Fisherman & farmer. [volume] (Edenton, N.C.) 1887-19??, 1888-03-30

Is IalouX. ley wants me not try. All,
and Zey is GLAD my gun is broke
Canaille," he muttered between his set
| teeth, as he glared sd agely at the marks
men.
The stranger looked around, and
thought to himself that even IN this beau
| tiful isolated region, so remote from the
struggling ambitions of the world, envy
and hatred fourished ''The boy has
actually murderous look he thought,
land those fellows must be q mean set
of beggars to treat him So"
Look here. Jean Baptiste" he said
aloud. You shan't be baked of your
shot You shall take my rife: it's first
rate one. You'd better try it now, with
the other marksmen, till you get accus-
toned to its weight"
If he had rescued Jean Baptiste from
| q terrible fate, the Acadian could not
have been more vehement in his express
sions of gratitude. In a queer patois of
French and Engl sh, mixed with hyster-
icai sobs, he poured forth his thanks.
The stranger sauntered Ieisurely after
him, and watched with keen eyes the
Workmanship of the AcadIans.
''Jean Baptiste isn't half bad shot, :"
he said to himself, 'but the boys too
nervous. Dare say ned have done bet
ter if he hadn't been tearing his nerves
to fiddle strings this evening. Funny
people, these Acadians! Too excitable
and noisy ever to make good marksmen.
That night, in the loft which Jean Bap-
tiste shared with him, the boy confded
to him his reasons for wishing to win
the great prize. He sat on his mattress,
his great brown eyes luminous with ex-
citement, and his expressive gestures
piercing out his imperfect speech.
You see, monsieur, vas born here,
and nevaire hat been feefty mile from
re prairie. You see tall tree far off in
re maraisl haf neyaire been more far.
l climb it, l look far out. I say, Jean
Baptiste Avran, if you had a pony
for your own, you could run away. You
could gallop, gallop into re big world,
and, who knows, make heap of money.
"Ah, grind Dieu, | is so tired :" throw
ing out his arms with tragic gesture.
81 is not a COW; I is not a horse. to be
glad and satisfy because re grass is fine.
L want to go far off to see people, to learn
to read. Monsieur, when strangers come
here, not good, not kind like you, zey
laugh at us. ley say: You cannot read
or write; you know nothin'; you are no
more Zan your beasts Non, non" strik-
ing his breast, 81 will go away! 1 will
not stay here!"
You would leave your father, your
friends!" the officer said gently. "My
poor boy, the world isn't quite heaven"
1t may be bad, yes. 1t may hurt me,
but it will not be re prairie. All, choke
here."
g In plain words, you want a change"
and the officer laughed. "You want the
pony to gallop off into pitfalls, and
stumble against walls. and to get so
many knocks and tumbles that all the
Kings horses and all the Kings men
couldn't piece you into the old Jean
Baptiste again. You don't understand a
word l say! [ was just talking to my
self you see, and you needn't understand.
Go to sleep, and sleep soundly if you
want to shoot we'll. Nothing like good
nights rest to steady the nerves."
About ten o'clock next morning sew
eral hundred people assembled at the ap-
pointed place. In the open prairie, the
Patgo fastened to tall pole tluttered it's
gay streamers in the breeze, and the at
tention of the Acadians seemed divided
between the bird and the stately young
officer who lowered above them all, his
keen eyes taking in every detail of the
scene.
Gle looks like St. Michael, - whispered
one. ''The picture in the church"
BAH" answered the other ST.
Michael is angry, he is trampling the
dragon. That man looks as cold as ice,
his face never changes, though he is
handsome. Yes he is beautiful >
The shooting began, but somehow it
was unusually bad. After twenty shots
the Patgo's ribbon plumage still waved
defiance. Neither wings nor head had
been brought down.
"Will not monsieur take some chance?"
said one of the judges, in very good Eng
lish, approaching the stranger.
eyes, l will take four, but after Jean
Baptiste Avran. 1t is his turn, now"
Jean Baptiste's first shot was tolerable,
as it struck the wing of the bird, but
without bringing it down. In the next,
his nervous excitement had got the bet
ter of him, and his shot flew over the |
head of the bird. He had taken but !
three chances, and his last shot was so
deplorably wide of the mark, that
laugh from the competitors |
saluted it.
"Aha, Jean Baptistel" cried one,
''thou didst not say thy prayers last |
night. Get out of the way, mon gars',
and let the strange monsieur try his |
luck"
The officer took his rifle from Jean |
Baptiste, and smiled at his downcast !
face. He examined the weapon, loaded |
it in his cool, deliberate manner and /