Bonaventure

eyond the south-western outskirt of Carancro. The two male occupants of the vehicle are lifting their heads,

s way across it. This is what the curé and his friend are watching. Open in the curé's hand, as if he had just read it aloud again,

any yoke of oxen. From what the curé is saying we gather that Sosthène has bought this very small dwelling from a neighbor, and is moving it to land of his own. Two great beams have been drawn under the sills at each end, the running gear of two heavy ox-wagons is made to bear up the four ends of these beams, all is lashed firmly int

as the ex-governor said, "And where is Bonaventure by this time?" Bonaventure h

tents and purposes a new house. And the curé had looked upon it again, much nearer by; for before a bride dared enter a house so nearly new, it had been deemed necessary for him to come and, before

he makes no doubt any longer that the story told him is true. And he knows now just what to do: this very sunset he will reach his goal; he goes to fill 'Thanase's voided place; to lay his own filial service at the feet of the widowed mother; to be a brother in the lost brother's place; and Zosép

m. He questions none to-day that pass him or whom he overtakes; only bows, wipes his warm brow, and presses on across the prair

emselves at right and left of the chapel. And now he sees the green window-shutters of such as are not without them, and their copper

but grown like weeds since he saw them last-are at play; but when they stop and gaze at him, it is without a sign of recognition. Now he walks down the

false fronts covered with their same old huge rain-faded words of promise. Yonder, too, behind the blacksmith's shop, is the little s

aid the traveller to hi

ble. Shall he go here first? May he not push on and out once more upon the prairie and make himself known firs

nd scrutinize him; and now there are three, looking and smiling. Plainly, they recognize him. One star

doors and windows. Horsemen come dashing into the village around through the lanes and up the street. Look! they wheel, they rein up, they throw themselves from the rattling saddles; they leave the big wooden stirrups swing

to a shout outside. More horsemen appear. Lic

calége!" The ca

s not what, makes

t of her door, and is standing near him tying a red Madras kerchief o

goes straight on telling her companion how fifty dollars has been paid

a paling fence, pallid and faint. But t

s! cheers! and in a moment louder cheers yet-the calèche wit

n the chu

y twos-forward-in they go. "Hats off, gentlemen! Don't forget the rule!-Now-silence! softly, softly; speak low-or s

priest stops-he has seen Bonaventure! He stammers, and then he goes on. Here beside Bonaventure is a girl so absorbed in the scene that she thinks s

monie es

. She rises on tiptoe again to se

-steady! Zoséphine, sa marque. She turns; see her, everybody; see her!

ge, one of a ship's crew bound for Brazil and thence to the Mediterranean!-"Make way, make way!" They mount the calèches, Sosthène after Madame Sosthène; 'Thanase after Madame 'Thanase. "To horse, ladies and gentlemen!" Never mind now about the youth who has been taken ill i

te!" May the New-Orleans compounder be forgiven the iniquitous mixture! "Boir

en and maidens gallop after; the cavalcade stretches out like the afternoon shadows, and with shout and song and

jieu, la calége!-God s

ey drop aside, singly or in pairs, toward their homes, they rise in their stirrups, and lifting high their ribbon-decked hat

alége! Adjieu