The Argosy — page 239: what you’re looking at

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

222 The Old Stone Cross. One morning in early spring, under a lovely and cloudless blue sky, the family were on their way to Vannes, in their roomy and swift market conveyance, the farmer driving. The party had been talking and discussing their plans in the most lively way, until within a mile or so of the town; when, as usual, silence fell on them until they should have passed the ‘‘ Dolmen.” A dolmen is an old Druidical remain, a stone formerly used in their religious rites. Down even to the present realistic days, the Bretons retain a superstitious awe of these weird old stones so plenti- fully strewing their land. Left well behind them and the town of Vannes in view, its old gables and ancient walls shining out clear and white, the tongues of the travellers were unlocked again. ‘Soon be there now, mes enfants,” Maitre Charles remarked; his dark eyes brightening ; “‘n’est-ce pas ?” “Si, mon pere. If we sell my eggs well, and all Barbe’s chickens, then you promised us each a new pair of earrings, you know.” | Pere Pichon laughed ; he never could be angry with Jeanne. “Ah ! whom have we here?” he asked, quickly, pulling up, as a young man suddenly turned, laying a light hand on the horse’s long grey mane. A tall youth he, in the Breton dress, with rows and rows of silver buttons down his white jacket, and a smile on his handsome brown face. Gaston Michel’s dark eyes looked very brilliant this spring morning, what with the fine weather and what with the meeting. “C’est toi, Gaston! On thy way to Vannes?” Mere Pichon asked, in a friendly voice. Gaston nodded, holding up a large basket of rich and creamy butter to show his errand. ‘“'There’s money there, mon ami,” Jeanne said, in her laughing voice. “JT can buy the gold cross you wanted for next ‘ Pardon,’ ” Gaston Michel in a low whisper answered quickly, putting one strong brown hand upon Jeanne’s fair one. The girl blushed, and turned her head away from the young Breton’s too admiring gaze. But she forgot to take away her hand. Mére Pichon’s ears were quick. ‘‘ What’s that you are saying about a gold cross, Gaston ?” she interrupted, in a peremptory tone. ‘“ No, no; keep your money, and don’t waste it.” “Right lad, keep it; money comes in none too quickly,” the farmer added, kindly. Jerking the reins, he drove on; Jeanne and Barbe waving their hands, and in Breton dialect telling the youth they would meet again in the market. Once inside the walls of Vannes, business was the order of the day. Bustling and jostling through the streets, the Pichons hastened to take their accustomed stand. ‘There, amidst a quick and lively sale, varied CONMIECMIOO KS. (EC)