The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1890-09-26
FELICIE.

tention, for Edmond did not have all his
wits.
The grass and the crops, which once had
been green, were now brown; the earth was
baked hard, and everywhere little cracks
ran in all directions. The rough places OF
the roads were all hidden under thick
mantel Of dust, as kindly in its appearance
as the winters mantel, but less so IN reality.
Unless the rain eame-well-
God knows what we shall do" said one
village elder to another.
4" And he never tells us until he is ready"
said Edmond, reverently.
So the drought lasted.
Then Armand Hamel died. 1t was not
the drought that killed him. No one knew
exactly what had killed him. " [ cannot
tell; it is Gods doing" the doctor had said.
But he was dead and after death comes the
funeral.
For the first time In months the sky was
overcast; the red sun ceased to glare upon
the earth, and under the gentle clouds the
grass aud the crops seemed actually to re-
vive q little, and even to raise their heads
again. But no rain fell.
Does this mean rain?" one villager would
ask of another as they met in the parish
house, while their wives went at once into
the church 10 pray.
Perhaps the man addressed would an
swer, with shrug, The clouds hang low
over the cape: or perhaps lie would 20 out
upon the gallery, whence he had just come,
and looking around at earth and sky and
sea would say, cautiously, who knows?
Perhaps"
In either case the answer was satisfactory.
N oil M
expected it; and the question was asked
rather TO pass the time until the funeral serv-
lee should begin than because Eugene Da-
sylvia thought that Joseph Billet could read
tie weather signs better than he himself.
No one asked Edmond, but he of all those
present said nothing doubtful. To Eugene
lie said at once at will rain; the grass is
getting ready for a shower" But no one
heard him; at all events, no one paid any at
tentiOn: lie was only half-Witted.
From the gallery in front Of the parish
house one could see many things. Directly
in front was the road white with dust, filled
with the caleches and planches and quat'-
roues which had brought the farmers and
villagers to the church. Across the road
were fields, and beyond the fields hills, cut
into terraces by great glaciers melted ten
thousand Years ago. On the right was the
church, with its tin roof ard its spires and
the priests house, with two willow trees in
10. =
yard On the left, behind the poor brown
trees, was the seigneury; and behind the
house. across tile rivera mile wide when
the tide was in, barely two yards when the
tide was out-roSe the cape which gave the
town its name, and seemed to protect the
town It named.
Over The cape hung black, threatening
clouds, but so little did they Indicate rain
that the farmers eyes more readily sought
the church and the priests house than they
did the rick and its low hanging crown.
In course of time constant succession OF
remarks and replies on the subject of the
weather had rmptied the parish house of all
its male inm1tes; the women and children
had already gone into the church. The men
Stood on the gallery in front Of the house,
almost in silence; no one cared to talk about
the errand which had brought them together;
so they stO waiting for something in
anxious impotence.
Suddenly from the steeple of the church
rang ont sharply the little bell, and at the
sound the men started, and crossed them
selves. Then, as if the expected had hap
pened, they moved toward the church, the
old. st man leading the way, the younger men
struggling to avoid bringing up the rear.
Again the bell rang out. ltwas tollmg.
Out of the cloud of dust, along the narrow,
WON road, came the yellow he"rse, open to
tn sky. bearing the red coffin, dust white
now, wherein slept Armand Hamel. Be
Hlnu Tue HtdIst. III Tie lOhl OltS IhO-iNloc
vehicle, brought out oil great occasions like
weddings and funerals, rode the mOurners--
Xavier Hamel, PhilOmene his wife, and little
Felicie PeletieT. tho uiatden who was to have
bsen Armand's wife. Had Armand lived
but month longer Felicie had been their
daughter; now she was neither their daugh-
ter nor their sons widow.
The men halted awkwardly at the church
door, and removed their hats as the hearse
drew up. The priest stCo1 on the steps, mis-
sal in band, and placing himself before the
coffin began the Office of the dead. Most OF
the men without the church and the women
within repeated audibly their prayers
Deliver me, Lord from those that hate
me, that l be not swallowed in the abyss,
that the pit wherein they have cast me
close not above me-" And again: Lord
God, king Of the ages thou alone art full of
kindness; here me, o Lord, whose pity is
always ready to pardon; guard my soul, and
deliver it,"
Meantime the mourners had entered the
church, and were making their way to their
seats. They walked slowly, delayed rather
by the emotions of the girl than by any
weakness of the older mourners. At last
they reached their places and the burial serv-
vices began.
All this time the clouds that had encom-
passed the cape Came nearer, and more and
more assumed the character of rain clouds.
The cape doomed up, and the miles of water
between it and the church seemed but yards.
so near it seemed TO be. Edmond ,ut ont
his hand, as if 10 touch the great rock; then
be looked at the sky and went into the
church.
Everything was strangely still. The voice
of the priest sounded as il it came from Il
great distance. The children, usually rest
less, sat quietly. The darkness of an APP
preaching storm pervaded the church: the
light before the altar burned dimly and I'M
certainly Only where Felicie sat it seemed
10 the Iad was there any light; around her
there was strange brightness, but he did
not feel afraid.
AT last the priest closed his book, and the
congregation sighed with RELIEF as he de-
scend-d from the sanctuary and stood at tn.
head of the coffin. Then priest, coffin and
silent congregation left the church and went
through the narrow gate into the graveyard.
There grave had been dug, next to that in
which the shipwreckrd Portuguese had been
buried, and around the grave gathered they
all.
In the center stood the priest and the
Rrave-digGers; next TO them were old Xavier
Hamel and his wife, PhlomenP, and between
them stood Felicie Pelleter.
Poor Felicie" thought Edmond. s. She
is very yoang and so little"
Slowly the old priest read the words OF
committal and then the poor red coffin was
lowered into its place.
As the coffin disappeared from sight thun-
great cape were lit up by flashes of light
ming, and far away the rain could be seen
falling heavily. AS yet, however, no breath
OF its freshness reached the kneeling llabi-
tans A movement ran through the crowd
as wind sweeps through standing grain.
Women and men looked up timdly; children
looked around boldly. Even the priest
hastened his utteranees, to finish before the
storm should break.
Still the thunder relied. 1t had not begun
suddenly, but slowly, majestically; at first
afar off, but ever coming nearer; not sui
len roar, not the ili-humored crushing that
seme thunder is, but awful and grand.
The crowd rose; the priests voice was no
longer heard in the noise of the thunder.
Perhaps he mad stopped his prayers.
Then suddenly from the black cloud that
hung directly above the congregation burst
d fash of lightning-Dot The forked light
ming that strikes down dwellings and crops
and men, but great broad flash, so brig6s
and glorious that all fell again upon the'f
knees and hid their faces in their hands s.
wondrous and awful that they dared utter
no sound, but remained silent and notion
less.
Cnly two stood upright. Felicie and Ed
m0nd. Felicie had kneeled. weeping on tne