New Orleans Republican., 1877-01-21

hgoO TO 1OrR8S IT'S AcQu1SlbtOu IN MA9 yo@hAy
report sent to Montreal. Father Francis
Xavier was something of geOlogist; his
father was Q Fl0rentine jeweler, and the
son had studied as his apprentice, not hav-
ing at first been destined for the church.
Even after taking holy orders, Father
Francis Xavier had labored over precious
stones designed for ecclesiastical decora-
ton. His speciality had been that of gem
engraver, and his long white fingers were
remarkably skillful and delicate. This
northern region, with all its wealth of pre-
| cious stones, was great jewel casket for
him, and he became at once an enthusiastic
| collector.
Before the coming of his assistant, Father
| Ignatius had managed his own simple
housekeeping in all its most humble details.
Now they had the services of an Indian
maid of all work, who had been brought up
under the eyes of Father Ignatius, and
whom the old man regarded rather as
daughter than as Q servant Her mocca-
sined feet fell as silently as those of spirits
as she glided about their lodge. She never
sang at her work and rarely spoke, but she
smiled often with smile so childlike as to
| be almost silly in expression. Father Ig-
| natius loved the silent smile, and q word
| from him was always sure to bring it; but
/ it angered Father Francis Xavier more than
many more repulsive thing would have
| done. 1t seemed so utterly imbecile and
bsbyish to him, he had got so far away
| from innocence and smiles and childhood
/ himself, that the sight of them irritated
| him. The young Indian girl had long
and almost unpr0nounoeable name. Pere
Ignaoe had baptized her Marie, and the
new name had gradually taken the place of
the old.
One day, as she was silently but dex-
terously putting to order the large upper
room, which served Pierre Francis Xavier
as study and dOrmitOry, she paused before
his collection of agates and minerals, aud
| strOking the stones, SAID in her soft French
and Indian patOis, pretty, pretty" Father
| Xavier was seated at the great open win
dow, looking over the top of his book away
| across the breezy lake. He heard the
words, and knew that she was looking at
him from the corner of her eye, but his only
reply was a deeper scOwl and lowering of
his glance to the printed page. The silly
smile which he felt sure was upon her face
faded out, but the girl spoke again, and
this time more resOlutely, determined to
attract his attention. "Pretty stones.
Msries father many more, much prettier-
much"
Father Xavier laid down his book. He
was all attention. where did your father
get them3" he asked.
"In the mountains climb, in the mines
dig, in the lake dive, he seek them all the
time zummer."
What does he do with them",
"Cuts them like mon pere" and Marie i'm
itated in pantomime the use of the hammer
and chisel. "Cnt them all time winter,
very many"
what does he do that fort" asked the
priest, surprised.
"Aii the same you," replied the girl
"make arrow. heads"
"Oh, he makes arrOw-heads, does heR
Mine are not arrOw-heads, but l should like
to see what your father does. Does he live
far from heref'
"Msrie take You tonight in canoe"
every we'll; after supper"
She had often taken him out upon the
lake before, for she managed their birch
bark canoe with more skill than himself,
and it was convenient to have some one to
paddle while he fished or read or dreamed.
She rowed him swiftly up the lake for sew
eral miles, then, fastening the canoe, led
the way through trail in the forest.
The sun was setting, and "the whisper
ing pines and the hemlOeks" of the forest
primeval formed q tapestry of gloom around
the pateTnal wigwam as they reached it.
Black Beaver, her father, reclined lazily in
the door, watching the GOALS of the little
fire in front Of his tent He was always
lazy. 1t was difficult to believe that he ever
climbed or dug or dived for agates as Marie
had said, so complete picture he seemed
of inaction. The girl spoke few words to
him in their native dialect, and he grumb-
llngly rose, shuffled into the interior of the
wigwam and brought out two baskets. One
was a shallow tray filed with the finished
beads in great variety Of material and color.
There were white earnelian, delicately
stripped with prophetic red, blood-stone
deep colored and hard as ruby, agates of
every shade and marking, finty jasper,
emerald banded malachite, delicate rose
color, and purple ones made from
shells, and various crystals with whose
names Father Francois Xavier was un-
familiar. There was one shading from dark
green through to red, only q drop Of the
latter color on the very tip of the arrow
where blood would first kiss blood. Father
Xavier looked at it in wondering admira-
tiOn, and at last asked Black Beaver what
he called 1t.
at is devil-stone," !" replied the Indian.
"MOre here" and he opened the deeper
basket in which were stored the ungIOund
in Father Zavier's hand. he had ground it
sufficiently to show that it was in two lay
ers, white and green; in this there was NO
touch of red, but in every other respect 1t
was the handsomer stone.
"Wil you sell 1t to mep asked the priest
Chow muchW
The Indian smiled with an expression
strangely like that of mis- daughter, and put
it back with alacrity in his basket, saying;
"Me no sell big devil-stOne. No money
buy
Father Zavier.
make arrowhead-very hungry-no
blood;n and he indicated the absence Of the
red tint "VeFy hungry-kill very much
never have enOughp
''Then you mean to keep 1t up and use it
''NO," said the other. "Me no hunt game
what viii you do with iti" asked the
puzzled priest.
''Give Il away" said Black Beaver-"give
away to greatest -
"Chief ~ asked Father Xavier.
Black Beaver shook his head.
aFriend, thenp
'sNo,p grunted the arrowhead maker
"give away to big enemyp
'tWhat did he mean by that" Father
Xavier asked Of Marie on their way back to
the mission. And the girl explained the
superstition that Indians Of their own tribe
never killed an enemy with ordinary
weapons for fear that his soul would wait
for theirs in the Happy Hunting Grounds;
but If he was shot with . devil-stone, the
soul could net fy upward, but would sink
through all eternity, until IL reached the
deepest spot Of all the great lakes under
the stony gaze of Doom Woman.
When he inquired further as to the where
abouts Of the Doom WOman's residence he
ascertained that she was only . sharp cliff
among t'the pictured rocks Of sandstone" Of
the upper iake-a elf that viewed from
either side maintaiued its resemblance to q
female profile looking sternly down &C the
water beneath 1t, which was here believed
10 be unfathomable. The Doom Woman
still exists. StTAnget0 say, under its sharp
cut features q ateamer has since been