Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1893-1920, 1896-05-06
old NATCHIT0CHES.
Copyright. ,lsoc. by the Author.l
By KATE CHOPIN.

Precisely at 8 O'Clock every morning
except Saturdays,and Sundays Mile. Su-
zanne st. Denys Godolph would cross
the railroad trestse that spanned Bayou
Boispourri. She might have crossed in
the fat which Mr.. Alphonse Laballiere
kept for his own convenience, but the
method was slow and unreliable. So
every morning at s Mile. st. Denys Go
dolph crossed the treSle.
She taught public school in q pic
turcsque little white frame structure
that stood upon Mr.. Labauiere's land
and hung upon the very lrink Of the
| bayou.
Laballiere himself was comparatively
a newcomer in the parish. Iswas barely
| o six month since he decided one day to
leave the sugar and rice to his brother
Alcee, who had talent for their culti-
walton, and to try his hand at cotton
planting. That was why he was up in
Natchitoches parish on a piece Of rich,
high, Cane river land, knocking into
shape q tumbled down plantation that
| he had bought for next to nothing.
He had often during his perambula-
tons observed the trim, graceful figure
stepping cautiously over the ties, and
had sometimes shivered for its safety.
He always exchanged q greeting with
the girl. and once threw q plank over o
| muddy pool for her to step upon. He
caught but glimpses of her features, for
she wore an enormous sunbonnet to
shield her complexion that seemed mar
velously fair. while loosely fitting leath-
er gloves protected her hands. He knew
she was the schoolteacher, and also
that she was the daughter Of that very
pig headed old Nine. st. Denys Godolph
who was boarding her. barren acres
across the bayou as miser boards gold.
Starving over them. some people said.
But that was nonsense. Nobody starves
on Louisiana plantation, unless it be
with suicidal intent.
These things he knew, but he did not
know why Mile. st. Denys Godolph al
ways answered his salutation with an
air Of chilling hauteur that would easily
have paralyzcd less sanguine man.
The reason was that Suzanne, like ev-
cry one else, had heard the stories that
were going tile'rounds about him. Peo-
pie said he was entirely too much at
home with the free mulattoes. 1t seems
q dreadful thing to say, and it would
be shocking to think Of Latnlliere, but
it wasn't true.
When Laballiere took possession of
his land, he found the plantation house
occupied by one Giestin and his swarm
ing family. 1t was past reckoning how
long the free mulat1o and his People
had been there. The house was o six
room. long. stumbling affair, shrinking
together from decrepitude. There was
not an entire pano Of glass in the struc-
ture, and the turkey red curtains flap
ped in and out of the broken aperturos.
But there is no need to dwell upon de-
tails. 1t was wholly unfit to serve as a
civilized human habisation, and AL
phonse Laballiere would no sooner have
disturbed its cmtented, occupants than
he would have scattered family Of
partridges nesting in a corner Of his
field. He established himself with a few
belongings in the best cabin he could
| find on the place, and without further
| ado proceeded to supervise the building
Of house, of gin, Of this. that and the
other, and to lock iIEso the hundred de-
| tails that go to set a neglected planta-
ton in good working 'order. He took
his meals at the free mulatto's, quite
| apart from the family of course, and
| they attended, not too sidllfully, to his
| few domestic wants.
Some loafer whom he had snubbed
remarked one day in town that Labal-
licre had more use for a free muIatto
4 q ,,, hs,E a1 x,.t,, TE
| sort Of catching thing to'say, and sug-
gestive. and was repeated with the in
| evitable embellishments.
One morning when Laballiere sat eat
| ing his solitary breakfast, and being
waited upon by the queenly Nine Gies-
tin and u brace of her weazmed boys,
Giestin himself came into the room. He
was about half the size of his wife, puny
and timid. He stood beside the table,
twirling his felt hat aimlessly and bal
ancing himself insecurity on his high
pointed boot heels.
| Mr.. Laballiere," he said, IT reckon
I tell you. It's BETA you git shed O. me
en- my family. Jis like you want, yas -"
"wliat in the name Of common sense
arc you talking about:" asked Labal-
here looking up abstractedly from his
New Orleans paper. Giestin wriggled
uncomfortably.
| ITS heap O. story goin roun bout
you. if You want b'lieve me-" And he
snickered and looked ut his wife, who
thrust the end Of her shawl into her
mouth and walked from the room with
q tread like the Empress Eugenie's in
that elegant woman's palmiest days.
"Stories ~ echoed Laballiere, his face
the picture Of establishment. who
where-what stories?"
"Yon'a i'll town en- all about It's
heap O. tale eoin roun, vas. They say
how come you mighty fon O. mulatta.
You done shoshiate wild de mulatta
down yon'a on dc suga plantation. tell
you can't res lessen it's mulatta roun
you"
Laballiere had distressingly quick
temper. His fist. which was a strong
one. came down upon the wabbling ia
\ BILE with crash that sent half of Mime.