Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-02-21

1 Mere krebs opened her door in the mex 1 cottage and nodded over the wall. l What fine thing to be l6! A merr, l year, Bcbee."
 Marthe, the carpenters wife, came out iron ! her gate, broom in hand
 1.-The holy saints keep you, Bebee: why l you are quite a woman now!"
 I The little children of ,Varnhart. the char coal burner, who were as poor as any nous in the old churches, rushed out of their littl home up the lane bringing with them a cak stuck full of sugar and seeds, and tied roune with blue ribbon, that their mother hat made that very week, all in her honor Only see, Bebee! Such grand casel they shouted, dancing down the lane. "Jule picked the plums, and Jeanne washed the al moods, and Christine took the ribbon off he1 own communion cap-all for you-an fol you; but you will let us come and eat it toos' Old Gran'mere Bishot, who was the oldes, woman about Laeken, hobbled through tho grass on her crutches and nodded her white shaking head, and smiled at Bebee Il have nothing to give you, little one-ex cept my blessing. if you care for that"
 Bebee ran out, breaking from the children and knelt down in the wet grass, and bent her pretty sunny head to the benediction,
 
 of them all, called to the child from the steps of the mill:
 "A merry year, and the blessing of Heaven -Bebee! Come up, and here is my first dish o1 cherries for you; not tasted one myself: they will make you feast with Varnhart's cake though she should have known better, so poor as she is. Charity begins at home, and these children's stomachs are empty"
 Bebee ran up and then down again glee- fully, with her lapful of big black cherries; Tambour, the old white dog, who had used to drag her about in his milk cart, leaping on her in sympathy and congratulation
 What supper we will have!" she cried to the charcoal burners children, who were turning summersaults in the dock leaves, where the swans stared and hissed
 When ono is sixteen, cherries and a cake have a flavor of Paradise still, especially when they are tasted twice, or thrice at most, in all the year.
 An old man called to her as she went by his door. All these little cabins lie close to- gether, with only their apple trees, or their tall beans, or their hedges of thorn between them: you may ride by and never notice them if you do not look for them under the leaves closely, as you would for thrushes' nests
 He, too, was very old; life long neighbor and gossip of Antoine's; he had been a day laborer in these same fields all his years, and had never travelled further than where the red mill sails turned among the colza and the corn
 "Come in, my pretty one, for second, y he whispered with an air of mystery that made Bebee's heart quicken with expectancy. Come in; have something for you. They were my dead daughter's-you have heard me talk of her-Lisette, who died forty wears or more ago, they say; for me, think it was yesterday. Mere Krebs-she is hard wo- man-heard me talking of my girl. She burst out laughing, Lord sake, fool, why, your girl would be sixty now an she had lived Well, so it may be; you sec, the new mill was put up the week she died, and you call the new mill old; but, my girl, she is young to me- Always young Come here, Bebee."
 Bebee went after him, little awed, into the dusky interior, that smelled of stored ap- ples and of dried herbs that hung from the roof. There was walnut wood press, such as the peasants of France and the low coun- tries keep their homo spun linen in and their own lace that serves for the nuptials and baptisms of half a score of generations.
 The old man unlocked it with 0 trembling hand and there came from it an odor of dead lavender and of withered rose leaves.
 On the shelves there were a girls set of clothes, and girls sabots and girls com munion veil and wreath.
 ''They are all hers," he whispered .,aIl hers. And sometimes in the evening time I see her coming along the lane for them-do you not knowa There is nothing changed: nothing changed; the grass, and the trees and the huts, and the pond arc all here-why
 "Antoine is gone"
 "YoS Rut he WIS old. rpv r;rl ;e .,o,,,,-x ,,
 He stood moment, with the press door open, pelple1ed trouble in his dim eyes; the divine faith of love and the mule like stupid lty of ignorance made him cling to this one thought without power of judgment in it.
 ''They say she would be sixty" he said. with little dreary smile. But that is ab- surd, you know. Why, she had cheeks like yours, and she would run-no lapwing could fly faster over corn. These are her things. you see; yes-all of them. That is the sprig of sweetbrier she wore in her belt the day before the wagon knocked her down and killed her. have never touched the things But look here, Bebee, you are good child and true. and like her just a little. mean to give you her silver clasps. They were her great-great- before her. God knows how old they are not. And a girl should have some little wealth of that sort-and for Antoine's sake'-
 The old man stayed behind, closing tho press door upon the lavender scented clothes. and sitting ill the dull shadow of the hut to think of his daughter, dead forty summers and more.
 Bebee went out with the brave broad silver clasps about her waist, and the tears wet on her cheeks for grief not her own.
 To be killed just when one was young and was loved like that and all the world was in | its May day flower! The silver felt cold to | her touch-as cold as though it were the dead l girls hands that held her.
 The garlands that the children strunp of daisies and hung about her had never chilled | her so.
 But little Jeanne, the youngest of the char l coal burners little tribe, running to meet | her, screamed with glee. and danced in the | gay morning.
 "Oh, Bebee! how you glitter Did the Virgin send you that off her own altars Let me see-let me touch! Is it made of the stars or of the suna'
 And Bebee danced with the child, ard the silver gleamed and sparkled, and ell the people came running out to see, and the milk carts were half an hour later for town. and ftp<N Ip<nvHr, ~~~ -y~zy