The Christmas Kalends of Provence

southeast angle of the Chateau, and my bedroom windows-overlooking the inner court-commanded the view along the range of the Alpilles to the Luberoun and Mont-Ventour, a pale great opal

n it a touch of eagerness and expectancy. While I still was drinking my coffee-in the excellence and delicate service of which I recognized the friendly hand of Misè Fougueiroun-there ca

shoes-the walking is rough on the mountain-side. But be quick, and come down the moment that you are ready. Now I must be off. There is a world for me to do!" And the

rning light across the level landscape, King René's castle and the church of Sainte-Marthe in Tarascon; and over beyond Tarascon, high o

l are waiting for us at the Mazet," and he hurried me down the steps to the terr

it-bearing tree. With us it usually is an almond or an olive. The olive especially is sacred. Our people, getting their faith from their Greek ancestors, believe that lightning never strikes it. But an apple-tree or a pear-tree will serve the purpose, and up in the Alp region they burn the acorn-bearing oak. What we sha

dence upon the great house, the Chateau. At the arched entrance we found the farm family awaiting us: Old Jan, the steward of the estate, and his wife Elizo; Marius, their elder son, a man over forty, who is the active manager of affairs; their younger son, Es

eabouts, speaks only Proven?al-we set off across the home vineyard, and thence went upward through the olive-orchards, to the high region on

cordial word for this new-comer; and nudged me to bid me mark how promptly Esperit was by her side. "It is as good as settled," he whispered. "They have been lovers since they were children. Magali is the daughter of Elizo's foster-sister, who died when the child was born

t Master Esperit's chances for the stewardship of the Lower Farm were anything but desperate, and I noticed that from time to time he cast very friendly

ho are conscious that their days of usefulness are gone. Esperit, who was beside me, felt called upon to explain that the old tree was almost past bearing and so was worthless. His explanation seemed to me a bit of needless cruelty; and I was gl

t surprised by it-for pure poetry, both in thought and in

es, as though the tree realized that death had overtaken it at last. When he had slashed a dozen times into the trunk, making a deep gash in the pale red wood beneath the brown bark, he handed the axe to Marius; and sto

nstantly the children were swarming all over it. In a moment our little company burst into the flood of loud and lively talk that is inseparable in