The St. Johns herald., 1900-01-20

ITS NOT this Hfe?" be thought, as
 he foated along little Canadian stream, few miles above its foaming shallow rapids.
 He had two companions, one young girl, olivc-skinned and black-haired, the other an old woman, whose darker hue showed her to be of unmixed In dian blood.
 "M. ViI!eaubiiie," said Yvonne, "zaire ees my grandmozaire's house, at gait montague, far, far. See you zaire? Gardez! gardez!"
 Her English wss delicious, mixed as it was with French words and spoken with the Canadian-French accent. She spoke to him in English. except when she became much interested in the con- versstien. or when the theme taxed too heavily her slender vocabulary.
 "Ze rivaire she wind much, and I zink we shall haf a storm. And ze eourante is against us, NJ. Villeaubille."
 He glanced up at the sky where the clouds were gathering above the top of the Montague Ronde, dark, heavy clouds, through which the headlight ming flashed fitfully.
 ''I do not fear Ze storm, |" said Yvonne, "but look. grandmere, wat was gait? Something's wite ran past me, on ze vater."
 Grandmere started, and looked about her uneasily.
 Ut was the moons reflection in the stream, Mile. Yvonne," said Will 1oughby.
 From her place in the bottom of the boat grandmere muttered an unintel- Igible something.
 In the shadow of the frs the canoe slid on almost noiselessly, when out of the silence wall quivered in the air above their heads. Yvonne suppressed a cry Of terror and crouched down low in the canoe. Willoughby himself was startled by voice so human. so mel ancholy, sounding in that solitude.
 'I believe it is child crying!" he exclaimed. "Let us go to the shoTe."
 "Non, non, navaire, monsieur" Yvonne's voice trembled, but she stopped the paddle with her hand as he began to reverse the canoe.
 'Zaire was not ze place it sounded it was above us. We will go on qvick- qvicL!"
 Tt was a wild loon,. perhaps, in pas sage" Willougbby said. "They have a human cry
 He was endeavoring to reassure him. self as well as the others, for fear is somewhat contagious.
 Tt was not loon, nor was it hu- man." the old woman spoke out in French for the first time.
 Look there!" She pointed toward bay of the river that ran up into narshy meadow.
 Willougby looked, but in the twi- light he saw nothing except the white mist slowly exhaling from the water and the iag-howers along the meadow edge.
 What is it?" he asked. his curiosity fairly aroused, for he>perceived that it was something definite which his com panion feared.
 ''TelI me, Mile. Yvonne."
 Silence met his questionable girl putting her finger to her lips with the gesture of one who dares not speak. Nilloughby's vision became preternat- urally acute as the wcirdness of the sit nation impressed itself upon him. | Watching the dusky shore past which they were closely skimming, he ob- | served q slight, sinuous motion among ! the reeds of the margin, and then some | thing slid suddenly in front of the ca noe.
 ''It is she!" the girl cried, suddenly ! lowing her head forward upon grand mere's knees.
 ''La Jongleuse! She is following us tonight"
 Flush! do not speak her name," said | grandmere's husky voice, ''or one of us will be taken"
 Again Willoughby asked, and more ! earnestly. for an explanation. ''I will tell you, Monsieur Villeaubille; ! but it is somezings you will not laike of hearing"
 Then she continued rapidly in | French, giving her version, somewhat ] modified. of the old legend current 200 ! years ago among the Algonquins and | still preserved in tradition among the | seignories of Riviere-Quelle: 'sShe comes at twilight. when the | mist rises from the streams; when the | whippoorwill cries among the grasses, :. then her voice is heard quavering and !. moaning like lost child in the lonely 1 marshes. She treads softly on the ! white, spongy ea oss, and where Ter footprints are she leaves behind her little pools of water. One cannot see ! her, M. Villeaubiue. No; no. But one 1 can see the rushes moving where she 1 walks at twilight, TOT she gathers the ! pale-purple sticky flag-fowers for her hair. Her hair is long and waves in the i breeze. Sometimes one feels it brush i the cheek. like the touch of dank : waterweed. Eril-evif for one whom ] she touches, monsieur.
 ''Where the alders droop and dip she j loves to go, and there she sits and : swings her feet in the water, and the cold low fog rises about her. The sif- feur whistles in the woods. It is a warning. But the belated fisherman hears the splashing Of her feet and thinks the trout are leaping where the : current is swift in the deep pool. He { pushes his canoe under the low-hang- ing branches. and next morning one