Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931, 1906-03-07


boars.~ To the end Of his life have
heard that the great king loved this
district. and would sigh, when years
and state fell heavily on him, for the
beech-groves and box-covered hills of
South Rearn. From the terraced steps
of Auch you can see the forest roll
away in light and shadow, vale and
upland, to- the base of the snow-peaks;
and, though come from Brittany and
love the smell of the salt wind, have
seen few sights that Guido this.
It was the second week in October
when came to Cocheforet, and, drop
ping down from the last wooded brow,
rode quietly into the place at evening.
was alone and had ridden all day in
glory of ruddy beech-leaves, through
the silence of forest roads, across clear
brooks and glades still green. had
seen more of the quiet and peace of the
country THAI had been my share since
toyhood, and felt little melancholy:
it might be for that reason, or because
I had no great taste for the task before
me-the task now so imminent. In good
faith, it was not gentleman's work,
look at it how you might.
But beggars must not be choosers,
and knew that this feeling would pass
away. At the inn, in the p1~<ence Of
others, under the spur of necessity,
or in the excitement Of the chase, were
that once begun, should lose the feel
ing. When a man is young, he seeks
solitude: when he is middle-aged he
flies it and his thoughts. Imade with
out ado for the Green Pillar, little inn
in the village street, to which I haG
been directed at Auch, and, laundering
on the door with the knob ef my rid
ing-switch, rallied at the man for keep
ing me waiting.
Here and there at howell doors in the
street-which was a mean, poor place,
not worthy OF the name-men and
women looked out at me suspiciously.
But I affected to ignore them; and at
last the host came. He was a fair
haired man, half Basque, half French
man, and had scanned me we'll, was
sure, through some window or peep
hole: for, when he came out, he be-
trayed no surprise at the sight Of a
well-dressed stranger-a portent in that
out-of-the-way village-but eyed mo
with a kind of sullen reserve.
81 can lie here tonight, suppose"
I said, dropping the reins on the sor-
rel's neck. The horse hung its head.
II don't know" he answered stupid
ly.
I pointed to the green bough which
topped post that stood opposite the
door.
"This is an inn, is it not?" said.
eyes," he answered slowly; ''it is an
inn. But
''But you are full, or you are out Of
food, or your wife is i'll, or something
else is amiss,' I answered peevishly.
Cali the same, am going to lie here.
So you must make the best Of it and
your wife too-if you have one"
He scratched his head, looking at me
with an ugly glitter in his eyes. But
he said nothing, and l dismOunted.
"Where can stable my horse?"
asked.
"I'I put it up" he answered sullen-
ly, stepping forward and taking the
reins in his hands.
Every well,'' l said; 'sbut go with
you. A merciful man is merciful to his
beast, and wherever go see my
horse fed"
''It will be fed,'' he said shortly. And
then he waited for me to go into the
house. "The wife is in there" he
continued, looking at me stubbornly.
"Imprimis-if you understand Latin.
my friend" answered, "the horse in
the STALL"
As he saw it was no good, he turned
the sorrel slowly round and began to-
lead it across the village street. There
was a shed behind the inn, which I
had already marked and taken for the
stable and I was surprised when I
found he was not going there. But
I made no remark and in a few min
utes saw the horse we'll stabbed in a
hovel which seemed to belong to a
neighbor.
This done, the man led the way back
to the inn, carrying my valise.
"You have<no other guests?" I said
with a casual air. I knew he was
watching me closely.
NO." he answered.
"This is not much in the way to
anywhere, I suppose?'
mo-"
That was evident; a more retired
place never saw The hanging woods.
rising steeply to a great height, so
shut the valley in that was puzzled
to think how a man could leave it
save by the road I had come. The
cottages, which were no more than
mean, small huts, ran in a struggling
double line, with many gaps-through
fallen trees and ill-cleared meadows.
Among them noisy brook ran in and
out. And the inhabitants-cha
burners, or swineherds, or poor peo-
pie of the like class, were no better
than their dwellings. looked in vain
for the Chateau. It was not to be
seen. and dared not ask for it.
The man led me into the common
AoOM u tAe taSciu~d lO"-lOO1eu, pOOT
place, lacking a chimney or glazed
windows, and grimy with smoke and
use. The fire-a great half-burnt tree
smouldered on stone hearth, raised
foot from the floor. A huge black
pot simmered over it, and beside ono
window lounged a country fellow talk
ing with the goodwife. In the dusk
I could not see his face, but I gave