Year: 1870

q


IT was Christmas eve in small farm in
the neighborhood of Plouhinec, beyond
Hennebont.


No one was At home; the master, mis-
tress, children and servants were gone to
midnight mass. The sound of church
bells were still heard across the heath,
covered with thin layer Of snow,
Onlyan old woman, too old and infirm to
go TO church, was sitting up beside. the


Aibegear was in the stable. asleep be-
tween 4 lean OK that drew the little plew,
and an old ass worn with carrying bum
dies of heatheR or of rushes dried In the
sun. The Door man had reached the farm
after the departure of the farmer, and the
old woman had given . cake of black
bread and q cup Of sack, and then allowed
him to go to bed in the stable.


He slept peacefully until he was awak-
ened by voices near him. He listened,
thinking it was the people of the farm
come home; but he soon perceived, to
his amazement, that the OK and the ass
beside him were conversing in good
Breton. The ass had turned toward the
OK, who was reposing ON his litter; and
the beggar Scriven remembered he had
heard It said by old people that, in mem
ory of the hospitality shown by the OK
and the. ass sto- the infant Jesus, once 3
year, at midnight, on Christmas eve, the
Inhabitants of the stable were endowed
with the gift of speech, and were able to
converse about their affairs like human
beings. .u.


Scriven was sharp and clever. It was
notfot nothing that he had carried his
wallet from parish to parish, making cap
italso his brokenaleg, and living as beg
gar on the charity of kind folks. He did
not make the least movement that might
betray his presence, lest he should silence
his bed-felloHs, whose conversation he
was so eager TO hear. ~"


The oxowas saying to the ass. !" One
never does what one wants to do. If /
were not tied here would 60 and take a
walk on the heath, that might be at lib
erty at once; and il met Beneadik, the
plowman of aPluvignor, I would tell him
something"


"What would you tell him 2" asked the
ass, who seemed depressed by bad treat
ment


"Ah,, you do not like Beneadlk as dos
Hed0es not drive you and that good for
nothing Kaolo has given you so many,
blows that ypu can hardly stand any
more. But the master has neyer had such
. ploWman as .Beneadik. He talks to me
as if 7 were q Christian; and if he pricks
me at all when I go too slow, it is so
gently that scarcely feel it. He is al
ways afraid of doing harm, and has no
wish but to do good. Hhe looks often to-
ward Mariemik, 1t is no wonder, for he
wants to. make her his wife. If he only
knew He would soon be rich enough
to buy the farm, the furniture, and all the
land and the master instead of snub-
bing him, would stand before him cap in
hand"


Scriven began to listen with all his ears;
and the ass, who was lying on his litter
of heather, turned himself languidly
around ie--a .-'3b A =


"You mean that YOU want him to find
the treasure that the Stones of Plouhinec
will leave uncovered one of these days
BY the stable of st. Joseph, if he had the
cross wort and the five-leaved clover, they
would DE Of some use to him when the
stones go down to drink at the Intel But
it happens only once in hundred years,
and he will know nothing about it.


Besides" rejoined the OK, if there
can not be found in these parts a baptized
Christian who will give his life for him,
he viii, be crushed by. the sStOness when
they come back. But, after all, ne would
never let another be killed for him, and
the good God will show him some other
way of becoming rich enough to marry
Mariemik H>.s


The ass had fallen asleep, and all was
again silent in the stable. Scriven alone
was awake, with terrible temptation
gnawing at his heart. Why should he not
profit by the knowledge of the existence
of this treasure which had just been re-
vealed to him in so strange a manner
He was tired OF begging. It was no long
er the good trade that It used to be-; the
times were hard, and although charitable
people might still give the beggar, the best
place in the chimney corner, And the
largest piece ofbread, ill-natured folks often
let him wait at the door, and after all
threw him only q dry crust. He knew
very well where to find the magical herbs
. ION the. way, as you go from the sea coast
TO the country where it never freezes
where the nyrtIes are in flower m winter
and Violets open in February in, the
woods. Scriven stopped, however, in hii
meditations when he came to the last con
dition OF the great enterprise. Where was