The Washington herald., 1913-07-20
CHAPTER III-Continued.

thS ooA odiiC CHliQ-Ifcdrt OF uei AooAS
lana days, when she had run away Il
the Cajun balls, kneeling to fix
woven cap of hyacinths in her hair a:
she stared al her reflection IN tn'
water, and battling the lumbermen witt
her French of the swamp people. Snt
was slender now, but a 1.-THE girl, ano
not a child; her face was dark, mobile
tender, or at times hard; her black
eyes had the fash of rebellious tenn
pers and coaxing temptations-tne
Dane boys adored her, yet not even
did little Peter for an instant suppose
she was his real sister. Everything
about her, her grace, her quickness, her
nimble tongue; her little rosary hung
on the white bureau in the tiny cham
Der Just off the kitchen, whose door
she had hung in red chintz; her habit
of taking early coffee, black, thick.
druggingSwhicfi Michigan made at ris-
ing and brought to her bedside, where
she slipped it and chartered with the
old bootlegger-her defiant assertion
, that she was a Catholic, whatever that
meant, her smatter of French and
Spanish; her memories of wild and
wonderful years. which now, in the
crowded discomfort of the quarry
home, took on the aspect of unthink-
able romance-all these set her off
from the family, from the dull, decent
town, from the whole world.
She was the best rifle shot in the
county; she could trap rabbits in the
snow, and catch crawfish with bit of
twisted willow; she could guide dug
out log in the flooded sloughs with a
trick of the wrist that the Northern
ers knew nothing about; and she had
scandallzed the town her second year
in school by challenging the best of
their callow sprinters and outrunning
them hopelessly on track and in the
hills. That fixed her forever in the
towns granny soul; other girls could
not well befriend her; she was that
girl from the Pocket" or ''Old Michi-
gan'S girl or "Frenchy," and had the
doubtful distinction of being the only
Catholic in Rome, Iowa, except Old
MOwry, the undertaken. In the Mid
lands the Pope was person who
might upset republican institutions any
time or other.
So she had grown up apart. Never
was she so happy as when fishing with
Michigan along the river-Aurelie with
her gypsy liveliness; the old rebel
Stumping along batting her hook, pro-
testing at her excess of spirits, loqua-
cIous and reminiscent. Never done
growed up" he crowed. delightedly.
Same a> when / stole vet out of the
convent in N'Awlyns and brought ye
up to occupy the land!"
Sh, had a marvellous aptitude for
studies she liked and an unconquerable
aversion to all else She walked the
miles to school from tine quarry shan
ties. proud, ridiculously proud, coming
into the recitation rooms, speaking to
none, and reciti1g with a composure
and eNactness that made the provincial
teachers gasp. Then she went along
the leafy road to the woods homeward
again. proud and alone. her red gown
a spalSh OF color against the Staid Mid
land hills
Still, to track rabbits through the
SHOWS. to skate with the boys on lone
ly, treacherous sloughs; when spring
came, to tap the sugar trees on the
bluffs for stringy sirup and gather nuts
in the fall-when one is young and
pretty and has dreams and passions,
all this does not atone; when one has
love of admiration and feeling that
one is lovable and should be finding
happiness in the good days of youth,
it is hard to walk the bleak way home
knowing that other girls are going out
to the Geek" partiej and TO the dances
at Odd Fellows Hall. Those gay
nights she studied algebra in the stuffy
little kitchen where Lindstrom's dusty
quarry shirt and shoes lay before the
red-hot stove, and his snorings, and
the whine of the baby, and the moth
er'> fretting in the next room, came
above the rasp of the frozen trees on
the caves. She laid down books to
stare out on the icy hills, the last arc
on the road to town lighting the way
to all that warmth, all that brightness,
all that laughter from which she was
shut off She was glad when summer
came and she could climb the mighty
balustrades of the bluff and look east
of the South she had come, and surely
its smell of sweaty clothes. and over
one could find ones heart beating
faster. Yet she did not complain; her
proud gayety was her shield.
d WIllIC, dS luG SONuSu
went on, the Tennessee woman spoke
what they all knew had to be broken
TO the last conner. Yer pop Lind
strom. he says there'll be no more
school, Aurelie. He's been a Cod
fearin' man, and hard workin', and no
child o this house'll go face the dis
grace O the town, he says. Knute and
Peter and you'll not go, he says"
Aurelie laid down her fork and
looked at John. If the hope of heaven
had been dashed from her, she would
not have been more blank with fear.
WHY graduate next Year,
You'll go no more John glow
cred at her breathlessness. Damn all
the town. Their laws and schools,
they're not for poor folk! / say
damn the law, and I'm a man o Godr
But /? l must get through And
Knute and Peter, here"
She looked at them and then at
Michigan, growing more frightened.
The old soldier shook his head with
some hopeless warning. Then, watch
ing Llndstrom a moment, she sprang
up, quivering. I'll go-I'll go!" she
cried
You'll not" he muttered. You'll
die first" i
She stared at him again, and then
turned. flying TO her tiny room. They
heard, the crash of her body on her
white little he'd o,;,tad - I'LL l..