
 fellow was piping away in a 
 cracked falsetto : 
 336 
 
^erford's Flat 
 
 Romance of Rutherfor d's Flat 
 
 " In the year '98, when our troubles was 
 great, 
 
 And 'twas treason to be a Milesian," 
 
 when he came to the ford at the 
 mil! and stopped to give his horse 
 a drink. A voice from up the 
 bank called out : 
 
 "Hello! Dulkin. What are 
 you doing here?" 
 
 Dulkin ended his song and 
 turning in the direction from 
 which the voice proceeded, while 
 a grin overspread his parchment 
 face, he replied : 
 
 " Shure, thin, it's your honor. 
 Captain Halford, an' is it lukin' for 
 goold in the river yez are, or 
 maybe your coortin', an' faith it's 
 a purty spot? " 
 
 " Either occupation would 
 probably be more profitable than 
 the one I'm engaged in," laugh- 
 ingly replied Captain Halford. 
 237 
 

 Romance of Rutherford's F lat 
 
 " Well, it's writin' poethry yez 
 are, but that's a whaste av toime in 
 in this divil's counthry where they 
 spake only Frinch an' niver 
 heerd * Gillie Machree ' or * Rorv 
 O'More.' " 
 
 "Wrong again, Dulkin; I'm 
 trying the fishing, but luck seems 
 to be against me." 
 
 "Fishin', is it? Faix, yez 
 moight as well luk for smoked her- 
 rin's as be thryin' for throuts in 
 the St. Charles. Kim away, man, 
 wid me an' I'll show yez a river 
 where the throuts do be more 
 plentiful than the laves on the 
 trees, and longer than your arm." 
 Perhaps it was fate which de- 
 cided Halford to accept Dulkin's 
 offer. At all events his kit was 
 transferred from the cottage near 
 by to Dulkin's cart, and Halford 
 mounted to a seat beside its driver. 
 938 
 
"It's at Rutherford's I'll be 
 lavin' your honor." 
 
 "And who may Rutherford 
 be? inquired Halford. 
 
 Rutherford, an Irish gentleman if 
 
 r'p, '' T ^""' ^"' h^ owns 
 thel^Iat. Tipperary niver turned 
 out a fomer man, barrin' his tim- 
 Per, which is short whin an Eng- 
 Jsh mvader kims along to make 
 uv to Judy. So kape a civil dish- 
 tance, me brave captain. 
 
 "'Och hone! and what will I do? 
 i>ure, my love is all crost, 
 Like a bud in a frost, 
 
 * trbed"° "'' "' '" ^" "'^ «°'"8 
 For 'tis dhrames and not sleep that 
 comes into my head.' 
 
 " Shure, the luv for a woman do 
 
 play quare thricks on min," con- 
 
 tmued Dulkin. "I should be 
 
 rowlin' in wilth and me coach to- 
 
 239 
 
#1^ 
 
 1 k 
 
 IfH 
 
 Romance of Rutherford's F laf 
 
 day if the soight of a pair av bare 
 hgs at a dance hadn't lid me cap- 
 tive to the owner of thim, an' I 
 married her and thim the very nixt 
 week. Me father, pace to his 
 memory now, drove me out av me 
 ancistral home for me folly as he 
 termed it. It's bare-ligged we've 
 gone mostly since, by the same 
 token, to make two inds mate, 
 though it do be little av any mate 
 we'll see on the mountain nixt 
 winter, for the divil av a baliflf kim 
 out a while back and seized all me 
 cattle for the payment of a note I 
 gave to Maxwell for a bidsted and 
 some other thrifles I bought at his 
 sale." 
 
 Halford smiled a little cynically 
 at Dulkin's picture of distress, but 
 made no rejoinder, for at this mo- 
 ment a turn in the road on the 
 mountain-side disclosed a pan- 
 240 
 
erford's Flat | R2m?nce_o£^iuherfbrd;s Flat 
 
 orama of such singular charm and 
 beauty as to completely engage 
 h.s attention. In all our province 
 here ,s no more lovely spot than 
 "lat known in our parish as the 
 i-lat. The nver almost encircled 
 >t, with a great dark pool at the 
 head and a still larger one at the 
 foot, with a roaring rapid between, 
 and a continuous rapid above and 
 below. Mountains completely in- 
 closed it, mountains clad in 
 maples and birches on the lower 
 side, and somber spruces to their 
 very tops. It was peak upon 
 peak as far as the eye reached. A 
 high pointed-roofed house, white- 
 washed and red-gabled, peeped 
 out from a grove of aspens and 
 white birches, while the Flat lay 
 before it, carpeted in many shades 
 of soft greens and bordered by the 
 
 241 
 
«t F 
 
 Romance of R utheijbi^^ 
 
 wild cherry and poire in masses of 
 
 white blossoms. 
 
 Halford drew a long breath of 
 satisfaction. Truly this seemed 
 the promised land of lotus-eating 
 — and angling. 
 
 Dulkin's salutation to Ruther- 
 ford, as he drove up to the door, 
 was : " I've captured wan av the 
 mimy widout his uniform, an' it's 
 shpyin' out the land he is, though 
 he do say it's fishin' he wants. 
 His name is Captain Halford." 
 
 Both Rutherford and Halford 
 smiled at the introduction, and 
 the latter said : 
 
 "Dulkin's partly right, Mr. 
 Rutherford. I would like to sur- 
 render myself into your hands for 
 a few days, if you are willing to 
 harbor a spy into your fishing 
 haunts." ^ 
 
 " It's not much you ask," re- 
 242 
 
ttherford's Flat 
 nre in masses of 
 
 long breath of 
 ly this seemed 
 of lotus-eating 
 
 ion to Riither- 
 »p to the door, 
 ed wan av the 
 niform, an' it's 
 1 he is, though 
 lin' he wants. 
 1 Halford." 
 
 and Halford 
 eduction, and 
 
 ' right, Mr. 
 Id like to sur- 
 our hands for 
 ire willing to 
 your fishing 
 
 ou ask," re- 
 
 plied Rutherford, "and I fear 
 
 we ve little to offer you beyond a 
 welcome and the best we have in 
 the way of fishing." 
 
 The patriarchal appearance of 
 Rutherford, with his long, wavy 
 white hair and thick, curly gray 
 beard, tall and erect, with a quiet 
 dignity of manner and carriage, 
 impressed Halford with a sense 
 that here was an unusual man for 
 his surroundings. His reflections 
 at this point, however, were some- 
 what rudely interrupted by shouts 
 of Sooks them. Rover; sooks, 
 boy! and from around the cor- 
 ner of the house wildly dashed two 
 calves, pursued by a black and 
 white collie and a girl with stream- 
 ing hair. One of the calves, in its 
 blind eflForts to escape, rushed 
 headlong into Dulkin and laid him 
 flat on his face in the dust of the 
 243 
 

 
 '-4 
 
 Romance of Rutherford's Flat 
 
 road. Peals of laughter from the 
 girl filled the air, and it was so 
 infectious in its abandon, and the 
 whole scene was so ludicrous, that 
 Halford and Rutherford were 
 compelled to join in the laugh, 
 though the latter went to the 
 assistance of Dulkin, who, we are 
 ashamed to say, was spitting sand 
 and profanity from his mouth in 
 equal proportion. 
 
 The girl, at last realizing that a 
 stranger was present, and a young 
 and handsome one at that, hastily 
 twisted her flying hair into a knot 
 and stood abashed at her levity 
 and generally disordered appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " My daughter, Judy, Captain 
 Halford," said Rutherford simply; 
 and as Halford bowed and shook 
 hands, h.* owned to himself that 
 Miss Judy was certainly strikingly 
 244 
 
ierford's Flat 
 
 beaubful. She was then nine- 
 teen, tall and graceful of figure 
 with a well-shaped head and rich' 
 dark, wavy hair. The eyes were 
 gray, the lashes long and soft, the 
 eyebrows thick and almost 
 Z^^, The mouth was large, 
 with lull warm lips, which, when 
 parted, disclosed a set of white 
 i5rm teeth. Her complexion was 
 
 clear and the color came and went 
 with every passing emotion. The 
 nose was somewhat between a 
 Grecian and a pug, just the least 
 bit saucy. When she smiled a 
 great dimple made its appearance, 
 and the lashes drooped over the 
 eyes, but at other times they met 
 yours with open frankness. 
 
 There were others in and out of 
 
 our parish vvho thought as Hal- 
 
 Jord d,d, and some of them had 
 
 laid siege to Miss Judy's heart, 
 
 H5 
 
f * 
 
 ii 
 
 Romance of Rutherford's Flat 
 
 but that citadel had thus far re- 
 fused to capitulate — not even to 
 Charles Darnell, the last and most 
 favored-looking suitor. He still 
 persisted, however, in his court- 
 ing, with the hope born of desire 
 'that in time the garrison would be 
 starved into surrendering the for- 
 tress. He came from over St. 
 Michel mountain some two or 
 three times a week to have his 
 own heartstrings pulled and his 
 temper tried by the imperious and 
 lovely Judy. 
 
 Mrs. Rutherford made Captain 
 Halford welcome to the house, 
 and showed lim to his room. It 
 overlooked the rapid-tossed river, 
 whose cadence blending with the 
 ever-rustling poplars lent a feeling 
 of delightful peacefulness to the 
 place. These early June days in 
 our Northland are instinct with 
 346 
 
Jierford's Flat 
 
 id thus far re- 
 — not even to 
 ; last and most 
 tor. He still 
 in his court- 
 born of desire 
 •ison would be 
 lering the for- 
 -om over St. 
 some two or 
 : to have his 
 ulled and his 
 mperious and 
 
 nade Captain 
 3 the house, 
 lis room. It 
 -tossed river, 
 ling with the 
 lent a feeling 
 ilness to the 
 June days in 
 instinct with 
 
 J^2£l!!^?l_of_Ruth^^ 
 
 the budding summer— full of 
 pleasant, fresh odors and sounds 
 and sights that hold all one's 
 senses in dreamy bondage. The 
 bank-side beneath the captain's 
 wmdow was decked with the pink- 
 striped wood sorrel, the dwarf 
 dogwood and belated dog-tooth 
 violets. The maples, with their 
 partially expanded leaves in deli- 
 cate shades of reds and yellows 
 made the near mountain-sides gay 
 with color, while the more distant 
 mountains lay in purple haze. 
 
 In the early evening, when the 
 shadows of St. Michel lay upon 
 the upper pool and the broue from 
 the rapids floated lightly upon its 
 surface, Rutherford paddled the 
 canoe slowly around it, while Hal- 
 ford made fierce battle with some 
 of the great trout which lurked in 
 Its depths, until he admitted that 
 247 
 

 1,1 
 
 'If 
 
 r 
 
 
 Romance of Rutherford's Flat 
 
 he was content. Later, the two 
 men sat on the long bench outside 
 the open door of the house, and as 
 they smoked, Rutherford told the 
 story of his early struggles as a 
 schoolmaster in Ireland, and the 
 final decision to seek the New 
 World to commence life anew for 
 the sake of the children born, and 
 those to come. There were no re- 
 grets, only a tender clinging to the 
 memories of the land of his birth. 
 Halford heard somewhat dreamily 
 as he watched the great fires glow- 
 ing and glimmering in the " burn- 
 ings " on the hillsides and the 
 weird shadows which flitted eerily 
 about— the ghosts of fallen forest 
 monarchs. Above the rising and 
 falling sound of waters was borne 
 to his ears snatches of a song. He 
 caught the words of one line : 
 
 248 
 
erford's Flat 
 
 Ro mance of Ru ^erford^TBy 
 
 " Her hair is like night, and her eyes 
 like gray morning." 
 
 How well they described the 
 singer. What a pleasant voice 
 Miss Judy possessed. 
 
 Halford's stay of a few days 
 lengthened into as many weeks 
 Any suggestion upon his part of a 
 departure had been met with pro- 
 tests from all the members of the 
 family, excepting Judy, but as all 
 his more subtle arts and accom- 
 plishments were reserved for her 
 benefit, and she had smiled her 
 approval upon him, he remained 
 on— a captive to her charms and 
 his pleasant surroundings. 
 
 Darnell, however, who had 
 come several times since Hal- 
 ford's arrival, quickly discovered 
 the growing favor in which the 
 latter was held by the Ruther- 
 fords. He spent his evenings in 
 249 
 
 ' 'I 
 
1; 
 
 R omance of Ru therford's Flat 
 
 somewhat sulky silence and 
 nursed his jealousy, v/hile his im- 
 agination ran riot in plannin*^ 
 somv, iorm of retaliation upon this 
 handsojne ;::ngHBh captain who 
 had dai n* iniritde upon his terri- 
 tory. But of this Halford re- 
 ' mained quite unconscious. He 
 said to Darnell one evening as he 
 was leaving : 
 
 "I hear, Darnell, that you have 
 a birch canoe. Can't you take 
 me for a run down the rapids to- 
 morrow? " 
 
 An ugly thought leaped into 
 Darnell's mind, but he answered 
 with apparent cordiality : 
 
 " Sure, I'd like nothing better. 
 You'll take your fishing rig with 
 you and some lunch and we'll 
 make a day of it." 
 
 As he wended his way home- 
 ward over tl :' mountain, his re- 
 250 
 
 I 
 
 ['il 
 
therfbrd's Flat 
 
 silence and 
 y, Avhile his im- 
 ►t in plannin-a: 
 ation upon this 
 ' captain who 
 upon his terri- 
 s Hal ford re- 
 onscious. He 
 evening as he 
 
 that you have 
 an't you take 
 the rapids to- 
 
 it leaped into 
 ' he answered 
 ility: 
 
 othing better, 
 hing rig with 
 ch and we'll 
 
 s way home- 
 ntain, his re- 
 
 I 
 
 flect,or,s were of the pleasant 
 
 nature of the malicious revenge he 
 
 wouid take upon Halford on the 
 
 morrow. And as for Judy, she 
 
 must be made now to understand 
 
 hat there was to be no more 
 
 tnflmg It must be "yes" or 
 
 no Here a doubt arose in his 
 
 mmd as to which of these two 
 Miss Judy might return him, but 
 •MS love being stronger than his 
 judgment, decided for him that it 
 
 must be "yes," and so satisfying 
 hmself he crept into the house 
 and to bed. 
 
 Halford, upon retiring to his 
 room, lit his pipe and sat down 
 for a quiet half-hour of revery 
 Wis holiday was drawing to a 
 <:_lose. It had been a very happy 
 tim,^the happiest he had ever 
 jcnown. The simplicity of the life 
 had lent a joy to existence such as 
 351 
 
 i! 
 
Ir i 
 
 
 I I 
 
 .;^ 
 
 Romance of Rutherford 's Flat 
 
 he had never experienced—and 
 the fishing— was there ever before 
 such fishing? He loved it all, and 
 the close touch with nature— and 
 Judy was most attractive. Hal- 
 ford sighed. He had oft-times 
 ^ longed to lead the life of a country 
 gentleman. Was not this the 
 very spot to settle himself, where 
 his income would go so far toward 
 realizing this dream? A captain 
 in a marching regiment, after all, 
 was only a pawn in the game of 
 martial chess. Would Judy marry 
 him? At this stage of his reverie 
 his pipe went out, leaving these 
 knotty questions unsolved. 
 
 Judy, after a short period of 
 star-gazing, devoutly said her 
 rosary, but as she told off the 
 beads and said the responses, be- 
 tween each there ran the refrain, 
 " He loves me, loves me not," as 
 352 
 
herford's Flat 
 
 Jerienced — and 
 lere ever before 
 loved it all, and 
 h nature — and 
 ractive. Hal- 
 had oft'times 
 fe of a country 
 not this the 
 bimself, where 
 ) so far toward 
 1? A captain 
 tient, after all, 
 i the game of 
 d Judy marry 
 of his reverie 
 leaving- these 
 solved. 
 
 )rt period of 
 ly said her 
 told oflF the 
 esponses, be- 
 1 the refrain, 
 me not," as 
 
 5£2![5!?5L^L5uthe^^ 
 
 the children are wont to say as 
 they pluck the petals off the 
 marguerites. Then, like the 
 sensible girl she really was, she 
 blew out her candle and went 
 directly to sleep. 
 
 It was but little after daybreak 
 when Darnell awakened old Mary 
 McSweeny, the ferry-woman at 
 the lower pool, to put him across 
 the nver. She came out grum- 
 bling at being disturbed so early. 
 "Shure, Charles Darnell, it's 
 not long since you wint the other 
 way. Is it the handsome Eng- 
 lish captain at Rutherford's that 
 makes you so ristless?" 
 "Damn the captain," replied 
 
 Darnell; «ril give him a souse in 
 the river to-day, Mary, that will 
 cool him off and send him about 
 nis business, I'll warrant." 
 " Faix, it's wicked enough yez 
 aS3 
 
Romance of Ruthenord 's Fiat 
 
 are for anything," said old Mary 
 tu herself, as Darnell disappeared 
 over the bank. 
 
 An hour later Halford and Dar- 
 nell were circling the upper pool 
 \ in the latter's birch canoe; Hal- 
 ford, with the intense zest of a 
 highly organized nature, reveling 
 in the beauty of the early morn 
 amid his idyllic surroundings and 
 the novel experience of the 
 strange craft that seeme 1 so in- 
 stinct with fe and yet ^o com- 
 pletely under the control of Dar- 
 nell, wh , stp idng erect in the 
 stern, with slightest touch of pole 
 guided it whither he would. The 
 trout were in complal mt mmor 
 until hooked, when th jy snowed 
 such a sudden change of opinion 
 and contested the point so keenly 
 \yith Halford as to set his blood 
 tingling with excitement. An 
 
hei lord's Flat 
 
 said old Mary 
 ell disappeared 
 
 ilforcl and Dar- 
 he upper pool 
 h canoe; Hal- 
 !nse zest of a 
 iture, reveling 
 le early morn 
 oundings and 
 ence of the 
 seemed so in- 
 
 yet iso com- 
 ►ntrol of Dar- 
 
 erect in the 
 touch of pole 
 would. The 
 ai it umor 
 tit y snowed 
 ?e of opinion 
 int so keenly 
 set his blood 
 ement. An 
 
 ^m^n^.f Rutherford's Flat 
 
 unusually large and active fish 
 gave hmi a twenty minutes' strug- 
 gle ere it was brought to net 
 
 " Now, Darnell, for the rapids 
 and a try at the lower pool," ex- 
 claimed Halfcrd. 
 
 Darnell, with Mt a word, turned 
 the canoe into the current. Quiv- 
 
 ermgforaninstar' ntheshockof 
 the heavy water, it qu' ly gath- 
 ered way and the mad race down 
 the river commenced. Darnell 
 still stc jd erect with poised pole 
 to give instant direction to the 
 canoe to avoid the bowlders upon 
 which the waters hurled them- 
 selves with never-ceasing roar. 
 ITiey were close, now, to the 
 lower pool. Darnell at this in- 
 stant gave the canoe a slight push 
 to the right, a »parentlv lost his 
 balance, and the canoe promptly 
 turned upside down, leaving the 
 355 
 
m 
 
 Romance of Rutherford's Flat 
 
 
 two men struggling in the seeth- 
 ing current. Halford, heavily 
 clothed and totally unprepared for 
 so unequal a contest, was hurled 
 and tossed about, ever carried 
 downward; now buried beneath 
 the waters, again to be cast upon 
 the foam-crests. Driven against 
 a rock, his head was deeply 
 gashed. He was barely able to 
 drag himself into the shallows at 
 the head of the pool, when he be- 
 came unconscious and lay there, 
 with upturned face barely out of 
 the water. 
 
 Darnell, lightly clad and cling- 
 ing to his pole, quickly forced his 
 way to the bank and then strolled 
 down the shore to recover his 
 canoe and offer his feigned re- 
 grets to Halford; but coming sud- 
 denly upon the latter, lying in the 
 shallow with white face and fore- 
 256 
 
lerford's Flat I RomancT^^^ 
 
 ^ in the seeth- 
 Iford, heavily 
 unprepared for 
 St, was hurled 
 
 ever carried 
 uried beneath 
 ) be cast upon 
 Driven against 
 
 was deeply 
 >arely able to 
 ie shallows at 
 1, when he be- 
 and lay there, 
 barely out of 
 
 lad and cling- 
 kly forced his 
 i then strolled 
 > recover his 
 :s feigned re- 
 t coming sud- 
 r, lying in the 
 face and fore- 
 
 head cut and bloody, so terrified 
 and unnerved the shocked and 
 startled man, who saw now a 
 tragedy where only a farce was in. 
 tended, that he dropped to his 
 knees beside Halford and gave 
 vent to his grief and despair in 
 open expression of his folly and 
 wickedness. He did not hear the 
 hurried footsteps behind him, and 
 only a hand placed upon his 
 shoulder and a startled voice ex- 
 claiming, - Charles Darnell, do I 
 hear you say you did this dreadful 
 thing, and is he— is he dead?" 
 roused the grief-stricken man to 
 his senses. Turning his haggard 
 face to the questioner, he saw 
 Judy standing over him with an 
 expression of horror and repug- 
 nance showing in hers as she 
 awaited his answer. 
 
 " As God is my judge, it was 
 257 
 
 •'.!. 
 

 i'i 
 
 1 1 , 
 
 I) i 
 
 _^:ss:!L 'L 
 
 Romance of Rutherford's Flat 
 
 only to be a joke, Judy, and my 
 heart's broken for my folly. Can 
 you help me carry the body to the 
 bank?" 
 
 Unnerved as she was, she yet 
 found strength to help Darnell 
 carry the unconscious form of 
 Halford to a grassy slope, where 
 they laid it gently down. As 
 they did so, a sigh escaped his lips 
 and his eyes opened for an instant. 
 
 " He lives — he lives! " passion- 
 ately cried Judy. " Run for your 
 life, Charles Darnell, and bring 
 help." 
 
 The relieved man needed no 
 further prompting, and flew back 
 to Rutherford's. Judy cried and 
 laughed somewhat hysterically, 
 but never for an instant relaxed 
 her efiforts to restore Halford to 
 consciousness, and he, like the art- 
 ful fellow he was, came to his 
 258 
 
therford's Flat 
 
 , Judy, and my 
 my folly. Can 
 the body to the 
 
 le was, she yet 
 ) help Darnell 
 cious form of 
 >y slope, where 
 ly down. As 
 escaped his lips 
 1 for an instant. 
 'vesT' passion- 
 " Run for your 
 ell, and bring 
 
 an needed no 
 and flew back 
 [udy cried and 
 t hysterically, 
 nstant relaxed 
 ire Halford to 
 le, like the art- 
 came to his 
 
 sense, and seeing Judy bending 
 over him with tearc r^it: j 
 
 her cheelcrin^ fiT ^ *^°^" 
 wneeKs, and finding a great 
 
 cornfort in feeling his hand^be 
 
 tween her two soft, warm ones 
 
 d'screetly closed his eyes aga.n 
 
 and even allowed his fo'rehead to 
 be bathed and kissed without 
 niatang any sign, but revived so 
 q^ckly thereafter that poor 
 
 a st rf''''"'Z """^'''y ^««ived 
 a shock lest she was discovered 
 and she blushed crimson. But' 
 her secret was now in Halford's 
 possession, and his own fate was 
 
 and^H^ff'^"^''' '""' ^*'' »«™^". 
 and Halford was removed to the 
 
 house. Darnell watched for an 
 
 opportunity, and beckoning Judy 
 as.de, said to her: "Judy, IVe 
 
 done a great wrong this day and 
 
 i m gomg to ask Halford's and 
 
 259 
 
 t 
 
 M 
 
! ' 
 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 ;; ,; 
 
 Romance of Rutherford's F lat 
 
 your forgiveness, and then I'm 
 going away from here forever." 
 
 And Judy, touched by his peni- 
 tence, freely gave it. 
 
 A few evenings later, Judy said 
 she was going down to the point 
 to look after a pet lamb. 
 
 " May I go, too ? " queried Hal- 
 ford, who was then convalescent. 
 
 " You may, Mr. Halford, if you 
 will cany the pan of salt." When 
 they came to the big elm on the 
 bank whence Judy had witnessed 
 the upsetting of the canoe, she in- 
 voluntarily shuddered as she re- 
 called the scene. Halford slipped 
 his arm around her waist, saying 
 as he did so: "Judy, you were 
 thinking of that wretched morn- 
 ing, but now, dearest, I want to 
 return that kiss you gave me then, 
 and to say that I love you and 
 want you to be m.y wife, for that 
 260 
 
ierford*s Flat 
 
 ind then Fm 
 re forever." 
 :d by his peni- 
 
 ter, Judy said 
 1 to the point 
 mb. 
 
 ' queried Hal- 
 convalescent, 
 [alford, if you 
 salt." When 
 g elm on the 
 lad witnessed 
 :anoe, she in- 
 ;d as she re- 
 ilford slipped 
 waist, saying 
 iy, you were 
 itched morn- 
 It, I want to 
 :ave me then, 
 )ve you and 
 vife, for that 
 
 was the luckiest accident that ever 
 happened me when I learned your 
 secret." ^ 
 
 My, blushing but unresisting 
 allowed Halford to take the kisl 
 
 Not many months later, Halford 
 and his wife became residents of 
 
 Rutherford had presented to Tudv 
 as a wedding gift, and Halford's 
 dream had become a reality 
 
 261 
 
■U'r 
 
 •IH" 
 
 m\ 
 
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 AND SONS COMPANY, AT THE 
 LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.