Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931, 1903-11-07

|
''and maybe you are quite certain that
l am not going to the house to take the
letter. .,.
! M. Roussillon is absent, you know"
Father Beret suggested. "But cherry
pies are just as good while he's gone
as when he's at home, and I happen to
know that there are some particularly
delicious ones in the pantry of Nine.
Roussillon. Mile. Alice gave me a
juicy sample. but then dare say you
do not care to have your pie served by
her hand. 1t would interfere with
your appetite. Eth, my son?''
Rene turned short about, wagging
his head and laughing, and so with his
| back to the priest he strobe away along
| the wet path leading to the Roussillon
| place.
Father Beret gazed after him. his
face relaxing to a serious expression
IN which trace of sadness and gloom
spread like an elusive twilight. He
took out his letter, but did not glance
at it, simply holding it tightly gripped
In his sinewy right hand Then his
old eyes stared vacantly, as eyes do
when their sight Is cast back many.
many years into the past The mis-
sive was from beyond the sea-he
knew the handwriting-a watt of the
flowers Of Avignon seemed to rise out
Of It, as if by the pressure Of his
grasp.
A stoop shouldered, burly man went
BY leading pair of goats. a. kid fol-
lowing. He was making haste excited
~, keeping the goats at lively trot.
bon jour, Pere Beret," he flung
out preezily, and walked rapidly on.
"Ah, all; his mind is busy with the
newly arrived cargo" thought the old
priest, returning the salutation. His
throat aches for liQuor-the poor man."
Then he read again the letters super
scription and made faltering move as
If to break the seal His hands trem
bled violently, his face looked gray
and drawn
"Come on, you brutes," cried the re-
ceding 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
daubed wall. 1t was bare, unslghtly,
clamn1y 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.
1t had been many years since a 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 a 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 sense Of returning weakness,
dissatisfaction and longing The home
of his boyhood, the rushing Of the
Rhone, scat in a shady nook of the
garden, Madeline, his sister, prattling
beside him and his mother singing
somewhere about the house-it /all
came back and went over him and
through him. making his heart sink
strangely, while another voice, the
sweetest ever heard-but she was in
effable and her memory forbidden
fragrance.
Father Beret tottered across the for
lorn 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-
lently.
1t would be objectionable desecra-
ton to enter the chamber Of Father
Beret's soul and look upon his sacred
and secret trouble, nor must we even
speculate as to its 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
word remained whole and squeezed
them so firmly together that they were
compressed into tiny, solid ball
which he let fall through a crack be-
tween the floor puncheons. After wait
ing twenty years for that letter, hun
cry 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 a 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 Nine. 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-