Waterbury evening Democrat., 1903-09-28
a ALICE of OLD
 ! VINCENNES
 9x By MAURICE THOMPSON x -- .xA Copyright 1908. by the BOwENNGERRILL COMPANY
Copyright reOO by the BowEN-nEsRILL COMPANY
By MAURICE THOMPSON

OI, yOu ulCSs SI1C1 lA1C AC- cedfng man, jerking the thongs of skin by which he led the goats.
 Father. Beret rose and turned into his damp little hut, where the light was dim on the crucifix hanging op- posite the door against the clay 1aubed wall. It was a bare, unstghtly, clammy room A rude bed on one side, shelf for table and two or three wooden stools constituting the furni- ture, while the uneven puncheons of the floor wabbled and clattered under the priests feet.
 It had been many years since letter from home had come to Father Beret. The last before the one now in hand had made him ill of nostalgia, fairly shaking his iron determination never to quit for moment his life work as missionary. Ever since that day he had found it harder to meet the many and stern demands of most difficult and exacting duty. Now the mere touch of the paper in his hand gave him a sense of returning weakness, dissatisfaction and longing. The home of his boyhood, the rushing of the Rhone, a seat in shady nook of the garden Madeline, his sister, prattling beside him and his mother singing somewhere about the house-it all cafne back and went over him and through him, making his heart sink strangely, while another voice, the sweetest ever heard-but sine was fn- effable and her memory forbidden fragrance.
 Father Beret tottered across the for iorn little room and knelt before the crucifix, holding his clasped hands high, the letter pressed between them. His lips moved in prayer, but made no sound; his whole frame shook vio- lentiy
 It would be unpardonable desecra- ton to enter the chamber of Father Berets soul and look upon his sacred and secret trouble, nor must we even speculate as to it's particulars. The good old man writhed and wrestled before the cross for a long time, until at last he seemed to receive the calm ness and strength he prayed for so fervently. Then he rose, tore the let ter into pieces so small that not a word remained whole and squeezed them so firmly together that they were compressed into tiny, solid ball which he let fall through crack be tween the floor puncheons. After wait ing twenty years for that letter, hum gry as his heart was, he did not even open it when at last it arrived. He would never know what message it bore. The link between him and the old sweet days was broken forever. Now, with Gods help, he could do his work to the end.
 He went and stood in the doorway, leaning against the side. He looked toward the river house." as the in-. habitants had named large shanty which stood on the bluff of the Wabash not far from where the road bridge at present crosses, and saw men gath ering there.
 Meantime Rene de Ronville had de- livered Mime. Roussillon's letter with due promptness. Of course such service demanded pie and claret. What still better pleased him, Alice chose to be more amiable than was usually her custom when he called. They sat to- gether in the main room of the house, where NJ. Roussillon kept his books, his curiosities of Indian manufacture col lected here and there, and his surplus firearms, swords, pistols and knives, ranged not unpleasingly around the walls.
 Of course, along with the letter, Rene bore the news, so interesting to him. self, of the boats tempting cargo just discharged at the river house. Alice understood heR friends danger-felt it ln the intense enthusiasm of his voice and manner. She had once seen the men carousing on a similar occasion when she was but child, and the i'm pression then made still remained in her memory. Instinctively she resolved to hold Rene by one means or another away from the river house if possible. So she managed to keep him occupied eating pie, slipping watered claret and chatting until night came on and Mime. Roussillon brought in lamp. Then he hurried1y snatched his cap from the floor beside him and got up to go.
 Come and look at my handiwork," :" Alice quickly said; "my shelf of pies, mean" She led him to the pantry, where a dozen or more of the cherry pates were ranged in order. T made every one of them this morning and baked them; had them all out of the oven before the rain came up. Don't you think me a wonder of cleverness and industry? Father Beret was polite enough to fatter me; but you-you just eat what you want and say nothing! You are not polite, M. Rene de Ron ville''
 'I've been showing you what thought of your goodies," said Rene. Ratings better than talking, you know, so I'll just take one more," and he helped himself. "Isn't that compli- ment enoughT'
 "A few such would make me another hot days work" she replied, laughing. Pretty talk would be cheaper and more satisfactory in the long run. Even the four in these pates ground with my own hand in an Indian mor- tar. That was hard work too" By this time Rene had forgotten the river hOySa and the Hn11or With Sof-