Western Kansas world., 1914-04-04

sliding sounds, and he stared down at
them-his thoughts far away-a look
came into his eyes as If they concen-
trated oD. something beyond the range
of sight, the characteristic look of
Francois, the old look of a dreamer, of
seer of visions.
Then Lucy stood in the doorway,
gentle, charming from the slippered
feet, locked over the instep to the
shadowy locks of light hair on her
forehead.
Good evening. Monsieur. I am
sorry I kept you waiting. Hannibal
hurt his foot and l must find plaster
and bandage for him. But you will
have enough of my talking even now
Father says / talk a great deal. Do
I, Monsieur"
| Francois stood regarding her, with
frank admiration in every muscle of
his face. He smiled, the same gentle
| amused smile with which he had ad-
dressed the portrait. You never talk
too much for me, Mademoiselle. 1t
is a pleasure to me always to hear
your voice." he answered in the deep
| tone of a Frenchman, the tone that
has ever a half note of tragedy, as of
some race-memory which centuries do
|
speaking in French, "one must not
talk English. That is breaking the
law, you remember, Mademoiselle.'
She answered very prettily in his
own tongue, in words that halted a
little. Very we'll, Monsieur. 1 will
do my best" He still gazed at her
smiling, without speaking. One could
understand that, to girl of more
self-contained people, this open hom-
age of manner, this affectionate gen.
t1eness, might seem to mean more
than brotherly loyalty. The girls
pulse was beating fast as she made an
effort for conversation. What were
you thinking of as you looked at the
fire when 1 came in, Monsieur? 1t
had an air of being something pleas
ant. Did 1 not say all that beauti-
fully?" she finished in English.
He corrected a lame verb with seri-
Gus accuracy and she repeated the
word, and laughed happily.
But you haven't said yet what you
were thinking about"
The large brown eyes turned on
hers. "It was of my old home in
France, MademoiselIe, when 1 was
very little" he said simply. "a large
fire of logs makes me think of that
|
quick interest. will you? Was there
always a fire at your house?"
But no, Mademoiselle-not, OF
course, in the summer. 1t was of the
winter time 1 thought, when the neigh
bors came in the evening, and we sal
about the hearth, sometimes twenty
people, each at his different duty, an6
my brothers and sisters were there
, and the dear grandmere, was there
; and he stopped. Does Mademoi
selle really wish to hear how it was
in that old farmhouse of ours, in the
shadow of the Jura Mountains?''
; Indeed, Mademoiselle wishes it,
, she assured him. 1T will be a tril
to Europe. 1 am sure 1 shall speal
| better French for going to France fol
> ten minutes, and being among th'
! French people, your friends Wal
now, till 1 am comfortable" Sh'
turned a deep chair so that it facet
him, and dropped into it. Put a foot
stool for me- she ordered, as south
ern women order the men they car
for-and the men they do not. Ant
she settled back with her little fee
on it and smiled at him. For a me
ment the mans brilliant gaze reste,
on her and the girl saw it. and thrille'
to it Nov, Monsieur. racontez-mo
une historic she spoke softly.
Francois Beaupre's look turned from
| her to the fire, and the air of gaZini
at something far away came again
1T is picture 1 see as / think o
that time of my childhood" he began
as if speaking to himself. "A pictur
many times painted in homelike co
ors on my BRAIN Many a night in tn
winter l have sat, a little boy, by tn
side of my grandmother, at that grea
hearth, and have looke2 and have see
all the faces, have heard all the voice
and the fire cracking, and the spiT
ning-wheel whirring, even as 1 Sc
them and hear them tonight.
J. And from time to time one of tn
o men. as he talked, rose up and strod
n across the room to the great oak tabl
d fwhere lay always on wooden plat
d a long loaf of black bread. with
II knife, and always a glass and q bottl
e of eau-de-vie-brandy. And l remen
d ber how manly it looked to me- watcl
r ing, when l saw him take the loa
IT under his arm and hold it, and slic
ct off boldly a great piece of the fires
se rye bread, and pour out a glass {
re brandy and toss it off as he ate th
lie bread The stories seemed to gro
e, better after the teller had done tha
it And always l waited, even throug
s the tale of the ghost and the fir
Id breathing hound, till the talk shoul
IL | swing round as it did ever rovar