The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1910-04-20


not meant to chase the butterfly; that
she had meant to keep in all its starch
ed purity the little white dress that
Aunt Marguerite and old Marie had
so carefully. SO painstakingly, made
for her; that she had meant to stroll
only little way a-doWn the path
that led to the broad acres that had
once been of Valette ere came the
clutching fingers of hard faced poverty
to wrench them thence. She would
tell them these things; she would ex-
plain about the butterfly. But would
these things, that explanation, be suffi
cient? She did not know. Her father
was a strange man, proud man, a
man reserved She loved him much.
But sometimes he was strange. She
did not understand She felt far from
him, very far. And Aunt Marguerite
was even the shadow of her brother.
And so she hurried on.
In the great room of the house OF
Valette, a room that once had had
in the Norman hills, but now time
worn, sunk into the dullness that
marks decay, were they preparing to
do their last dead slave the honor of
the candles, for old Christian had been
obedient, faithful-yes, even to the end
of his days And for this he was
/ to have the honor that comes to the
| Valettes in their going.
1t was old Louise who counted the
candles now for the last slave, the
slave that was dead. Stout, heavy fea
tured. clad in rough gray gown and
1 cap of spotless white, she bent over
| the leather box that lay upon the
old table. taking therefrom the candles
and counting them as she did SO. And
as she counted there came to the kind
ly old face look of worriment.
/ At length she turned. hearing foot
steps. Came through the door the sis
ter Of M. de Valette. Across the som
| Der room she came, highborn, high
bred woman Of sixty. woman Of deli
cate, pale. gentle face and slender fig
ure Old Louise courtesied.
"You are counting the candles?" ask
ed Mile. de Valette. 1t was a ques
ton that was not question She went
on. MY brother tolls the bell for old
Christian with his own hands.
The old servant shrugged her shout.
dGrs.
"Who else Is there to do itT' she
queried.
Mile. de Valette said, lie maitre will
play the requiem" She was counting
the candles. Finishing, she exclaimed
MY good Louise there are not enough
Old Christian was sixty-three,"
Again Louise shrugged her shoulders
Here are thirty-eight," she grum
bled THAT should be enough. OLD
Christian! He was but black slave
after ALL" She shook her head.
In. the year of our Lord 1915, yor
know, slaves, especially dead slaves
were not of much value. Candles were
Mile de Valette. pity In her gentle
heart, would have made reply, but err
opportunity was hers there had en-
tered the room Father O'Mara, prizes
Of the parish-a kindly man Fathe
O'Iara, who lived much in the out o
doors, strong man and rugged an
man of the kind that 1t were goot
for God to have in his labor.
He spoke in a full. deep voice tina
echoed resonantly from the dim raft
ers with barely a trace Of brogue. Tn
old servant courtesied. Mile de Va
lette inclined her head graciously.
"You are welcome, Father O'Mara,
she said Eve are preparing the car
dies, you see But there are nc
enough. Louise!''
The old servant turned.
Mile. de valette. with light gesture
indicated where, upon the walls. tai
nished sconces upheld blackened car
dies
"Take those" she commanded
will look through the house for oil
ers"
she bowed to Father O'Mara, WI
himself bowed. and passed through Il
door. Old Louise obediently Wer
from sconce to sconce, gathering II
half burned bits Of wax and wick tht
were to be the last earthly tribute
the dead slave. At length she can
again to the table. laying the old b
side the new.
Father O'Mara took a pinch Of snul
watching her with shrewd, kindly gra
y eyes.
mot enough candIesT he said
le length.
ar The old servant shook her head
ssNo, father she returned. mot u
n less you can convince the master tn
t old Christian was much younger tn;
1t he said he was. Wouldn't you "a
lg now, that he wouldn't have been mo
than she stopped, counting the ne
a candles and the old "forty -fourT :
y finished.
"Much more than forty-four, Louise