The Logan Republican. [volume] (Logan, Utah) 1902-1924, 1904-09-03

PulhtluS kOutnWaru, II Is going To
bring on storm. How is Nine. Rous.
sillon today?"
She is complaining rs she usually
does when she feels cNtI<o VS. we'll"
said Alice, That's why f.ad to take
her place at the oven and baa, pies. |
got hot and came out to catch a bit of
this breeze, oh, but you nocdr,, smile
and look greedy. Pcrc Bcrc,. ~ pies
are not for your teeth
My daughter, | am not a glutton. |
nope. | had meat not two hours since
some brollcd young squirrels with
cress, sent me by Rene de Ronville. lie
never fOrgets his old father"
oh. never forget you either, mon
pere thought of you today every
time | spread crust and filled it with
cherries, and when | took out pie. all
brown and hot, the red Juice bubbling
out of II So good smelling and tempting.
do you know what said to mysclf?"
How could know, my child?"
well, thought this: Not single
bite of that pie does Father Berct get. -
"Why So my daughter"
Because you said 1t 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,"
TIA, tn. Read the good books that |
gave you. They will soon kill the taste
for these silly romances."
Il tried" said Alice. 81 tried very
hard, and it's no use. Your books are
duh and stupidity 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. | like reading about
brave, heroic men and beautiful WON.
en-, and war and love"
Perc Berct looked away with a curl
GUS expression in his face his eyes half
closed
And I'll tell you now, Father Berct."
Alice went on after n pause. mo more
claret and pies do you get until | can
have my own sort of books back again
to read as | please" She stamped her
moccasin shod foot with decided en-.
ergy.
The good priest broke into hearty
laugh, and, taking off his cap of grass
straw, mechanically scratched his bald
head.
Although, as Father Berct had said,
the suns heat was violent. causing
that gentle soul to pass his bundled
handkerchief with u wiping circular
motion over his bald and believed
pate, the wind was momently freshen-
Ing, while up from behind the trees on
the horizon beyond the river a cloud
was rising blue black. tumblcd and
grim against the sky.
well" said the priest, evidently try
ing hard to exchange his laugh for a
look of rcgretful resignation, you will
have your own way, my child, and
Then you will have pies galore and
no end of claret" she interrupted, mt
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
(the creole word for verandW It'll
the storm is over"
There was not photographer
camera to be had in those days, but
what if tourist with one in hand
could have been there to take 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 1t would include the
cabin, the cherry tree, a glimpse of
the raw, wild background and 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 Il century and more to
look over scene at once strangely at
tractiye and unspeakably forlorn.
What was 1t that drew people away
from the 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 home and the exposures
and hardships OF pioneer life for their
daily experience?
Men like Gaspard Roussillon are of
n distinct stamp. Take him as he was.
Born In France, on the banks of the
RhOne near Avignon, he came as n
youth TO Canada, whence he drifted on
the tide of adventure this way and
that, until at last he found himself,
with IA wife, at Post Nincennes, that
lonely picket of religion and trade
which was to become the center of civ
ilizing energy for the great northwest
ern territory. NJ. Rousslllon had no
children of his own; so his kind heart
opened freely to two fatherless and
motherless waits. These were Alice,
now called Roussillon, and the bunch
back, Jean. The former was twelve
years old when he adopted her, child
of Protestant parents, while Jean had
been taken, when IA mere babe, after
his parents had been killed and scalped
by Indians. Nine. Roussillon, a profes.
sional invalid. whose appetite never
failed and whose motheriy kindness eX-