The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1896-08-08
THE KING OF THE MILL.
By JOSEPH AEvIN DOYLE.
[coPYRIoHr. 1861

NJ.
mon the veranda of the Hotel Castor.
his hat in his hand, his smoothly
shaven face ruddy and pleasant to look
upon. Brabon, the drummer, who came
mn from Montreal, to ST. Pyx occa-
sonally on business, sat smoking quiet
" in chair that was tilted against the
wall.
"Good EVENING"" said NJ. La Rose.
Good evening, monsieur lie notaire!"
answered Brabon, indolently.
Then there followed little spell of ST.
lence that was intensified by the clat-
ter of distant COW bells.
Presently there appeared in the street
Immediately before the hotel sort of
living fatasy-a singular dark-face6
old man. who strobe slowly past clad
in loose robe of many bright colors.
His eyes had the unmistakable and rest
less look of the daft. On his head was
crown of buttons; brass, silver, bone,
pearl presumably sewn together on
card board and making headgear of re-
markable brilliancy. Behind him
walked gray-haired, gray-eyed woman
in ordinary garb. Her look was clear
and steady; her demeanor in every way
sane. Yet though it was plai:, TO see she
was a commonplace woman, there was
something august in her carriage. unac-
countably so, perhaps. but as natural as
the studied pose of The other was con-
strained and unnatural. Her eyes were
set fairly upon the fantastic figure be-
fore: but. declare, this is newt"
an evident interest beyond his ludicrous
pomp and preoccupation.
II was not surprising then to the no
tary that this appartion. emphasized in
the magic atmosphere Of the summer
twilight, should have made Brabon to
cry out with establishment.
"Allous. What is this, monsieur? |
have been in Saint Pyx many times be-
fore; but | declare, this is newt"
"a very pathetic affair it is. Brabon,"
said the notary. taking chair and look
ing at his watch, 10 be assured he had
time to tell the tale before going for his
customary evening chat with NJ. lie Cure
in the presbytery rose garden.
There is a tale?"
well. as YOU will: n history. nothing
absorbing but very human. very touch
ing Old Cesaire Moissoii. n man with 4
large family, thrifty, sober. God-fear-
ing man once owned the mill by the
River of Angels"
'les. | see it from here; the squat
white building near the cluster Of will
lows Wonder"
Exactly. Well He was n man
with considerable family, | said, did
I not? and when the epidemic of small
poN occurred in the vilage-that was
many years ago, monsieur-poor Mois-
sons family was attacked. and one
after another his wife and children
passed away, and he himself. indeed,
till there was only left this son Zeph-
rim whom you saw go by moment
since"
ut left him so-the smallpox"
mo. He was not at home when the
epidemic occurred: he was at college.
Old Ccsaire managed TO put by enough
silver to educate the lad--the brightest
Of his brood-and NJ. lie Cure also con-
tributed. for he had hopes that Zephrin
would become a priest"
Then, l presume, the shock of this
great calamity unbalanced the young
mans mind"
That may be pretty true, monsieur,
though for a long time after the affair
he was thought to be perfectly sound
mentally. Well, Zephrin was obliged to
leave college and take up the business
of the mill-a lonely task it must have
been for one who had but just tasted
the sweets of knowledge. Then. every
dusty timber of the mill must have
seemed to him like a ghost of the happy
days when the place was trimming
with laughter and good cheer.
''IIe was not liked by the villagers Oh
account of his silent and arrogant man.
ner; he was unlike any miller who
had ever been known. When the in
habitants came with their grists he
received them with the grand air of q
seigneur of the old days who, amid his
courtly encourage, received the fiefs of
his dependents. It's like that always
grumbled the crones; poor parents
fill their children's minds with foolish
notions of greatness! Poor old Cesaire
himself-rest to his bones-was not
like this peacock. Cesaire knew his
place bon vieux! A miller is u miller
if his head be crammed with Latin or
flour dust!'
Everyone pitied Zephrip, of course,
on account of his great bereavement
and the business of the mill suffered no
serious retrogression in consequence of
his singular demeanor. This exclusive
ness, this hauteur, however, was taken
lightly by the young folks of the village
and often of summers evening, like
this one for instance, they passed by the
mill crying up Mt Zephrin, who invaria-
bly, pored over his books in the little
dormer window: Behold The king of
the mill' Then with gestures of mock
gravity: Think of his mighty empire
of ratsl'
quite so,'' said Barbon, they taunt-
ed him into insanity with these gibes.
The crown! the robes! see now how
they camel"
INDIRECTLY these taunts may have