Middlebury register. (Middlebury, Vt.) 1886-1937, 1903-10-23

turc. while the uneven punchcons of
the floor wabblcd and clattered under
the priests feet.
1t 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 n
missionary. Ever since that day he
had found it harder to meet the many
and stern demands of most difficult
and eXactng duty. Now the mere
touch of the paper in his hand gave
him Il sense of returning weakness.
dissatisfaction and longing. The home
of his boyhood. the rushing of the
Rhone, seat in 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 hcard-but she was in
effable and her memory forbidden
fragrance.
Father Beret tottercd 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 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 n 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 Il large shanty
which stood on the bluff of the Wabash
not far from where the road bridge
ut present crosses, and saw men gath
ering there.
Meantime Rene de Ronville had de-
livcrcd Nine. Roussillon's letter with
due promptness. OF course such a
service demanded pie and clarct. 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
curosities 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, 50 interesting to him
discharged at the river house. Alice
understood her friends danger-felt it
III the intense enthusiasm of his voice
and manner She had once seen the
men carousing on similar occasion
when she was but Il child, and the i'm
preston 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 Nine.
Roussillon brought in Il lamp. Then
he hurriedly 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 Il dozen or more of the cherry
pates were ranged in order Il 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 tlatter me; but you--you just
eat what you want and say nothing,
You are not polite, NJ. Rene de Ron
Vile"
i've been showing you what
thought of your goodies" said Rene.
"Eating's better than talking, you
know. so I'll just take one more" and
he helped himself. Isn't that compli-
ment enough?'
"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 flour in these pates | ground
with my own hand in an Indian NOR
tar. That was hard work too"
by this time Rene had forgotten the
river house and the liquor. With sof-
tening eyes he gazed at Alice's rounded
cheeks and sheeny hair. over which the
light from the curious earthen lamp
she bore in her hand flickcred most eff