The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1895-11-06
SELECTED STORY.
Madeline.---A Tradition.

Apostle islands. they were discovered
by Catholic priest, and from him re-
ceived their name. While one may
question his creed, none can question
the immortal intensity of his faith.
One day, recently, a pilgrim stood
looking off and over the vast, bright,
changing inland sea of Superior. An
old man limped up and, after looking
at the stranger with curious air, said:
"Sorter stranger hereabouts, eh, mis-
ter?"
EYES," CURLY.
"Well, you needn't be huffed erabout
it. Pm a Yankee, you see."
The answer explained the curiosity,
and was so good. naturally given that
the other gave way and held out his
hand 81 was thinking" he said, cot
Madeline island over there, and of your
old church, where the seeds of Chris
tiauity were first sown in the North
west"
Thinking of the old church,"
queried the old man. Wall, that puts
me in mind of er s;ory erbout it," And
this is it, released from the thralls Of
dialect and told in another tongue:
1t appears that Pierre La Fonte was
pretty lad in his old day--a day half
lost in the midst of history, just as this
will be lost in time, but one that left its
touch upon our planet, as the touch of
this one will be left. There is some
preordaned plan-but there, this is a
tradition, not q preaching of philos-
ophy. Little Pierre was regarded by
his dull, unprosperous and unprogres-
sive parents in the light of other prod
ucts, and was kept from morning until
night in the vineyard.
If this branch of a vine were too
premature or if that were too backward
he was taught TO apply the remedy,
and therein lay the whole region of his
knowledge.
He could neither read nor write. He
knew nothing of the world that throbbed
and Numbered outside of the small, I'M
changing territory of the clustered
vineyard in France until something
happened on his fourteenth birthday
something that was destined to change
his whole life and leave an immortal
impress upon the march forward of
Christianity in half our world. Pierre
was sitting in the shadow of vine one
golden August afternoon more than two
centuries ago. He sat there, a poor,
little, unlettered child on the day when
this record of his tragic life begins.
A whrl of dust which got up from
the roadside brought his thoughts back
from their wanderings. A carriage
stopped in front of the old vineyard
gate, and little girl came up to him,
saying:
Please, boy, L am Madeline, and
will you give me some grapes?"
Pierre blushed holly on seeing the
vision and, acting on natural i'm pulse,
began plucking fruit from the nearest
vine.
"Oh, thank you," murmured Made
line.
"No," replied Pierre, " 1 have better
fruit" and he led her to another vine.
"Come any day and you can have all
the grapes you want"
ooh, thank you again!" responded
the girl 81 live in that great big
house over there" pointing to an old
castle across the river, land if you will
come and see my father he will pay
you we'll"
Pay" growled Pierre. 81 want
no pay, gave them to you"
"But father says must not take any
gifts from his peasants"
Il don't belong to your father" re-
sponded Pierre, angrily.
"Oh, yes, you dol Father says you
are one of his best men, or rather boys"
and she laughed sweetly.
"Tell him, then, for me, that / am
no mans slave" and without another
word he left her there.
But the girl took no umbrage, and
came again and yet again. On her
second visit she had gold piece, which
she offered to Pierre.
"No, L will not take it," he said.
"The vineyard belongs to your father"
ooh, know that, but he says that
your father pays his rent on the very
day, and that you must make me no
gifts"
"He said that, did hep" and his fair
face darkened with sudden unhappi-
ness.
Then something strange happened,
for the girl caught his hand and kissed
it. Pierre stood petrifed. His whole
little world changed in flash.
"Oh, if l could only readl" he said
impetuously.
:" l can teach you" replied Madeline,
not without touch of pride in her
tone. See, here is my catechism.
This is letter A, this is B, this is c."
and thus and there began the educa-
ton of one who was destined to have
an immortal Influence on his race.
The beauty of Madeline Necker be.
came proverb throughout France as
the years went by. Her admirers
learned the paucity of language, art and
fancy when they saw the picture first
No pen can depict, no brush portray,
no thought evolve more than faint
idea of her infinite loveliness. Small
marvel, then, that Pierre became her
slave; but if one had seen him in that
vague old day, 30 far removed from
this, he would have said it was small
marvel that she worshiped the bright,
beautiful boy who was doomed to throw
the shadow of despair upon her-a
shadow that was never lifted till she
passed beyond the visible confines of
these lower lands.
M Nackar diad apd h;a dauobta,