The Ketchum keystone. [volume] (Ketchum, Idaho) 1885-1899, 1886-10-02
THE PEASANTS TALE.


ters and their governess, / walked
slowly across the pretty cool val
ley leading to the.riverside.
All around looked so full Of
peace and calm; no sound except
the warbling of birds overhead
broke the silence; so, attracted by
the quiet scene, | paused, and sank
down on one of the mossy banks
amongst the green grass and flow
ers.
Before us rose ledge of rocky
steps, sloping gradually to the
waters edge behind lay the tran
quill village we had just quilted
with its cool white houses showing
so daintily between the tall trees
Margie and Adie, happy IN their
freedom, scampered off, leaving me
alone with their young governess
"a pretty palefaced girl, who
seemed to be enjoying her holiday
with keen pleasure.
For some time we sat in silence
the monotonous ripping of the
water, like a soft lullaby, had
nearly sent me to sleep, when sud
denly a sound of slow footsteps,
coming towards the spot where we
were, aroused me.
Looking up, | gazed curiously at
the new conner, an old white-haired
peasant, in the blue blouse and
wooden sabots of his country; he
was leaning on a stout stick, his
mournful eyes fixed upon the two
children fitting about the mossy
sward
There was something strangely
serene in his wrinkled face, in spite
of the many lines of trouble; 2
nobility of expression which soon
aroused my interest.
"Bon jour, Mademoiselle," he
said politely, raising his big straw
hat, and bowling low.
4" Bon jour-" | answered, not q
little surprised at his remark.
+" You are a stranger here, mad
emoiselle?" he continued, letting
his keen eyes rove from my face to
Mdlle. Louise.
ayes"
"Do you like this country?'
"Verv much, especially by the
river" l answered, rather enthusi-
astically.
a pleased smile crossed his face.
which changed to panied melan-
choly when he looked at the shin
ing water. Margie and Adie, adj
vancing at this moment, gazed at
him in astonishment.
"Ah, mademoiselle, it was long
before / could ever bear the sight
of the river. 1t took from me my
last happiness, and now | can
scarcely look at it without shud
der" the old man said quitely.
"How was that?" ! asked, in
terested in the grief which could
effect one so deeply.
at is sad story, mademoiselle,
but if you would care to hear it,
and you, my lite ladies'" turning
to the two children, 81 shall be
pleased to oblige you"
81 should like to know your
if it will cause you
pain though" / added hastily.
He smiled, and with a murmured
apology, sank on the ground beside
us. Margie and Adie, full of excite
ment, crept near, listening with
wide-open eyes to his story.
"Not long ago, / was not the
lonely old man you see before you
two little girls, the orphaned chill
dren of my only daughter, made my
life almost paradise.
"They were such sweet pretty
creatures, like twin rosebuds, and
my one hope was to have them
always near me, a consolation for
the grief the early death OF their
poor mother had left in my heart"
Marie and Lea grew each year
prettier and more lovable; it was
not until they reached the age OF
those young ladies'" pointing to-
ward my sisters, "that the trouble
came which darkened my whole
ife,"
For a moment Francois paused,
md saw him furtively dash a
ear from his eye; his gaze was
liked stcadfastly on the opposite
side of the river. when he contin-
led:
You see yonder row of cliffs,
nademoisellew You would scarce
v believe it was near that very |
,pot lost my two sunbeams !"
"Were they drowned?" Margie |
broke in, her big brown eyes full
If startled horror.
Francois smiled sadly, as if re-
,ukine her impatience.
Tho rnnEa wnro not safe then |