Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine — page 156: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

498 had. busied himself securing certain of the town records. The third was of peasant type, with a face cross-hatched with innumerable lines indicative of honesty, shrewdness, and obstinacy in equal proportions. It was he, the grandson of the orderly of the late Colonel de Voulx, who was address- ing the other two, the big men of his little world, whom he sought to coerce with his dogged persistence, accompanied by many shrugs, outthrustings of palms, elevating of brows, and clicks of his tongue against the roof of his toothless mouth. “Tt is I who tell you, mon pere, and you, monsieur le maire, 1 who had the story from my grandsire (whom the blessed saints have in their keeping!), and after him, from my father, also a pious Christian. It has been kept in our family as a sacred trust. Pardieu! For just such an occasion as this, messteurs! For, as he lay dying, his soul already straining at the halter, if you will permit the saying, mon péere—” The aged priest raised his hand. Both he and Pelletier, and indeed every one in Breaux, down to the gamins who played about its one street, knew the story by heart. “The minds of dying men wander in blind paths, my son! If I were to consider all the pitiful last words to which I have listened here in our parish during the last hali century—” The old man interrupted him impatiently. “Of a surety! My own blessed father called for his pipe—and he had not used tobacco for twenty years. But one is to distinguish between the babbling of a sim- tle peasant and the inspired prophecy of a great one like a De Voulx, whose ancestors have preserved this our town since history was written!” Father Jean smiled faintly. “Pierre, my son, it is not meet that we should violate the grave of one given sepulture according to the rites of the church, merely to disprove an old wives’ tale.” _ Pierre fairly sputtered with indignation; and ere he could find his tongue again the third man, the Mayor Pelletier, opened his firm lips for the first time. ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. “You know, begging your pardon, mon-.» sieur le curé, for whom I have only love and respect, and you, friend Pierre,.that I am an atheist. Religion harms no one—and doubtless consoles old women. As for me, when I die you may serve me as you will. I am dead for all time—as dead as my faithful old dog Bidou, and less worthy of immortailty! ““No more than I believe in Father Jean’s rites do I credit good Pierre’s miracles. We do wrong to waste time here. We are custodians of town property. At any moment the Huns may clatter down our street. I haven’t the least superstitious fear against opening our eminent towns- man’s leaden casket—but I see no sense in taking time to do so!” Pierre waved his knotted hands fran- tically. ““Name of a name of God! You don’t see, and you don’t believe, and you this and that! How could Colonel de Voulx, with his last breath, bid us commit a sacrilege upon himSelf, and he a good Christian, shriven by the pious Pere Hyacinthe, your predecessor, my father? And you, mon- sigur, why waste in empty words time enough to open his coffin twice over? See!” Pierre drew from his blouse a keen adz and brandished it. “It is made sharp for biting into the lead! If indeed Colonel de Voulx spoke idly; no harm can come of it; do not the thrice accursed boches open every sealed coffin of the blessed dead, seeking for jewels? And think you they will spare this one?” Father Jean glanced half-humorously, half-sadly into the steady eyes of Pelletier and shrugged helplessly. The latter spoke. “There are no miracles. There never were! But there are always facts; and one of them is this: the German cavalry will snap us up like trout while we argue here, and with us the records, and that jeweled gewgaw you value so highly, Pére Jean!” Pierre rallied for his final argument. He controlled his excitement with a violent effort. “Listen, then! It is true that you have heard my story many times. It is true that every breeched lad in Breaux knows comniclooolkks.conn