Kingsbury County independent. (DeSmet, Kingsbury County, S.D.) 1894-1929, 1910-07-29
Extremely indirectly. 1 should

AiSA. IAILehi@4g llldHSStLy' 4 eHOuAu
say"
Besides" 1 added 81 wish you to
advise mIe-and your advice viii be
worth much more to me than M. lie
Comics or any others"
Thank you. Although that sounds
somewhat as If 1t were a continuation
Of the riddle. Pray continue"
1T is necessary that l should go back
a little" / explained. Thirty years
ago, my father made q pilgrimage to
Mont Saint-Michel to discharge a vow.
AS he approached the rock across the
sands, he was suddenly conscious that
his horse was having difficulty In pro-
ceeding. In a moment more, the horse
had sunk to his belly, and my father
perceived that he had Numbered into a
quicksand. He flung himself from the
saddle, and, abandoning the beast to
It's fate-which, indeed, nothing could
have averted-endeavored to make his
way back to solid ground. He sank to
his ankles, to his knees, to his waist.
His struggles to escape served only to
entangle him more deeply until. at last,
seeing them in vain, he set himself to
await the end co~urageously. He glanced
around over the sands to make sure
that there was no help In sight, hen
he set himself with his face toward
the cross above the rock and commend
ed his soul to God.
But the momen he ceased to strug-
gle, he robbed the Quicksand Of It's vio-
lence. He still sank, indeed, but so
slowly that at the end Of an hour, the
sand had scarcely reached his breast.
He reckoned that it would be three
hours, at least, before the sand covered
nose and mouth, but he knew that the
tide would end 1t before that. Never
tneless, hope began to revive a little
and again he looked aroun for aid,
but he had evidently wandered some
distance from the direct road to the
mount, and h only persons passing
were so far away hat they did not
perceive him nor hear his shouts. So
again he resigned himself, and the
thought eve came to him to renew his
struggles in order to bring the end
more quickly. But he decided that this
would be c~owardly, If not sinful, and
so waited quietly. He was relieved to
see that his horse, struggling to the
last, had sunk from sight so that its
sufferings were ended.
He closed his eyes and even dozed
a little, for he had been exhausted by
his previous struggles, but he was
startled wide awake by a voice shout
ing. The sand had reached his arm
pits. His arms, extended In front OF
him, were covered. He turned his head
with difficulty and saw a man standing
q ia SNbS VI lIS QulGhSdIIu. nc was
tearing off his doublet I'm desperate
haste.
do not venture into it, my father
cried, co~mprehending his purpose. I
am past saving. Do not endanger
yourself. Take a message for me-that
is all I ask
THE other did not answer. but
spread out his cloak before him and
advanced across It. He sank some
what, 1t is true, but his feet were not
entangled In the sand. At the edge of
his cloak, he spread his doublet,
stepped upon It and drew his cloak
after him.. But that moment Of stand
ing still almost proved his ruin, for he
had sunk nearly to his knees before he
got his cloak spread out again. My
father watched him with bated breath
as he freed himself and crept forward
to the edge of It.
Your hand said the stranger, and
he stretched out his own.
MY father disentangled one of his
arms and grasped the hand extended
to him, noting at the same time how
firm and strong 1t was.
NOW continued the other ran
idly, you must free yourself by one
supreme effort. If we fall the first
time II will be useless to try again.
So we must not fail. Are you readyY'
Yes said my father and with a
mighty effort. heaved himself up out
of tho sand. Yet he must have failed,
for that strong arm which helped him,
drawing him Up ami forward to the
edge OF the cloak, which formed, for a
moment, a little isle of safety.
But only for O moment. Already the
san was pouring ove it's edges and II
being rapidly engulfed.
w must get back without IT, said
the unknown. Come
"Of the desperate struggle which
followed, my father never told me
much-indeed. i doubt If he remem-
bered Its details very clearly. They
aided each other, encouraged each
other, drew a other forward-each
determined that the other should be
saved--and, at the end. dropped ex-
hausted side by side on he firm sand
beyond.
MY fathers rescuer was a young
man of Poitiers-the youngest son of
a good family-ana his name was Louis
Marie de Benseval."
paused. / was, indeed, somewhat
overcome by my W. story and more
especially by the memories which II
evoked. AS for Mdlle. de Chambray,
she sat with her face so In the shad-
ow that I could scarcely discern her
features. She made no comment, MY
stirred slightly, and / saw her eyes
shining up at me.
IL ear / have been prolix," I said.
Il have wearied you. I will try to has
ten
Please do not" she broke In. you
have not wearied me. / wish to hear
the whole story. But will you not sit
DOWN." and she made a little inviting
gesture.
mo" I said. resisting II. IT have
not yet come to the dinicult part. II
I should sit there beside you, I fear
that my courage would fall me-"
"As o WILL" she murmured. and
leaned sti,l farther into the shadow.
THE two became fast friends" I
continued. Indeed. friend is scarce
ly the word with which to describe
their affection-it Is not strong enough.
They were more than friends. Their
attachment had a rare, abiding quality
whether they were apart or together,
II was just the same. They determined
to perpetuate 1t by knitting their two
families into one. They agreed that
should one OF them nave a soA and the
other a daughter, these two should be
considered betrothed from the cradle.
And Il would seem that nature, Provi-
dence. God approved OF this design, for
IL 80 fell out.
when I was 10 years old, my father
was seized with a fever from which IL
was soon evident he could not recover