The Nome nugget., 1938-06-11

clue) was that the lady had asked him If he could direct her to the chapel of St. Koch.
 You have heard of that famous shrine. haven't you? Who hasn't? Certainly Arnold Mcintyre had read of it. So he, too, inquired the way to St. Roch's.
 There are two reasons why young girls seek that shrine," med itated Arnold. They may be i'll; yes, even vivid, fresh looking young creatures might have frequent head aches" It was the custom, he knew. for those who were cured to place near the altar a model of the hand, the arm, the foot, which had been freed from disease. If the beautiful stranger should be cured of head ache there, would she send later wax model of her beautiful head? Surely all who came would think it a new saint! But the other reason, that was more natural. Maidens went to the shrine to pray that St. Koch would send them a handsome husband. Was the beautiful strang- CTS misery" connected with un- requited love?
 If you had been in Arnold's place, would you really have expected to find the charming patron of the dining room of taste" already praying in St. Roch's chapel when you entered? Yes, perhaps, for if one asks directions to a certain place it usually means that one is going there at once. There she knelt, the only worshiper in the tiny Gothic chapel. alone before the stat ue of St. Koch and his faithful dog, the piles of crutches and the modelled parts of the human body left by the cured, the tiny tablets which said Thanks" and "Merci" for other grateful souls, the little twinkling yellow candles that ear Her visitors had lighted Arnold sat quietly in the back pew for few moments, then stepped out into the cool, well-kept cemetery from the midst of which the old world Gothic chapel rises. The little mar ble houses of the dead were so clean, so well-kept; the flowers were everywhere, the mocking-birds were singing. When come to die, it shall be in New Orleans" thought Arnold, Il like the idea of being buried above ground in a quaint, little apartment house like these family tombs." But he didn't stroll round much for he wanted to keep watch of the chapel door. He stopped the caretaker, to ask few questions.
 Soon the young girl came out of the chapel. Her face was serene, even happy. No misery there, sure ly. She paused to ask the caretaker if there were any photographs of the chapel for sale,
 Tn the office by the entrance" directed the man. Arnold felt a sud den desire for photographs, also.
 "Ah, yes-were you not my vis- avis at the restaurant today?" said the girl Such fine cuisine. was it not? Never have I eaten court bouillon before. I shall return for more"
 "So shall l." said Arnold prompt ly. And he did. And she did. And they did. Was it fate, or St. Koch, or merely the dining room of taste"? The acquaintance ripened. The romance of New Orleans be- came their romance.
 "You have not always been hap py, know" said Arnold, gently, one wonderful evening under the ma agnolias. Do you know, the first words I ever heard you say I have remembered, and grieved over, and wondered about, all these weeks? You told those Texas people who were at the table with you that you have been in misery. Never mind, Blanche, darling, I'm sure it's all past now, and you needn't talk about it."
 Blanche raised puzzled eyes to his. But certainly, l told gem so. Before I came to New Orleans l had been in some ozzer parts Of zis so wonderful country. had been in misery-M-i-s-s-o-u-r-i. Is zat not right? But why mus l not spik of it, mon ami?'