The Fulton County news. [volume] (McConnellsburg, Pa.) 1899-current, 1901-05-02
T HERE had always been Pete.
At least so the people down
nt Snint Michel anlh nvhnn n

at Saint Michel said when a
stranger would ask where he
had come from. Even before the
Government had built the lighthouse
on Presque Isle. Pete's fishing hut had
been there, and every night he hung
out his lantern on the end of pole.
so that the boats, rounding the pont
mile or two below. would see its
flicker. and steer clear of the long sand
bar that ran out like an ant eaters
nose from the northern corner of
Presque Isle.
Everybody along the straits knew
the quaint old figure. but no one knew
Of Babette, until they saw her one
morning fiuttering along behind Pete.
her red calico dress the one bright spot
of color among the grays and browns
of Presque Isle. The day before Pete
had been seen rowing over to the
Mackinac shore but no one knew of
his return except Mere M'rie. and she
was so old and deaf that all she could
do was cook Pete's fish. and sit out in
the sunshine all day, smoking in the
kitchen doorway.
When Landry Dubois. from Algonac
Island asked the question direct. Pete
smiled and shook his head, his dark
eyes, deep-set in the small brown face,
watching Babettc build houses with
the red bark chips around the light
house steps.
"She has no one but me-" he said,
with a dubious shrug of his thin,
stopped shoulders. "Babette. who art
thou, petite?'
Babette stopped playing long enough
to flash merry glance ut him under
the shelter of her thick brown hair.
"Pete's Babette," she laughed.
And so, all through the isles of the
straits as far MS st. ISnace, and even
down to Mackinac, she was known as
Pete's Babette. Pete taught her all
manner of wonderful things in fish
lore and ship craft, and before long
she knew all the boats that passed by
Presque Isle. from the great iron kings
and grain boats, bound for Buffalo. to
the gay little yachts that fluttered like
white butterflies here and there. But
best of all, she loved the schooners
the old monarchs of the lake, when
they came sailing up the straits on a
still summer eve, like wondrous phan-
tom ships, with the glory of the sunset
behind, and she called them Babette's
birds
And the years passed by, ten of
them slow and sure and steady, one
by one, as the wild geese fly to the
Southland, and each one left Pete
browner and more wrlnkled and small
er, while Babette grew up tall and
slender and strong as young pine
tree, with hair and eyes brown as dry
oak leaves. Then came the terrible
winter of '94, when boat after boat
went out Oh the lakes. and no more
was heard from them until spring
waves brought in the wreckage. 1t
was cold at the little low house back
of the lighthouse on Presque Isle, cold
er than even Pete could remember
and every week 1t was harder for him
to row down to st. Michel for provis-
ions.
One night he came home half frozen,
him to bed and said he should go no
more. They must make what food
they had last until warmer weather
But Instead of sunshine and fair seas,
the clouds swept low and gray like
gulls before storm, and the waves
came rolling in, with deep, heavy
swell that sent dull. theatening roar
sol 20 I'LL.
And here and there in the dark green
waters could be seen something else, a
clumsy, swaying mass that glinted
blue and white.
The Ice has come" Babette thought
when she saw II from the lighthouse
window one morning after she had
trimmed the lamp, and there was
queer ache in her heart as she looked
on down the straits and thought OF
how her birds would have TO battle
with 1t, but she did not tell Pete.
1t was three days later when Mere
Mrie showed her the empty meal bag.
She smiled. There was still bacon
and rice and dried fish. They were
rich. At ihe end of the week there
was no bacon, and they had saved the
last of the rice for Pete, who lay on
the old lounge near the stove. cough
ing, coughing all the time.
The following day Pete was deli
flous. Babette stood In the old kitcl-
EN-. looking from the flushed, wrinklcd
face on the pillow to where Mere
M'rie knelt over by the stove praying.
The provisions were gone; there was
no madeline.
Babette took the fur jacket from Its
nail. Before she went out OF the kitch-
EN- she leaned over the old half. breed
woman's bent form. ITO st. Michel"
she said slowly. pointing eastward,
and then at the empty meal sack and
-four bag thrown In n corner. Mere
M'rie understood, and stopped praying
long enough to watch the strong, erect
young figure pass down to the shore.
the wind blowing the ends of her scarf
backward over her shoulders like red
wings.
Her hands worked quickly over the
lines OF the boat. and taking advan-
tage OF momentary lull. she pushed
away from the small. tumbled down
pier and struck out bravely for St.
Michel. She had often been out with
Pete when the waves were as high as
now, and she loved the excitement Of
u all. The low. fiat shore of Pressure
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