Zurich Herald, 1922-11-23, Page 3p•.
' EVEN SEN ODEST
lay Leon W. Dean
s. hall
Modest folks—except #iypoaritea--
are born, not made. Stephen Myson
Prlaigle, 4th, was "a modest youth.
That's why he stopped paddling -.when
lie 'saw her. She was e1ttthg on a
muskrat house in the middle of the
,creep, and was looking the other way,
Her skirt was short; indeed, it stop-
ped quite abruptly at the knees, Be-
lowit, two white and shapely ex-
tremities extended -10M to the water.
Now the creek was Little • Otter
*reek, and the place was where ft eta
ters
t -
ters into Lake Champlain. At this
place, the channel is both broad• and
fairly deep, and it is lined on each
side, deeply lined for miles, with a
tbdok, impregnable' growth of reeds
eaid water grasses. The current is
•sluggish, the bottom is of mud. It is
a lonely place.• Stran ge aquatic things
live there. Dismal sounds. come outof
the swamps.
Stephen Myson Pringle, 4th, stopped
`paddling, and his face grew very red,
He reconnoitered cautiously. There
was no one to be seen—there was no
boat. She couldn't have walked, she
"e•couldn't have swum, He couldn't go
-.away and leave her there.
He drew a littlenearer and plashed
his paddile discreetly. She turned and
s saw him, tried .hastily to arrange her
refractory skirt, and only made mat-
ters the worse.
"Oh dear," she said, and shyly drop
ped her eyes.
"Could—could I belp'your he asked.
"I think I can do it myself, If you
will just look the other way, please."
Pi . 'Stephen ; Myson, Pringle, 4th, was
• d• esperately embarrassed. His cheeks
i glowed furiously hot. What must she
"' 'think of him?
"•I—I didn't mean that. Do—do you
.have to stay there on that thing?" he
*tampered.
"It is the wish of my uncle."
"She had a piquant way of express-
ing herself—a sort sof foreign way, yet
. 'her face was surely American..
He shook his, head in perplexity. "I
don't understand," he said,
• "I've been naughty. When I am
'naughty, uncle he has to do things like
.this."
"What have you done now? You're
worse off than old Nappy on his isle of
Alba.
"I—what Is it you say?—I don't get
• you," she smiled. • .
• She leaned swiftly toward him,
"Oo-oo-ooh!" she gasped. "Gan you
keep a segeet?"--
• He. -prodded,. "If it's net too awful."
"There was, a little cow—no, a calf,
• you, say, up' in the pasture. He -she
was sick. I:take, her to our house=
he ate; up ail of uncle's fishing-
." He • felt
Nola
s + `where I am, and
e here where I do no mischief."
Stephen 'Myson Pringle 4th, had
y1sions of a weather-beaten rad bouse-
''boatthat for,upvvards of a week had.
been moored near the Mouth of the
creek. It was a French-Canadian
• craft and its occupants fished for a
living.
"Won't you come in,?" he asked. "It's
more comfortable." He swung the
bow of the canoe up against the little
-. mud hut. '
She put her -feet over the gunwale
' andslipped obediently aboard. He
couldn't have told whether she were
twenty er -sixteen. She. was both,
"What's . your uncle's name ?"-asked, •
"Pierre La Roux. Pierre is a good
man. All people say so."
"And yours?"
"My name. is Marie."'
'Marie? Marie La Roux?" he ask-
ed.
"What make you ask that?" she said.
"Why :why just because I wanted
• to know. I beg your pardon, truly T
do; I didn't mean to be intrusive."
Yet wlby had he asked? Why did
he care to know -the name of this pret-
ty barefoot girl in her outgrown skirt
and boyish ish blouse? •
"I-1 like you," she said. "They
call me Mario La Roux. I don't know.
Sometimes I think it is notthat"
'Your uncle is from Canada, isn't
hie?"
She nodded. "Quebec. I am not like
those other girls, niy friends. .I can
not explain. I do not do like them."
"And you do not look like them,"
"You are not dark like them. You
are. -you are—why you might be any
girl I've known --only your different."
"You don't like me? Sometimes I
see' then --the kind you know, They
- are nice girls. I wish I ootild be like
them."
- 'But I do: like you," he. protested. "1.
like you better as you are.''
"My uncle is good to me—but sone-
timeie I think—and then l can't think;
I can't renieniber.• See,- there he comes
now."
Stephen. 4th turned in his seat. A
heavy, fiat -bottomed rowboat was
mounding a bend in the creek. Pulling
at the oars was a short, stout pian—a
human counterpart. '
'"Will he be angry"novv7"
"Oh no, he is never angry for long.
My Uncle."
The boat labored nearer,
"Boa jour, monsieur," called the lit-
tle man,'
He was, possessed of all the vivacity
taut lavish politeness of hie race, He
was good-natured. tie Was 'Draftee in
his thanks.
"My ninco she good girl, but She eat
-• de fish lisle," he explained. {
"Shp" a good girl whatever :she
eats," anewered Stephen Myron
Pringle, dth, as he heapedher i er'ss
to the elderly craft:
She lookted at him ,and smiled. --a
bit wistfully. ,
"MY naine," he said, "is Stephen.
Pringle."
She glanced back once, They were
gone,
* * * *
Out in the lake, not far from the
mouth of the creek, lies Garden Island.
Garden Island, also the lodge that is
built thereon, is owned by Stephen
Myson Pringle, 3rd. In summer the
lodge Is generally occupied by himself
and his wife, by their sont and their
daughter, but their menservants and
maid -servants,
Stephen 3rd and Stephen 4th etoo•d
by the window looking out across the
water:
"See those lights?" asked Stephen
4th.
"Belong tothat antiquated Canuck
house -boat. Sbe's a nuisance; spoils
the landscape," answered Stephen 3rd.
"There's a girl over there."
"Humph! What of it? I'm not try-
ing to put them out, am I? I don't
own the -lake."
"That's not the point." ,
"If I ;didn't have a million or two I
would marry her—if she would let
m0" `
"My word, son," murmured Stephen
3rd. "Don't say things, like that. What
are you talking about?"
"About a .girl: Her ,`najn,e's Marie.
I mether today, and I'n' in love with
her to -night.,,.
Stephen 3rd found a switch, The
room was flooded with light, .."Let me
look at you, son, he said,
"I. mean it, (lea."
"You mean there's a. girl over there
on that old hulk that you're—er—in
love with?"
"That's it,"
"But I don't understand. You never,
took to girls, Stephen.."
"I've taken to one now."
"You've always been a decent sort,
boy; tell me about ft"
There was. not much to tell. It was
soon told.
"I reckoned ` it would come some-
time," said Stephen 3rd. "I hadn't just
figured it out in this way. I'd always
planned to be lenient and let things
pretty much take their course. But a
little French fishergirl!—My, - my,
son! My, my!"
"I doubt it, father." '
• "Well, I don't know as it makes
much differenoe if she is- You stand
byme and I'll standby you; we'll see
it through together."
"Thank you, dad." Stephen 4th
held out his hand.
* * * .. _ *
Just how long he had been asleep
Stephen had no means of knowing. He
awoke to the murmur of voices, in the
adjoining room. Was dad telling
mother? Hew would she take it? He
was -afraid she vwould • not be just like
glad about; it Dad -ears a trump, So.
A strange dickee of light in the room'
attracted his firow'sy attention. He
thought it was a streetlight, then re-
membered he was no where street-
lights abound. • It was rather unac-
countable. He reared himself on 0118
elbow and looked 'to the window.
There was a lire. Something was all
ablaze.
"The house -boat!" The thought
struck him like a douche ' of cold
water, contracting his chest.
"No, the house -boat had not been
there' when he went to sleep. But it
might have changed its position; .seek-
ing deeper • water for its night-time
anchorage,"
"Dad!" he called. "Dad!. The
houseboat's a -fire!" -•
He was in the middle of the floor•,
reaching for his clothes.
He-foiriad himself and his father
running far the' dock together. The
man was not there. They shoved out
the launch alone, and set it going.
Soon they were racing through the
darkness down the mirrored lane that
laid its fiery course to the burning
house -boat.
Like a good French-Canadian, Pierre
had carelessly 'left his rowboat float-
ing overside instead of bringing it
aboard staa'hiS return froM upt
e
creek I•ts'epaiuter .had burned free,
and it was' now drifting away, leaving
the - faniily h 1 leanly•'stranded: A
:o p
group of them • was gatlieriid ' at" "the
stern as the big launch can e;plough-
ing up.
There wee another.. She .was apart
from the rest; :A fiuttering,'flimsy gar-
ment envelopea-her. 4 4... •
"Marie!" called 'toe boy.
He:looked •at, aeAdre,. They were
too touch' occupiati.withettteir own af-
fairs to notice` lr$r. • ; At the sound of
his voice she 'ran lightly along the
deck, and mounted to the rail.. For en
MAW': her slender, . the,
figure
stood "outlined `against the 'leaping
flamesat her back then she ; soared
outward, curved 'downward,and broke
the surface of the• water with scarcely
more than a ripple.
The big launch'ranbeck and forth
several times aver the spot •where,;slie
had vanished, No trace of her was to
be found.
"We must get the others," said the
father;
It was not a difficult task. It would
have been less difficult had they been
less excitable. There were Pierre and
his wife and their two sons, It was
only a short drop front the deck of the
barge to the launch, A stoat rope was
sufficient. One by one they slit! down
11,
"Where was Marie?" They wanted
to know.
"i'hey Were told. -,i1. loud lamentation
burst from the woman,
"011 bah gash," cried Pierre,. "what
Iii worot
vet. ttrC,r ie:.
for you make beeg fool of yourself?
Little girl she swim like fecal], "She'
go somewhere ashore. She all right."
He seemed more concerned ` about,
getting back to the house -boat • and try-
ing
rying. to save some of his effects. This
he was permitted to do, hut 'tae Iaunch
cruised about for some time near the
place where the girl had disappeared.
A. little, a very little, was saved. ,The
barge was soon burned to the water-
line, and Pierre, as he saki, . was a
ruined man.
As there was nothing else to be done.
the launch headed back for the island.
In due time it bumped against the
dock and its occupants scrambled
ashore. With Stephen Myson Pringle,
3rd, acting as a guide, they setoff in
the darkness in search of suitable
sleeping quarters ' for • the ni +
Stephen, the younger, alone remai + ."
a gloomy, moody figureon the shwa
owy landing.
Suddenly his eyes were clasped from
behind, and near him he felt the wet
drip of coql water. •
"Don't look, Stephen, please don
said a voice.He sat very still.
"Stephen, will you tell your sister r.
want her?"
The •,�M t
tire selee `' eyes
:n P
.n
a
s�lze iS�:t,lre
v+ ' *
"d Steve, boy, she's a dear!"
"Hush, sis!" He lield up a warning
anger.
Neter in his jovial, , drudging life had
he beheld such opulence.
'It's yours," said Stephen Myson
Pringle 3rd, not unmoved. "Just say
the word. You'll have to anyway."
Then the storm ` broke, The man
went down on his knees. His words
overran themselves in eager haste to
escape their prison.
'Ah, mon Dieu," he moaned, "spare
me, monsieur, spare me! It is fifteen,
sixteen years ago, maybe more. Ma
woman she lose her babee. We_feesb
by shore where one big, white farm -
blouse is.. Leetle girl she lie in sand.
No one there. Ma woman rhe look at
ane. I laaokia nia woman. We was
take de leetle girl, then we for fear to
▪ er back. Fraid, fraid all de tam.
k some one catch us me. Some
go there that house—"
her folks • live there etill?"
a oui, monsieur, but yes"
All i+igh To -mon
will ' do, To -mo
Tl.
The'listeri'ers heard no more. A door
ar them had opened, sending a
cam of light across the porch from
$the'hall-way.. Framed in the casement
stood a girl equisitely gowned in a
Pringle frock. ' aThe boy started from
)his seat, taking a quick . step toward
er..
esee —sane
-els bashfulnde.,.sWeo�' ,oen,hirri,
He was at an open window,, listen
ing slhamelesaly. Within 'were hie• The many thousands- of snow-white
father and Pierre La Roux. ' Gannets, dark Cormorants, graceful
"Come, conte, man," Stephen Myron:,Gulls and other strange sea -birds that
Pringle, 3rd, was saying, "you don'ts inhabit the bird sanctuary at Perce
mean to tell me the girl is your. banal •ock and Ba-naventure island on the
Nesting Sea Birds ' Attract
Tourists.
fide niece?" • t
Pierre La Roux wrung his tasseled
cap nervously. Pierre was in a quan-
dary.
"But, monsieur—"
"But me ,no buts, friend. Out with
it. Who is she?"
"Mon Dieu, but I ,ani afraid!"
"Haven't I told you that you would
come Us no harm? You have lost your
boat. Think it over?' A•rolf of bilis
was tossed upon the table.
The little Frenchman picked them
up. The sweat stood out on his fore-
head. "Mon Dieu," he' breathedeagain.
He did not stop to count theta. He ran
them hastily over in his fingers. "Mon
Dieu! mon Dieu!" he kept repeating.
His hands • shook as he beheld their
magnitude. He was as one in a pansy.
southern shore ,of the Gaspe peninsula.
In Quebec, are attracting increasing
numbers of visitors' each year accord-
ing to the report furnisthed by the
Chief Federal Migratory Bird Officer
for .the district to the Comissioner of
Canadian. National Parks. During the
season just closed 767 guests register-
ed at Perce's two hotels and it is es-
timated that these visitors spent up-
wards of $16,000 for hotel accommoda-
tion, boat and motor hire„ etc. Inci-
dentally this does not take into ace
count the many transient visitors who
come•-te watch the myriads of nesting
seabirds :along the toast.
• "There is nosuch thing as physical
over -work," says a weal -known doc-
tor. "It is worry, not work, that kills."
Stories of Fa us People
Woman Who Dives for Gold.
A young woman who is really doing
a man's job is Miss' Margaret Naylor,
the wrontan-diver engaged in recover-
ing the treesare from the su'n'ken
Spanish galieo'n at Toh.ermory, at the
Scottish coast.
She was the first woman to take up
deepaca diving as a profcasion,,,end
she has proved that the work can be
quite efficiently o rried o'ut by ,her elex,
The wreck on wih4ch she is now work-
ing Hee in slaty feet of water, and
there iso probably a million pounds'
worth of levee's, plate. plate, •and so on to be
brought to the .surface.
Mise Naylor has -had several narrow
escapes. Once her feet, encased in
heavy diving boots, gat caught in :the
lower rungs of •a ladder she was using.
The more the men above tried to pull
her up, the worse became her plight,
for her teed was pinked right out of
her helmet into the body of her dress.
Only her presence of mind: saved her,
Had to Walk Back.
General Sir -11. E. Bursltall, who com-
manded the Canadian artilery in the
Iate war, was reputed to have an iron
nerve, and, in action, to have been one
of the coolest men in the army. Noth-
ing, it was said of him. so quickly
aroused his anger as. to see a man give
way to fear, even momentary fear, and
he seldom let such ,action pass 1i.
silenrce.
There , was a:. story of the , gen era!
and the driver woo showed nerves In
action under the general's .eyes, which -
°iiioexs of his staff were very fond of
relating.
It was, haok•111 the first years of the
war and the general's .gcuunan-d was
$onuerwtat smaller than it was on No-
vember 11, 1918. A; battery had just
gone into action, had just unlimbered,
and sent over .a salvo. The drivers,
having tethered their horses, in a
clump of ,trees a little to the .rear of
the guns, ' were moving out into the
Weer again. Nearby, the general and
one of his state sat astride their horre+s,.
Suddenly a German shell ',welshed"
overhead and broke in a chump; of
trees., disemboweling one of the bat-
tery bosses. The "general saw a driver,
an awkward country lad, who was .
near him, throw up his hands and, fete
blanched, stagger backwards with a
moan. For a moment Borstal' watch-
ed lrim intently, then he blazed:
"And what is it to you?"
"Noth' -noth—nothiwg, sir," the man
stammered, recovering himself some-
what, but shifting nervously from one
foot to the other under the general's
angry gaze; "noth — nothl — nothing.
only somebody what rode here has got„
to walk back."
Big Meat Eaters.
Why, does man become a cannibal?
Mr. W. D. M. Bell, a contributor to
Country Life, thinlfs that the cause is
constant craving for meat in ,a land
where mostly grain abounds, He tells
some interesting things about the ex-
traordinary diet of the natives of the
Bahr Aouk in Africa.
When they inhabit a stockless area,
he says, : they go for months without
flesh, except of course for an occasion-
al rat, mongoose or bird. In those cir-
cumstancee the craving for neat na-
turally becomes intense and in my
opinion is the cause of cannibalism.
When the people suddenly have al-
most unlimited meat, as they do have
when they kill an elephant or a hip-
popotamus;• they simply gorge them-
selves. A man will eat from fifteen
to twenty pounds in 'twenty-four hours.
An night long he will eat and dose and
eat again. As a result his skin turas
a peculiar dull color, and his eyes' be-
come yellow. On tlhe third day he has
completely recovered his ¢¢aaturas ap-
pearance and is again • fulrof energy.
In a short time he wants his grainfood
again and if he has the choice will eat
a large portion of grain to a small por-
tion of meat.
If,. as with the elephant, there is
much fat with the meat, the natives
are likely to beoonie extremely fit on
that diet. For example, for sixty-three
days of consecutive marching a kilan-
gozi, or head porter, of mine wlao was
"auiceClfteen paurvd;, of. rationa.
a
a tusk that weighed o,ne..liuuu-rea--....a
forty-eight pounds! The shortest day
was Ave hours, and soxne days were
very long indeed. For rations through-
out the march he had two pounds of
native grain every day and as mob
meat and elephant fat as he cared for.
His physical condition was magnificent
throughout,
4
Helping Providence.
There were two ministers among.
the passengers who were crossing the
lake in a small boat during a storm,
When the boat seemed on the point of
swamping a woman cried out, "The
Two ministers must pray!"
The boatman who was a Scot, turn-
ed and looked at them. "Na, na," he
said; "the little ane can pray if he
likes. but the big ane noun tak an
oar."
Non -Co-operation.
Conjurer—"Now, to help me with
this next trick, 1 want the services of
a boy—just any boy in the audience
—yes, you will do, my little man; come
along. Now, you've never seen me be-
fore, have you?"
Bay (innocently)—"No, father!"
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engineer th finals for Quebec Uharit Shield October 20th, playing the Wsyaga»
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mucks, Of Three E,iverea
Diarist and Thy Soul.
When thou turn'at away from ill,
Christ is this side of thy hill.
When thou turn'st toward the good,
Christ is walking in thy wood.
When thy heart says, "Father, par-
don!"
Then the. Lordis in thy garden.
When stern duty wakes- to watch,
Then His hand is on the latch.
Biot when hope thy song doth rouse,
Then 'the Lord is in .thy houee.
When to love is all t!hy wit,
Christ doth at thy table sit.
When God's will is thy heart's pole,
Then is Chrism -tlh.y very soul.
—George Macdonald.
A Rival to ®Id Scrooge.
Ebenezer Scrooge that "squeezing,
wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutch-
ing, covetous old sinner, hard and
sharp as a flint," is our idea of a pret-
ty mean person. Few men, fortunate-
ly, are in the same class with ham.
Yet this incident, which Mr. G. B. Bur-
gin relates in his Memoirs of a Club-
man, serves to -remind us that now
and again in real life we are likely :to
run upon a rival to the tight-fisted
`sand at the grindstone."
ateenranageternesaaveaniese,d,•tr ee es,
my assistant came to me vna day 44111
said, "You say I never do a generous!'
thing. Now I am, going to tell you of e-
a very generous thing I did this morn,
big."
I ,said that I was delighted that he
had reformed.
"You know Smithson the artist who
bolted to America and left a wife and
child to starve?" he inquired.
"Yes. What of him?"
"It was very wet this morning, and
the poor woman came in 'drenched
with her lovely little girl. She explain-
ed that her only means of liveliihood
was to let the child sit as a model to
artists for an infant St. Jahn and all
that sort of thing."
"Well ?"
"It wasn'•t well. Don't be so im-
patient. She asked me to lend her
some money, and I refused."
"Of course. You would."
"Though I make it a rule never to
lend money, she looked so oold and
hungry that I felt sorry for her and
asked her if she would like a cup of
tea."
"I apologize." e
"I thought you would, You may re-
member that the office boy does a luc-
rative business .by selling you cups of
tea in the afternoon; so I discovered
ke
his tea caddy—be was out at lunch—
and made them each a cup, It oc-
curred to me that they were hungry.
I went to the chief's room and found
his tin of fancy biscuits. I gave them
Itwo each, and they were very happy
and thankful, though : I think they
would have 'preferred three. Now do 1
never do a good deed?"
"I never said that you were not cap-
able of doing a kind deed at some one
else's expense," I replied,
A fortnight later the chief asked
me: "Seen my tin of bisleuits?"
I had not. Then I remembered and
went to my assistant. "Where are the
rest of Mr. Blank's biscuits?" I asked.
He looked a little oonfused. "I'm
very sorry. I meant to returnthem,
but the temptaion was too much for
me, and I ate them myself."
"Anel you've gained half a pound of.
biscuits for doing a kind deed! You'd,
better buy Mr. Blank a fresh supply."
"Is it absolutely necessary? We aro
all liable to moments of temptation."
"Absolutely necessary, Run out and
gat then, and I'll say I've found the
tin."
He crawled out and returned with
the biscuits, "One must be prepared
to suffer for doing good," he moaned.
Her Fear.
"I don't want to sit beside Jose-
phine," said five-year-old Margaret,
"Why not, dear?"
" ''Cause site's got Treckier" and I
Might catch them."
a
1
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4