The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1893-09-09
A CAPE AQUARELLE.

10 inspect this typical New England
Hshing village, with its queer randi
ing streets. its ancient houses, its
old wharfs. once the scene OF activity,
now silent and deserted, etc.
stood at the end Of the landing
place and looked down the long
street with the walk on ono side and
abe harbor on the other, then turned
and watched the crowd rush past to
take the town by storm. staring at
Abe windows Of the houses, overrun-
aing tho quiet little graveyard. in
truding everywhere; in fact, doing
everything that rude, yandal excur-
sionists do the world over.
desperately struck into n straggl-
ing side street and in few short
moments. To my establishment, they
we're left far behind.
l stopped and looked about
Behind me the town lay, a narrow
fringe OF gray, colorless houses
bordering the inner harbor. Here
and there II thin pencilled column Of
smoke rose straight up as from ii re
in desert, the air was SO still and
hot.
A monotonous droning filed the
ear. reminding one OF the cicadas OF
Provence. From some ship yard
came the dull measured stroke of
caulker's hammer. sounding like the
tappingo IA woodpecker; again the
''peep! peep OF a sand bird; these
are the only evidences Of life. The
spell OF sleep is over everything, and
stand cooking unconsciously right
ahead till the sudden noise OF the cX
cursion boat blowing off steam
arouses me, and ! see low cottage,
the last on the lane, surrounded by a
meagre yard fenced with drift wood
held together by pieces OF rigging.
Before the door is IA pretentious
porch or arbor constructed Of the
gray, bleaching ribs Of a whale. An
snterprising morning-glory vine is
endeavoring to envelope and clothe
its ghastlincss, but it protrudcs and
stands out from the habby, sun
killed wreaths like white sepulchre.
A cobble.stone walk edged with pink
conch shells completes the drcary
ensemble.
am about to turn back to the
town, for it is not very pleasant pad
ding about in the shifting sands
under the broiling sun, when | see II
little crouched-up figure sitting on
block OF wood in the shadow of an
old dory. and so much the color Of
the surroundings as to be almost
unnOticed
1t is a woman, gray and bent with
years. looking tixedly at me with
queer, canny eyes, her lips moving
rs she counts the stitches of the
knitting in her hands,
] push open the gate on its rope
hinges and enter, asking politely for
n drink Of water. Never stopping,
she mods toward the well. | help
myself and then sit down near her
remarking.
This Is o beautiful day"
Sun draw water In the mornin'
Sailors take warnin'.
shc answers. never taking her eyes
off me. Ii was so unexpected /
started, but rallying said,
well, nice fresh breeze won't
hurt u.s." .
In sad, monotonous tone, she re-
piled,
When winds blow fresh across the main
And mists scuds vp from the lea, ...
There's apt TO n some rain
And u choppy sou east sea-
.'Well, WE'LL" laughed pleasantly.
though didn't feel mite that way;
you're quite rhymster, mother;
got verses for all kinds Of weather"
The laugh seemed to please the old
sybil for an instant. then the small
eyes grew sad again and she said,
nodding toward the village: ....
''Stayin' below" T.
"No. just came down and going
right back"
Then nobody sent you here?"
leaning forward.
mo: just strayed this way to
avoid the crowd. Why do you ask"
They send people here to bother
me. They say Pm crazy, crazy Nell,
you know; ever hear tell OF her?''
mo; but tell me. mother. how do
you live in this wilderness?"
"All the day | knit stockin's an
mits an lots of nippers for the fisher
men to wear when they're fshin'.
They're not all bad. They give me
food and things for them, sometimes
little tea; but it's poor life. lad. a
poor an sorrowful life for old crazy
Nell, with only her thoughts and the
seas means for company; an death
passes me, that only longs to go. and
takes the young an strong, that
wants TO live; but the day is nigh at
hand now: soon ] will see my NAL
colin, my bonny boy, my husband
gone, lad, gone, gone, and only mar
Tied one day; think OF it; me all
alone, alone for forty weary winters,
and forty wearier summers. waitin' to
die an 60 to him. DO You think he
has forgiven me-"
Suppose you tell me your story
j said, gently. rather touched by her
plaintivencss
"My story? ave: and what ioy