Morris tribune. [volume] (Morris, Minn.) 1880-2000, 1904-01-23
N Q N A

weeks at hshlng village on the
coast of Brittany. What hole il
was! But how picturesque! Find
ing myself in the vein for work, ]
fingered in this out of the way cor
ner until the end of the month OF
September, which by rare chance
in rainy Finistere was that year ex-
ceptionally mild and clear.
My most frequent promenade was
along the beach, having on my right
the bleak and rocky cliffs and on
my left the uncovered stretches of
sand-an immense desert of sand
left bare by the outgoing tide. Two
or three times [ had exchanged civil
tiles with some custom house Off
Ger going his rounds, his gun slung
over his shoulder. [ was so regular
and peaceful a promenader that the
sea swallows were no enger afraid
of me and hoped in front of me,
leaving the print Of their star
shaped feet in the wet sand. I
walked six or eight kilometers a day
and returned home with my pockets
filled with those dainty shells which
are found by burying the hand deep
down in the damp pebbles.
This was my favorite excursion.
However, on the days when strong
breeze was blowing and the tide was
very high I abandoned the seashore,
and, climbing the village street, |
strolled along the sandy moor, or
else l settled myself with book on
bench in corner of the cemetery,
which was sheltered by the church
tower from the west end.
1t was a lovely spot, conducive to
sadness and reverie. The church
tower stood out against the autumn
sky, over which dark clouds were
scurrying. Crows, whose nests were
in the steeple, flew out with their
hoarse cawing, and the shadow of
their large wings glided over the
scattered tombstones, almost hidden
in the grass.
In the evening more than at any
other time, the last rays Of the set
ting sun bathing the sea as though
with blood, the ragged branches of
the skeleton of an old apple tree
silhouetted against the crimson sky
and the deep intense stiffness of the
wild home of the dead flooded my
soul with melanchol ". ..
It was on such an evening as [
have just described that, wandering
among the tombs, many of which
bore under the sailors name this
mournful legend, F'Died at sea-" l
read on new cross the following
words, which astonished and puz-
zled me: "Here reposes Mona LIE
Magnet. Died at sea Oct. 26, 1878,
at the age of nineteen"
Died at sea! A young girl! Wo-
men hardly ever 60 out in the fish
ing boats. How did this happen?
"Well, monsieur" said a. gruff
voice behind me suddenly, s'you are
looking at poor Nona's tomb"
[ turned around and recognized
an old sailor with a wooden leg
whose good graces I had acquired
by the aid Of a few glasses Of bran
ly which I had given him in the
taproom at the inn.
eyes, 1 replied. 'EBut I thought
that you fishermen never permitted |
to 60 out with you. [ have
even been told that they bring you I
misfortune"
"And that is the truth" respond
ID the good man. Besides, Mona
never went into a boat. Would you
ike to know how the poor little one
lied? Well, l will tell you.
FEFirst of all, I must tell you that
Pierre, her father, was topsman,
ike myself, and an old comrade. At
3ourget, when Admiral La Ronciere
raised his golden helmet on the /!
Joint of his saber, and we flung our
elves, Ratchet in hand, on the en-
,attled houses, we marched elbow
% elbow, Pierre and |, and it was
Re who received me in his arms
When those cursed Prussians put
Jail in my thigh. That same even
ng in the ambulance at the fort
Pierre held my hand to give me
courage while the surgeon amputat-
ID my limb, and he was there at my
bedside when the admiral brought
ne my medal. But those rascally
orussians got the best of us, and
We were sent home. |, with my
wooden leg, was practically helpless, J
,ut Pierre, who was uninjured, hired
m board a fishing smack. Very
DON afterward his wife died from
N intermittent fever, leaving him
he care of little Mona, who was
,oing on ten years Of age. !