The Louisiana Democrat., 1886-03-03

rle! l SAID. land the BIRDS ana the
butterfies?n
Eyes, madame" she answered, indif-
ferently; "but they are not as pretty as
the big yellow sunflowers in mammals
garden at home, and the red trumpet
blossoms in the swamp. And they have
no Spanish beard here" (IilandSi0
usnoides). "Ah! it wasso pretty to pull
it from the trees and make soft beds to
play on. Jacques and Elena and me,
we used to build real houses with it, and
dance ia ronde' in Them
"And they dance in Lepers Land?' l
whispered to the priest. He nodded 81
lently. The child, who was not shy,
went on talking gravely, and, as it
seemed, more to herself than to us.
.'But Elena can dance no more, you
know, mon Pere. Her feet are swollen
so big holding out her hands. "Ah,
| want to see her, and mamma and
papa. You know, Pere Raymond,
mamma said may be you would have to
take me back"
The priest bent his head sadly.
'.In one case. yes petite, but it will be
because the object of the separation has
failed. You must be good and patient,
as your mamma told you. Bid madame
goodbye, Marie, and let us 60
After that meeting, made it point
to see the child as often as I could She
went as day-scholar to a convent not
far from my boarding g-house, and, with
Father Raymond's permission, often
stopped to see me. The child interested
me, not only for her beauty, but low
ing, sweet disposition. In looking at
her, / always seemed to see, like vast,
formless shadow lowering over her
head, the terrible specter Of leprosy,
ready to clutch the sunny hair and
lovely face.
Instead of becoming more reconciled
to the separation from her home, she
began to pine with homesickness. Once
a week her mother wrote to her cheer
full, even gay letters, which she brought
me to read. The tears sometimes blind
ed me as l read could feel the men
tai torture through the brave effort to
speak cheerfully. 1t was like hymn
of rejoicing sung by martyrs while the
flames were consuming them.
''But mamma will not say when l am
to come back?" Marie said to me.
.No. have read you every word; she
says nothing about it."
"But can not stay away" she cried.
burying her face in her hands, and
bursting into 81 passion of tears. Il
dream. dream all night of mamma, and
when wake up, oh, 1 cry so much, ii
makes me sick!''
''But don't you want to obey MAN.
map" I asked. "She knows if you stay
at home you will be very i'll and die,
and she wants you to be well and
strong"
The child's eyes filled with passionate
longing as she cried:
"Oh, to be sick with mamma! why,
madame, that would be Heaven! Look
you, she takes me in her arms, and she
rocks me like baby, and she tells me
stories, and she kisses me all the time
All, mon Dieu, but that is all | want II
the world! / shall die if do not g
back"
Isoothed her convulsive sobs as vel
as could, but again and again the same
scene was enacted.
"She will die of home-sickness,"
said to Pere Raymond the next time WI
met. "Leper's Land is to her a paradise
and you will never weaken either he
memory or her attachments. .-
The good priest raised his reveren
eyes to the skies. s'When our own wis
dom fails, why, we will have to leav'
the matter in wiser hands. Some wa,
will be opened for the innocent little
one. We will do our duty, and safely
leave her in her Fathers hands,"
care you not afraid to 60 among
those people?" I asked.
"Afraid!' looking at me with sur
prise "It is not for priest to holt
back where duty takes him. All place
are good to us where we can do the Mas
ter's will. My allotted duties call me tt
Leper's Land, and if the deaths increas
as they have done within the past year
I will take up my abode there. 1t vii
not do for mans Outcasts to die withou
the ministrations of God $ ministers, ant
that has happened more than once"
"And Madame St. Cyr, is she mncl
worse?'
"No; the disease progresses slowl,
with her, as it does with most. Year
elapse while it is moving by inches. He
husband is near the end, but the domi
nant idea with both is to give Marie he
one chance of escape. Such scenes as
90 through there! Between the mother
agonized cry for her darling, whom ye
she will not see, and the child g yearnin;
for her parents, my heart is wrung al
the time"
The next day I left New Orleans an
did not return for a month. A fey
hours after 1 arrived, Father Raymon
called. and my first glance at him toll
me something had happened. ''How
Marie?" asked instantly, feeling as
sured that the gloom On the good priest
usually cheerful face had something t
do with his little charge.
'Itake her to her parents tomorrow.
.'Then she is"-the word stuck in m
throat.
ga leper, yes" he answered, sadly
ga few days after you left she was take
i'll, but only day or two ago the fats
sign appeared on her arm"
There was a long silence. 1 could nc
speak for my tears, and Father Ray
mond, with bent head and mournfu
eyes. seemed praying to himself.
"How does she bear it?" / asked q
last.
"She is perfectly happy. That seem
the saddest thing. But can not talk G