Daily Arizona silver belt., 1909-04-16
iction
Pefe'.S BGbeffe,
By IzoLA L. FORESTER.

seid when n stranger would ask where he had come from. Even before the government had built the lighthouse on Presque Isle Pete's fishing hut had been there, and every night he had hung out his lantern on the end oe a pole so that the boats rounding the point mile or two below would see it's flicker and steer clear of the long sand bar that ran out like an ant eat. er's nose from the northern corner of Presque Isle.
 Everybody along the strait knew the quaint old figure, but no one knew of Babette until they saw her one morn ing futterihg along behind Pete, her red calico dress the one bright spot of color among the grays and browns of Presque Isle. The day before Pete had been seen rowing over to the Mackinac shore, but no one knew of his return except Mere M'rie, and she was so old and deaf that all she could do was cook Pete's fish and sit out in the sun shine all day smoking in the kitchen doorway.
 When Landry Dubois, from Algonac island, asked the question direct Pete smiled and shook his head, his dark eyes, deep set in the small brown face, watching Babette build houses with the red bark chips around the light house steps.
 ''She has no one but me-" he said, with dubious shrug of his thin. stepped shoulders. "Babette, who art thou, petiteY'
 Babette stopped playing long enough to flash q merry glance at him under the shelter of her thick brown hair.
 ''Pete's Babette,' she laughed.
 And so. all through the isles of the strait, as far as St. Ignace and even down to Mackinac, she was known as Pete's Babette. Pete taught her all manner of wonderful things in fish lore and ship craft. and before long she knew all the boats that passed by Presque Isle, from the great iron kings and grain boats bound for Buffalo to the gay little yachts that fluttered like white butterflies here and there. But, best of all, she loved the schooners, the old monarchs of the lake, when they came sailing up the strait on a still summers eve, like wondrous phantom ships. with the glory of the sunset behind, and she called them Babette's birds.
 And the years passed by, ten of them. slow and sure and steady, one by one, as the wild geese fly to the southland, and each one left Pete browner and more wrinkled and smaller, while Babette grew up tall and slender and strong as young pine tree, with hair and eyes brown as dry oak leaves. Then came the ter rible winter of 1894, when boat after boat went out on the lakes and no more was heard from them until spring waves brought in the wreck age. It was cold at the little, low house back of the lighthouse on Presque Isle, colder than even Pete could remember, and every week 1t was harder for hil to row down to St. Michel for prov 1icns.
 One night he ca"e home half frozen and with a drcactIl cough. Babette sent him to bed and said he should go no more. They must make what food they had last until warmer weather. But instead of sunshine and fair seas the clouds swept low and gray like gulls before q storm, and the waves came rolling in, with a deep, heavy swell that sent dull, threatening roar, as they broke, up to the light house. And here and there in the dark green waters could be seen some thing else, q clumsy, swaying mass that glinted blue white.
 "The ice has come" Babette thought when she saw it from the lighthouse window one morning after she had trimmed the lamp, and there was a queer ache in her heart as she looked off down the strait and thought of how her birds would have to battle with it, but she did not tell Pete.
 It was three days later when Mere M'rie showed her the empty meal bag. She smiled There were still bacon and rice and dried fish. They were rich. At the end of the week there was no bacon, and they had saved the last of the rice for Pete. who lay on the old lounge near the stove cough ing. coughing all the time.
 The following day Pete was deliri- ous. Babette stood in the old kitchen, looking from the flushed, wrlnkled face on the pillow to where Mere M'rie knelt over by the stove praying The provisions were gone. There was no medicine.
 Babette took the fur jacket from it's nail Before she went out of the kitch- on she leaned over the old half breed woman's bent form. '"To St Michel" she said slowly, pointing eastward and then at the empty meal sack and flour bag thrown fin a corner. Mere M'rie understood and stopped her praying long enough to watch the strong, erect young figure pass down to the shore, the wind blowing the ends of her scarf backward over her shoulders like red