Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1902-07-29
PETE'S
BABETTE
BY IzoLA L. FORESTER
Copyright. 1901, by A. S. Richardson

~~~~~~~~
There had always been Pete. At least
SO the people down at st. Michel said
whe, stranger would ask where he
had .Cmc from. Even before the gov
eminent had built the lighthouse on
PrrsGue Isle Pcte's fishing hut had
been there. and every night he had
hung out his lantern on the end OF a
pGlc 50 that the boats rounding the
point mile or two below would see its
liclcr and steer clear of the long sand
bar that ran out like an ant caters
nose from the northern corner Of
Presque Isle.
Everybody along the strait knew the
quaint old figure. but no one knew of
Babctte until they saw her one morn
ing huttering along behind Pete, her
red calico dr. ess 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 sun
shine 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 Babette build houses with
the red bark chips around the light
house steps.
"She has no one but me-" he said.
with dubious shrug of his thin,
stooped shoulders "Babctte. who art
thou, petite"
Babette stopped playing long enough
to fash a merry glance at him under
the shelter of her thick brown hair.
"Pete's Babette," she laughed.
And so. all through the isles Of the
strait. as far as st. Ignacc and even
down to Mackinaw, she WAS known as
Pete's Babette Pete taught her all
manner of wonderful things in fish
lore and shipcraft, 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 tluttered like
white butterflies here and there. But
best OF all, she loved the schooncrs. the
4 S,e 1n ll1-
came sailing up the strait on n still
summers eve like wOndrOus phantom
ships, with the glory of the sunset be-
hind, 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 wrinkled and small
er, while Babette grew up tall ana
slender and strong Us o 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 on 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, colder than
even Pete could remember, and every
week it was harder for him to row
down to st. Michel for provisions.
One night he came home half frozen
and with q dreadful cough. Babette
sent him to bed and said he should 20
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 q storm, and the waves
came rolling in, with deep, heavy
swell that sent a dull, threatening
roar as they broke, up to the light
house. And here and there in the dark
green waters could be seen something
else, clumsy, swaying mass that
glinted blue white.
"The ice has come," Babette thought
when she saw it from the lighthouse
window one morning after she had
trimmed the lamp, and there was
queer ache In her heart as she looked
off down the strait and thought or how
her birds would have to battle with IT.
but she did not tell Pete.
1t was three days later when Mere
M'ric showed her the empty meal bag.
She smiled. There were still bacon and
rice and dried fish. They were rich. AT
the end Of the week there was no ba'
con, and they had saved the last of the
rice for Pete. who lay on the OLD
lounge near the stove coughing. cough
ing all the time.
The following day Pete was deliri
Gus. Babette stood in the old kitchen.
looking from the flushed, wrlnkled face
on the pillow to where Mere M'rie
knelt over by the stove praying. The
provisions were gone. There was no
medicine.
Babette took the fur jacket from its
nail Before she went out of the kitch'
en- she leaned over the old halfbreed
woman's bent form. "To st. Michel
she said slowly, pointing eastward and
then at the empty meal sack and flour
bag thrown in corner. Mere M'rie
understood and stopped her 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 a momentary lull, she pushed
away from the small, tumbled down
pier and struck out bravely for st. MI
chel. She had often been out with
Pete when the waves were as high as
now, and she loved the excitement OF
It all. The low. fiat shore Of PresQue
Isle vanished entirely behind the wall
Of waters. but she could catch a
glimpse Of the dear old lighthouse and
its round top above the tallest wave.
and the sight strengthened and nerved
her for the FIVE mile Journey to st.
Michel.
Suddenly, when scarcely half mile
out, the boat seemed to strike new
current. Babette caught her breath
sharply as she felt the strong, resist
less power sweep her from her course,
and she bent over the oars with set,
close lips and tense muscles, but 1t was
useless. The deep, swelling rush of
waters carried her northward, straight