# Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/Larouche had his Wish

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LAROUCHE HAD HIS WISH
ON tithing day Davy Larouche, of St. Roch,—a fat, merry fellow, with whom the world always went well,—is up betimes, sprucing himself at the glass. "Aha! you are going to see the girls again?" cries his wife,—"you, who were that foolish and bashful that I had to do half the courting."
"Get along with you," chuckles Davy. "Don't you know this is the day to take tithes to the curé? You wouldn't have me meet his reverence in a blouse. If the weather had been a little better there would have been more for him, and that means more for us. We can stand it, but some of the neighbors feel the pinch a little."
Larouche ate his breakfast, loaded his sacks into his sleigh, lit his pipe, and in a contented spirit drove off toward the village, singing. The Canadian habitant is among the few left on earth who sing without being paid to. In passing through a wood his jocund voice seems to have attracted the attention of a man whom Davy had never seen before, a stranger to the country, for he was not dressed for rough life or cool weather. He was a fair-complexioned man, of thirty years, maybe, with long locks falling over his shoulders and the most beautiful, searching blue eyes ever seen. He wore a flowing blue robe, belted at the waist. Without knowing why he did so, Davy stopped ​short in the road, and stared with consuming curi-osity, not unmixed with awe.
"Peace be with you," said the stranger, in grave, sweet tones.
"The same to you," stammered Davy.
"Where do you go?"
"To the priest, with my tithe."
"You had a good harvest, if this load represents one bushel in every twenty-six."
"Pretty good; but if I could have made the weather—ah! then we should have seen a harvest!"
"Be it so. Hereafter you shall have such weather as you wish."
The man in the robe stepped aside to make way for Davy's sleigh, and the farmer, as he passed, turned to look at him once more, but nothing could he see of him. He allowed the fat old horse to take his own snail pace, he had fallen into such a state of wonder upon this promise, and a questioning if the stranger were an angel or a lunatic.
Next year at tithing-time Davy harnessed no horse, but took his offering in a handkerchief. He was neither plump nor merry, and he did not sing. Midway in the wood he gave a nervous start, for the stranger had again stepped from among the trees and raised his hand, as in blessing." Peace be with you," said he.
"Thank you," answered Davy, scratching his head and putting his bundle behind him. "I need ​it. I'm at odds with all the neighbors, and what to do I don't know. They will have it I'm a sorcerer, because every time I've happened to wish for a certain kind of weather we've had it. The sun has been hot at the wrong time, and the rain has been cold at the wrong time. We've had drouths and freshets, and the seed has been washed out of the earth, and crops have dried and withered and rotted and been torn with wind, and I don't know what all. The stock hasn't fed as it should, and even my family's gone against me."
The one in the blue robe smiled. "You are convinced, then," said he, "that God knows better than his children what is for their good? Your wishing power is gone, and next year your tithes will fill your sleigh again."
And Davy Larouche trudged on, wondering.