Waterbury evening Democrat., 1903-09-26

bite of that pie does Father Beret get
 Why so, my daughter? ?"
 Because you said it was bad of me to read novels, and told Mother Rous- sillon to hide them from me. I've had any amount of trouble about it."
 "Ta, ta! Read the good books that gave you. They will soon kill the taste for these silly romances."
 '''I tried,' said Alice. tT tried very hard, and it's no use Your books are dull and stupidly heavy. What do I care about something that queer lot of saints did hundreds of years ago in times of plague and famine? Saints must have. been poky people, and it is poky people who care to read about them, think. I like reading about brave, heroic men and beautiful wom- en, and war and love-"
 Pere Beret looked away with curi- ous expression in his face, his eyes halfA closed.
 'And I'll tell you now, Father Beret, Alice went on after. a pause, mo more claret and pies do you get until can have my own sort of books back again to read as I please" She stamped her, moccasin shod foot with decided en- ergy.
 The good priest broke into a hearty laugh, and, taking off his cap of grass straw, mechanically scratched his bald head.
 Although, as Father Beret had said, the suns heat was violent, causing that gentle soul to pass his bundled handkerchief with a wlping circular motion over his bald and bedewed pate. the wind was momently freshen- ing, while up from behind the trees on the horizon beyond the river cloud was rising blue black, tnmbled and grim against the sky.
 s'WeIl,'' said the priest, evidently try ing hard to exchange his laugh for q look of regretful resignation, t'you will have your own way, my child, and
 .'Then you will have pies galore and no end of claEetY she interrupted, at the same time stepping to the withe tied and peg latched gate of the yard and opening it. Come in, you dear, good father, before the rain shall be gin, and sit with me on the gallery (he creole word for veranda ''tll the storm is over.''
 There was not photographers camera to be had in those days, but what if tourist with one in hand could have been there to take a snap shot at the priest and the maiden as they walked arm in arm to that squat little veranda! The picture today would be worth its weight in first water diamond It would include the cabin, the cherry tree, a glimpse of the raw, wild background and a sharp portrait group of Pere Beret, Alice and Jean the hunchback. Each of us can see them, even with closed eyes. Led by that wonderful guide, imagination, we step back a century and more to look over scene at once strangely at tractive and unspeakably forlorn.
 What was 1t that drew people away from fhe old countries, from the cities, the villages and the vineyards of beau tiful France, for example, to dwell in the wilderness, amid wild beasts and wilder savage Indians, with rude cabin for a home and the exposures and hardships of pioneer life for their daily experienced?
 Men like Gaspard Roussillon are of distinct stamp Take him as he was. Born in France, on the banks of the Rhone near Avignon, he came as 8 youth to Canada, whence he drifted on the tide of adventure this way and that, until at last he found himself, with wife, at Post Vincennes, that lonely picket of religion and trade -whick was to become the center of civ ilizing energy for the great northwest ern territory. M. Roussfllon had no children of his own; so his kind heart opened freely, to two fatherless and motherless waifs. These were Alice, now called Roussillon, and the hunch- back, Jean. The former was twelve years old when he adopted her, child of Protestant parents, while Jean had been taken, when mere babe, after his parents had been killed and scalped by Indians. Mime. Roussi1lon, profes- sional invalid, whose appetite never failed and whose motherly kindness ex- pressed itself most often through strains of monotonous falsetto scold- ing, was woman of little education and no refinement; while her husband I clung tenaciously to his love of books | especially to the romances most in ] vogue when he took leave of France. M Roussillon had been, in a way Alice's teacher, though not greatly in clined to abet Father Beret in his kindly efforts to make Catholic of the girl, and most treacherously disposed toward the good priest in the matter o1 his well meant attempts to prevent hel From reading and Tereading the afore 1 said romances. But for many weeks past Gaspard Roussillon had been ab
 sent from home, looking after his trad ing schemes with the Indians, and Fer,
 Beret, acting on the suggestion Of the l proverb about the absent cat and the
 playing mouse, had formed an alliance
 offensive and defensive with Mime
 RoussiIlon, in which it was strictly l stipulated that all novels and romance l were to be forcibly taken and securel,