The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1894-11-14

the plain. Only on rare occasions ne
quilted his own paths to climb into
the mountain woods, to shoot the mare
Or gather mushrooms and salads.
Persons sometimes came to see him,
most on the eve of the vintage, to
treat for the purchase OF the fruit,
which he sold on the vines for ready
money, and on no other terms. At
chose times, after business, he would
invite the dealers or his comrades to
drink bottle of wine, over which ne
would gayly talk about the doings OF
his youth, his health; all the while
laughing the laugh of the master, sit
ling at his door in the sun, his fowls
picking and scratching In the straw
and dust around him.
His son Michel resembled him
closely-blonde, square-shouldered,
with beard and lair .tufted like the
brambles in ravine.
The old man was becoming gray,
and bushy eyebrows protected his
I, keen little eyes, which took a'dreamy
expression when, at the close OF the
/. .day, be sat upon his stone bench and
saw the trembling sea Of darkness
overspread the plain. lie was miser.
He mended his own clothes, repaired
his own plows, re-plastered the worn.
out walls of his house and trimmed
the hedges of his domain. He and
5 his son, without any beast of burden
1 to help them, did all the work. They
dug deep, and opened out their cul-
lures to the sun with energy and conf
dence. Their vines were the best in
the country. They never quilted
them-never ceased thinking of them
day and night, and so, lived by them.
Roch took pleasure in this kind OF
existence. He loved money-relig.
iously, with all his strength. He
hungered for gold-more and more
that he might handle it, imbibe its
powers, hide it in corners, at the foot
Of trees, under heaps of rocks.
On sunny Sundays he collected his
fortune from its hiding places and
keaped it on his table in front of his
door, in the midst of his fowls-alone
counted his silver and his gold
pieces, making them glitter in the sun
light and fall through his horny fin
gers in Gathering shower.
Near him, within instant reach, he
had his double barreled gun. And he
laughed and fed his eyes with his
large fortune. A glory sang within
him, he swelled with the pride of be.
ing rich. BE thought of Michel, o1
the happiness which this treasure,
amassed with so much fervor and
patience, would give him at some fu'
ture time, when he would no longer
be there. At ease in his solitude be
gave himself up to this enjoyment
he enjoyed his lands, still full oil
riches, while his son, down yonder,
behind the trees, dug bravely at the
foot of vine.
Then, suddenly overtaken by terror,
he hurriedly returned his gold to g
canvas bag and bore it away; made g
fresh hole in the ground, no matter
where, sometimes in the most open
and noticeable spots, so as to ward of
suspicion. And when he had thus
buried his treasure the old man stood
powerless, oppressed with remorse,
as if he had buried his happiness. hit
eyes Lost in an ecstasy. He planted
himself for a moment before his cot.
tage, lifted his eyes toward the blue
sky, scanned the high road along
which were passing the dull and in
different wagoners, and ever fearful oi
having been watched, he looked TO,
son, still working yonder behind the
trees.
When he returned to labor and
health the JOY of the soul came back
to him abundantly. Yet he was pur-
sued by an anxiety, miser's care, a
peasants pride in his lands. After
him what would become of the patri.
mony? What would become of his
gold? He had confidence in his son
who resembled him-but his son
would not remain alone. He ought
to be married already. And the young
wife and the new relatives would. per-