The Holly chieftain., 1898-12-30

bled on between the river and the
mountains, laundering over its bridges,
and the green. fair vista of the Mission
opened. The outbound passengers dis
embarked and gathered in groups, or
scattered till the moment of departure.
At the Mission Mrs. Casson's children
had to be fed. Faith was not enticed
by the sort of meal that the Mission
set forth that day to its seventy Wis
itors; anything at all, at good round
price, was right for the scabs; the Mis-
sion did what it could to retain little
of that apostate money in the land OF
the faithful. But Nature offered them
her own refreshment flowers, and
deep, soft grass to lie upon--and shed
the light of her jocund sunshine upon
their recent troubles, and upon the
anxious future before them; and the
habit of making the best of a bad out
look was the habit of them all.
Faith had idly extended her acquaint-
ance to a chatty little lad. one of the
rising hopes of the Mission, who, hav-
ing his time much at his own disposal,
was pleased TO bestow it largely upon
her. He was wise child in the hap
piest sort of knowledge-that of the
"footpath way" He took her across
the meadows, where the blue camass
flower was just falling from over
bloom. They crept under the boughs
along the river, and loaded themselves
with wild roses, pale and red, and every
shade of pink between. He told her the
names of the new flowers. as he knew
them, and she likened them to other
flowers at home. She noted the strange
character of the river, which here at
the Mission is not like mountain
stream, but cuts into the rich bottom
land, deep and still, like southern
bayou, and has no beaches, but only
banks, which drop off suddenly into
thirty feet of water, or put forth toe
of tree-roots overlaid with dried mud
where driftwood gathers, or great
logs, travelling downstream, halt as at
landing-place. Lovely reflections line
the shores, binding the land and water
together in an inverted borderage of
green, with a clear sky pattern down
the middle stream, dashed out of sight
by the breeze, or returning again like
a smile.
They crossed to the knoll, where
stands the old church of the Mission,
built in the days of intrepid zeal, where,
skill or want of tools was no detri-
ment, and men wrought with faith and
their bare hands in the sincerity of
wood and imperishable stone. The
priests house adjoining the church,
and n shabby modern foil to its ancient
dignity, was closed, and Faith was
forced to abandon her desire to enter
the church of the fathers; but they
sat upon the steps, the odd young pair
and talked of the past. The little boy
was not much of historian; Faith
did not put implicit confidence in his
tales of Father de Smet, who was dead
that at least was true-and of Father
Josette, who was still of the living.
She knew, perhaps, quite as much about
the history of the "old church" as he
did, born in it's shadow. But there
we're other subjects of contemporane-
Gus and imperative interest on which
he could offer her few surprises He
had gathered that he was talking with
no less parsonage than the young
lady of the Big Horn, and. for rea-
sons which we know, the name of her
fathers mine inspired this wise child
of the union with the fullest faith in
her as partisan. Notwithstanding that
he had seen her consorting with scabs
So he poured forth his tale without
hesitation-to behold her stare at him
in incrcdulous horror!
What was this he was saying? She
demanded; but the child drew back