The St. Charles herald. [volume] (Hahnville, La.) 1873-1993, 1920-02-21

/
Rosny tract"
1.-THE offer Is too small? I doubt"
II will discuss that after have seen
the concession"
The notary sighed. "Well, at least
think the matter over for WHILE" he
said. "Mr. Morris, the manager, is
away on business. He should be in
Quebec tomorrow, and perhaps he can
arrange to take you up there"
II am thinking of going at very
early date" said Hilary, "in fact, by
the boat tomorrow"
"Mr. Askew, I assure you, you had
better wait for Mr.. Morris. He is a
man Of expert judgment. You cannot
have better adviser, and he has abso-
lutely no personal interest one way or
another. There are so many things to
consider; and then-you don't speak
French, do your"
"a little"
'It would not help you, anyway.
The dialect up at st. Boniface iSseven-
teenth century. They are Mild lot
up there, a very bad lot of people !;
smugglers and poachers, Mr.. Askew."
| Hilary, who had already sensed La
marines objection to his going to St.
Boniface, awakened to suspicion at
last. II shall leave on tomorrow morn
ing's boat" he said. "When have
made my decision I shall let you know.
I think 1 shall refuse your company's
offer. Will you let me have the pa
pers, Monsieur Lamartine, including
the last half-yearly statement and the
map of the limits?"
'But it is entirely irregular, Mr.. AS
kew. Really"
| 'Let me have the papers, please"
said Hilary, smiling. "And you need
have no fear that you will be held re-
| sponsible for my anticipating my in
heritance. l imagine 1 have as much
right there as Mr.. Morris"
"Of course, if that is your decision,
there is nothing more to say" an
swered the other brusquely. He
pulled out a. drawer and removed an
envelope containing some documents.
''You will find the statement here" he
said. "Mr. Morris has the books and
the map of st. Boniface. I wish you
pleasant journey, sir. You wish me
to continue to represent you"
'For the present. yes. GoOd-day."
When he was gone Monsieur Lamar
tine sat back in his chair and drummed
his fingers for nearly a minute. Then
he called up Brousseau.
"He's just gone," he said. "And he
ing, in spite Of all my representa-
tions."
He smiled at the suffering that
came over the wire.
=
It was well into the afternoon when
Hilary reached st. Boniface on the
small tri-weekly mail boat. For fifty
or sixty miles below Quebec the coun-
try, sparsely inhabited though it is,
and primitive, contains settlements
with shingled houses, hotels, tourists
| in season; and 1t was not until the st.
Lawrence widened into the Gulf that
Hilary realized, almost with surprise,
that the ship was sailing into a terri
| tory as primitive as it had been score
Of years after Jacques Cartier landed.
Something of the primeval nature Of
the land entered Hilary's heart and
| gripped it. He had never known what
| It was he wanted. But he knew now !:
It was to take hold Of virgin land
and tame 1t, to grapple with life, not
among the men of cities, but some
where with the smell Of the pines and
Of the brown earth in his nostrils. Pac-
ing the deck Of the little ship, he felt
that his desires had come to light at
the moment when their fulfillment had
become possible.
He looked about him with approval
when he stood upon the porch Of the
tiny hotel at st. Boniface. Nobody
else had got off the boat, and evident
ly the landlord Of the little hotel ex-
pected nobody. After an Intellectual
attempt to enter into conversation with
him, in which hardly q word was mu-
tually ineligible, Hilary gave up the
effort and started up the hill road
which led, he surmised, toward the
lumber mill.
The whole settlement was gathered
about the shores of the little bay. Be
yond it were the mountains, on either
side the forest-clad hills, broken, on
the east. by an inlet, and on the west
by the deep cleft Of the Rocky river,
whose mouth. closed by boom, was
q congested mass Of logs.
Hilary crossed the bridge and ap-
preached the mill. Two or three men,
lounging outside the store, looked at
him without any sign of interest.
Everything was very still and peace
full; there was hardly sound to be
heard except the distant hum Of the
mill machinery.
Between the dam and the store,
upon a terrain heaped with tin cans
and miscellaneous debris, were piles
of wood in fOur-foot lengths, each COM
prising about two hundred cords.
Kneeling at the narrow end Of one of
these piles was little man, whose
clean-shaven upper lip, the whiteness