The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1896-05-21
NONA.


weeks at a fishing village on the coast
of Brittany. What a hole 1t was. But
how picturesque! A miserable anchor
age, for ten boats at the most, single
stony street, which 1 can compare to
nothing better than a mountain tor
rem On top of the hill a church, a
veritable gothic toy, which stood in
the middle of a cemetery from which
a magnificent view of the ocean was
obtained. Finding myself in the vein
for work, l fingered in this out-of-the-
way corner until the end of September,
which, by a rare chance in rainy Fin
isfere, was that year exceptionally
mild and clear.
But one canno always compose
verses and write, and a walk was my
hygiene and my distraction. My most
frequent promenade was along the
beach, having on my right the bleak
and rocky cliffs and ON my left the I'M
covered stretches of sand-an inl-
mense desert OF sand left care by the
outgoing tide. Two or three times |
a exchanged civilitics with some
custom house officer going his rounds,
his gun Slung over his shoulder. was
so regular and peaceful a promenader
that the sea swallows were no longer
afraid of me. and hoped i'll front of
me, leaving the print of their star
shaped feet in the wet sand. / walked
six or eight kilometers a day. and re-
turned home with my pockets filled
with those dainty shells which are
found by burying the hand deep down
In II damp pebbles.
This was my favorite excursion.
However, on the days when a strong
breeze was blowing and the tide was
very high | abandoned the seashore,
and, climbing the village street. |
strolled along the sandy moor, or else
bench in a corner of the cemetery,
which was sheltered by the church
tower from the west end.
1t was a lovely spot. conducive to
sadness and revery. The church tower
stood out against the autumn sky,
over which dark clouds were scurry-
ing. Crows, whose nests were in the
steeple, flew out with their hoarse
caWlng, and the shadow of their large
wings glided owe the scattered tomb
stones, almost hidden in the grass.
In the evening more han at an any
other time, the last rays of the setting
sun bathing the sea as though with
blood, the ragged branches of the skel-
eton of an old apple tree s~ilhouetted
against the crimson sky and the deep
intense stiffness of the wild home of
the dead flooded my soul with mclan-
choly.
1t was on such an evening as | have
just described that, wandering among
tue tombs, many of which bore under
h sailors name this mournful legend.
Died at sea-" | read on a new cross
the following words, which astonished
and puzzled me: Here reposes Mona
at the age of 49,"
Died at sea! A young girl! Women
hardly ever go out in the fishing boats.
How did this happen?
"Wel monsieur said a gruff voice
behind me suddenly, you are looking
at poor Nona's tomb?"
| turned around and recognized an
old sailor, with a wooden leg, whose
good graces had acquired by the aid
of a few glasses of brandy, which |
had given him in the taproom at the
inn.
Yes" l replied. But | thought you
fishermen never permitted women tC
go out with you. l have even beef
told that they bring you misfortune"
And that is the truth" responded
the good man. Besides. Mona nevel
went into a boat. Would you like tt
know how the poor little one died
Well, l will tell you"
First of all, I must tell you tina
Pierre, her father, was a topman. lik'
myself, and an old comrade. At Bour
get, when Admiral La Ronciere raised
his golden helmet On the point of hi
saber, and we flung ourselves, hatche
!. in hand, on the embattled houses, W,
, marched elbow to elbow, Pierre and ]
and it was he who received me in hi
arms when those cursed Prussians pu
: a ball in my thigh. That same cvenini
in the ambulance at the fort, Pierr
! held my hand and gave me courag
while the surgeon amputated my limt
T and he was there at my bedside whe,
the admiral brought me my medal. Blu
those r~ascally Prussians got the best O
us, and we were sent home. l, with m
wooden leg, was practically helpless
But Pierre, who was uninjured, hire
on board a fishing smack. Very 500
afterward his wife died from an inter
mittent fever. leaving him the care O
little Mona, who was going on ten year
of age.
Naturally. while the widower was q
sea, it was l, his comrade, I, the oil
bachelor, who cared for the little on
She was a good and pretty child, MOI
sieur; courageous and sweet-tempereC
We very often went to the rocks. at To-
tide to gather turtles, shrimpS, praW WI
and sometimes we We're fOrtunat
enough to find a lobster. ALI, but W
We're good friends.
This went on for about two year
Mona had made her first communion
grown and shot up like a thistle in Il
sand. But M day the Amelia, |
Magnets boat, was overtaken in
storm and wrecked. The skipper d
not haul in his sail soon enough, al
the boat struck on that reef you can ST
over there-iust Il little more to Il
starboard. There We're four men in II
crew-the skipper. two sailors and II
poor Pierre. But the sea only CAV
three of the drownded men,. and
tanned my cOmrade. NOnA became ;
orphan. 1t goes without saying that
did my best to replace her father. j
the child. even after the first Sorrr
passed away. did not seem to conSo
herself. And do you know why. mo
sieur? Because uf an ideal al the we
en- around here have. They believe In
a soul must remain in pain INIT t
Judgment day unless il reposcS in co