The Kennewick courier-reporter. [volume] (Kennewick, Wash.) 1914-1938, 1924-09-04


looking at the opening In the little
grove Of expresses.
"And there" he murmured, must
be the child to whom they all belong.
think you are right, Gerald. There
Is something unreal about the place.
Gerald, too, was suddenly conscious
Of the girl wha stood clutching the
top of the wooden gate, her face
turned q little away from them, alb
sorbed In the contemplation Of that
distant spot where the road vanished
in faint haze of blue mist.
"We will talk to her." he declared.
You shall practice your French upon
this little rustic. Chris. She prob
ably won't be able TO understand q
word you say" 3D..
At the sound of their voices, MYRTLE
turned her head. aud, at the things
which they saw i'm her face, there
was no longer any thought Of frivol-
Gus conversation on the part Of the
two young men. They stood for q
moment indeed. speechless. Chris
TOPPER spellbound. Gerald, of quicker
sensibility. carried for q moment in
to the world from which she seemed
to have fallen. Then his old habits
asserted themselves. She was as
beautiful as an angel, but her feet
were on the ground. and she was OBJ
viously in distress. .- - 49,
"Are you alive, mademoiselleT he
asked, raising his cap.
But certainly, monsieur" she an
swered gravely. 81 am alive but very
unhappy" OPT
You can tell us, perhaps, the way
to CannesT Christopher inquired.
She pointed to where the thin RIB
bon Of road In the distance seemed to
melt into the bosom Of the clouds.
Cannes IL over there, monsieur"
she said, 'and there is no other road
save this one"
"You 60 there often, perhapsr
Christopher ventured.
~ have never been there, monsieur
she answered, with her eyes fixed
upon Gerald. "Night after night
when my work Is done, come here
and watch the road just where Il
fades away, but I have never travelled
along it, | have never been further
than the first village, down In the
hollow"
Gerald came q step nearer to her.
He leaned against the gate post. His
tone and manner became unconscious
ly caressing. It was generally SO
when he spoke with women.
"You are In trouble, mademoiselle,"
he said. Sometimes even a stranger
may help"
She looked down the road toward
where the automobile was lacked up.
Eyes," she admitted, II am In great
trouble. No one but stranger could
help me because have no friends"
BE brave, then, and speak on"
Gerald enjoined.
There had been no previous time In
her life when MYRTLE had been re-
,uired To marshal her thoughts and
speak uaaccuSiomed words. yet, at
..,ai moment. clearly and unfalter-
r.ly she told her story. She pointed
the weather-stained cottage behind.
IL live there" she said. with three
.itlf-brothers and sisters and STEP
lther. My mother was the village
s.hoolmistress. She married for the
second time bad man, and she died.
have taken care of those children.
have kept the house clean and tidy.
have done what the cure told me
us my duty, and all the time have
iated it."
.'Whyw Christopher asked simply.
She looked across as though sur
prised at his Intervention.
Because the children are coarse
and greedy and ill-mannered," she ex-
planned 81 wear myself out trying to
make them different, but ii is use
less. 1t is In their blood. because my
stepfather-is worse. Often he drinks
too much brandy, he is quarrelsome.
he is never kind. There is not one
little Joy in life, only when / escape
for little time and come here, and
look down the road which leads to
liberty, and wonder what may lie at
the other side of the hills there. You
see, I have read books-many books.
My mother and father were both well
educated. / know and feel that the
life I. am leading is terrible"
There is something beyond all
this" Gerald said. There is some
thing of instant trouble in your face"
Again for moment she was voice
less, a white, dumb thing stricken
nerveless with horror. 1t was that
look which had surprised the two
men. Her breath, as she spoke,
seemed cholled with unuttered sobs.
MY stepfather brought home from
the village tonight-the Widow
Dumay. He is to marry her-to bring
her to the farm. He brought too.
Pierre Leschamps. the keeper Of the
| cafe. Horrible horrible
Pierre Leschamps," Gerald muir
mured softly. go on"
The girl opened her lips but the