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world. Beyond the hills, I told my- self. mankind knew bitterness, defeatâ€" ed hapes. broken faith, dreams gone astray. but on this hither side such sadness could not come. I glanced halt enviously at the peaceful village ly- ill in the sun. I had paused near the rude Calvary on the bank above the noisy stream and I now discovered that a Woman was standing at its foot. She had evidently finished her prayer. (or she slipped her rosary into her pocket and turned toward me with the ready smile of her people. I made some comment upon the soft beauty of the day. From where we stood we could see the gleaners at work in the fields, and an occasional snatch of song or burst of laughter was borne to us on the still air. ‘l‘he sleepy little parish in the PTO" Vince of Quebec, seemed, like Bassela’s happy valley. shut out from all the world. Beyond the hills, I told my- "It is a spot that knows no sorrow. I said. My companion, who was not a young woman. followed my glance. ”It is a happy peOple.” she answer- ed slowly, “like the children, but there is no spot where sorrow comes not, m’sieu’, save in the blessed hea- vens. I’ve seen heart-break so cruel here the sun has never been so bright since that day.” "Tell me about it.” I urged. She made a gesture of assent and invited me to a seat on the bank. “It was long ago,” she began, after a moment’s reflection; “so long that if you ask them yonder about M. 1e cure they’ll think you mean the cure who lives by the Chdl‘Ch-d. very good manâ€"[mt Idon’t mean him, I mean the Abbe Moreauâ€"a. very good man likewise, save for one sin. Ah! m’sieu’, who of us h'lS not one sin and more? The good God sees and I think he is not so hard with us as we are with each other. Maisâ€"I don’t knowâ€"I am only an old woman. “Well, nobody can tell you that story like rueâ€"nobody knows. But I don’t forget, it’s all clear as if it was yes- terday when it happened. It begins with Narcisse Duplan, the same who killed himself. as m’sieu’ has heardâ€" no? It was because of Marie his wife-she ran away and left him, and then it was the same as if the sun had gone out of the sky for Narcisse. He grew so dull; where he came the laugh and the song, they vanished like smoke. We were sorryâ€"oh, yes! -- but your neighbor’s sorrow don’t make much difference to you after all, m’sieu’, it don't last long, and bimeby we forvot. Marie wasn’t worth re- membering anyhow, and so we told Narcisse, but the winds will heed your voice sooner than will a man who loves. He knows no reason, and poor Narciss: had none at all. So one day there was an end to his sorrow. â€"he stopped it all with his knifeâ€"like this. He left no money, no land, noâ€" thing but. his little girl Margot, and what to do with her was the one .great question. Nobody was willing to take! herâ€"children were plenty in Beau- pre and every year there were more here and the fields and the brookâ€" more coming. Nobody wanted this child -â€"nobody had cared for the mother and maybe the child would grow .p like her. Then the cure said to me: ” 'Madame Rose, there is no child to make sunshine in your houseâ€"let this little one come in.’ "And I answered: "‘Pardon, M. 1e cure, what do I care for Marie Duplan’s child? The mother is a bad woman. My husband told me that many times before he died. She made Sylvestre Laroque the same as crazy with love for her, she ruined Jean Prevost’s home. she broke her father’s heart. and now she’s gone away with the Englishman and that poor foot Narcisse is dead. ' K “'S’pose my house is lonely. I can- not do what you ask. Once there was a little child here that I loved more than all tha worldâ€"oh! you know M. le cure â€"and the Lord took her. I want no other child in her place, I only want her back againâ€"my arms are empty without her.'_ “So he 1nd to take Margot himself. and he carried her all the way to 'the manse. She wasn’t afraid, she just clung to him close; she was about five years old t_hen and got big for her age. Was she pretty? Par ex- emple! Maybe there were prettier children in the parish. I don’t know. She was better than pretty, she hadâ€"how do you call it? â€"charm. Beauty is a very nice thing, m’sieu’. and the woman that has it is like a careful soldier always well arm- ed. but it is as quick to depart as the rose itselfâ€"tire. fever, the years, and behold! it is gone. That other stay still the end. Margot’s mother had it too. in her low voice and her soft eyes and in the heart that knows no agé. It Narcisae anlan left noth- ing to his child. Marie was more gen- crous with her gifts. “ It don’ t seem very long. those twelve years that Margot lived at the mange. but they made some differ- ence. Not with the cure. but with her. She was like her mother,jnst as {air to look upon. When she passed. all the young men felt their hearts heat taster. Only she was not the as. as her mother,‘ for she seemed not to lee them. Then one day she «use to tell us goodobye. She was going to teach in a. villm yonder. and Ike 2'“ both ¢l§d__tnd 09m to lava spot that knows no sorrow, were on her race same use tau 9-, :.. April. Oh! she would be back again some time, she said. But I thought maybe when that sometime comes many will not be here. ‘Who knows? It’s like that in this world. and so it ain’t all easy to say good-bye. Truly I sorrowed most to let her go; the others had their husbands and children and thought not deep of her, but al- ways I must think that she might have been with me all the days making sun- shine like the cure said, and I missed I know that? If you little child goes away, m’sieu’, don’t you sorrow for her? Ain’t the world a sad place without her? The cure is only a man like other men, I told my- self When I saw how his face grew white and whiter. He was very good to us then, and he smiled just as oftâ€" en as beforeâ€"only his smile hurt, be- VII uu annv cause you felt it was like a cloak drawn up .over a big sore that you wanted to heal and were not able. Margot wrote back long letters about how nice she found the school and how sweet the children were. And she said too, there was no spot like Beaupre after allâ€"it was the very heaven of the world. She loved all the peOple www- “The cure read it all out to us and he showed us the letters besides. I never saw anything more beautiful than those letters, and he seemed so pleased when Itold him that. be- cause it was he who taught her from theyery beginning And he said: “I know something how he felt, for Sure. When my little girl died I couldn’t stay in the house; I couldn’t bear the emptiness and the stillness. and I didn’t want to come back to it. because it was so lonely without her. And when I saw the cure al- ways walking in the fields and over the hills I told myself, ‘Voila! the house is empty for him too, poor man.’ “‘She was a gnud pupil, Madame Rose. No man ever had so good a WP 011. No man in the whole world is Wonder of her than I am.’ And then he_ _cht away and walkedâ€"walked. back.’ “He grew very still, and then the smile didn’t come so quick to his face â€"it had disappeared. Sometimesâ€"most oftenâ€"he’d pass by the men and wo- men as if they were but stones. and he had no word for the children run- ning out to meet him. Well, the peo- ple said for excuse he had migraine perhaps, but when there came no change they thought he had the fev- er because his eyes were strange and dull. and they were afraid. When I said to them: “‘He misses Margot. Any father would miss his child and M. 1e cure was the same as her father. And she is Margotâ€"nobody could know her without loving her. Bimeby he’ll grow all right. because time will cure him. Time cures everything. You cut your- self and no matter if you lose much blood the skin comes together again. It’s the same with the heart. It cracks maybe, but little by little, lit- tle by little. the edges come together â€"it gets itself mended. It ain’t -59 good'as it was, but it will do! Don’t I know what I speak? Ain’t my heart cragked-like _this very long time, hein ’5: “The people listened to me, and they said I was right and they would wait patiently until the cure was healed. But what do you think? M. le cure got no better. In all weather he walked as if he wasn’t able to keep still. And there was nobody to hear confession. The church stood empty day after dayâ€"day after dayâ€"and the whole village began to murmur. Then one Sunday, when everybody had gone to church, the doors were shut and a little card was hanging there. Al~i phonse Seguinâ€"he’s Baptiste’s father, m’sieu’, and. he’s too old to work! in the fields nowâ€"he took the card and read how there wouldn’t ‘Le any service that day. Well, for sure, the peOple were very angry. "All that week long the cure did just as I’ve been telling you, but when Sunday came again there was no card on the church doors; they stood Open wide and the peopleâ€"so many people â€"went through. I never saw so many â€"everybody, little [and big, was there. It was very still in the church and we waited a long time, but bimeby the cure came in. He was all in black and his face was so white, and somehow it didn’t seem as large as before. He walked to the altar steps, than he turned and looked at us all; so he stood for maybe twoâ€"three minutes. It seemed like an hour. and it was so quiet I could hear Angele Prevost’s breath came puffâ€"puff, and she was ’way behind me. but I knew that sound. "Then he said, very soft: “‘My peopleâ€"J "There was a li;tic stir among us like the noise you hear when you throv a stcn: In-o the hedge and the l birds fly up scared, then it was still again in a moment and he said once I more: “ ‘My people, it is a long time that 1 have known you all and you are very dear to my heart, and maybe when I tell you good-bye. yot1_ _will fee} sorry as I 'do. For I éomé {his mOFDViâ€"llgvilbi to preach, not to hear confessionâ€"no, it is _I who make confession. and then “Everybody moved quick, but the cure didn’t step, he just kept on in th_at_same gentle voice: “ ‘It makes it. easier if I tell you a story, because we are the same as the children, we all like stories. Very well, then: there was a priest once who lived in a beautiful little parish, and he was very fond of his people and they loved him too. so he thought k1. -QvAâ€"‘J _L__‘ __-,.Ll l‘ v- â€"v V-vauv he would stay with them always. And that made him very happy. Then one day. because of his abundance, he adapted a small child. She had no father nor mother. and was all alone in the world. Well, for sure, that made some difference! Other days when that priest got home he used to shut himself in his room with is book like the sky in be back again seu. "now 1 ”mama," _ . 800d od loves us. And it was his love. for the child that showed him the way. . . “ ‘The years stood not still With They both that man and little girl. grew older, and the love between them grew too, till there was nothing sweet- er in the whole world. The priest taught that little child out ‘ of the books and her mind was like some lovely flower, and she taught him, too. so that everywhere he looked be- neath the sin and sorrow he found something good and fair. But there came a day when it all seemed very dark to him, and I’ll tell you about that time. The little child was a young girl now and she went away to teach the children in another vill- age. He let her go because he thought it was for her happiness, and she was a ward of the church and the bishop and others said it was best. He seem- ed glad, like everybody, because of her good fortune. but he was no more glad when she had gone and he came back to the manse. It was so lonely. EveryWhere he saw her face and he thought he heard her voice. First it was like the voice of a child sing- !Dg “Dorsâ€"tu bien” to her doll; then It grew older and it said the ’rith- metic.tables and Spelled the words; then It grew older still and it wasn’t â€"â€"-vâ€" â€"v v â€"_ _ so loud. but it was the same voice, and he heard her say, “-Good night, fath- er. ” And when she thought he woulen 1 tell him good-night any more, he put his hands up so and he cried, “Oh! my God, Imiss my childâ€"I want my child. " “‘So he sorrowed many days; he went into the fields, and everywhere she went with him in his mind. He felt her little fingers in his hand, and he heard. the patter of her feet running to keep up by his side, and sometimes he carried her as he used to when she was five, or six, or maybe seven years old. Pretty soon she was able to keep up and very often she would run far, far ahead and would laugh at him when he didn’t catch her. The priest made pictures like that, but bimebyâ€"and this was very strangeâ€" it wasn’t any longer the little child he thought so much about. When he turned his head it wasn’t to look far down where a little child would stand â€"-he only looked just so far and he “ ‘Pray for me,’ he said at last, ‘pray for me. I am he that I have told you about. I have sent that letter â€"I have forsaken my parish. Soon I go to see Margot and I will say to her, “Child, I cannot live without 'you. I am no longer a priest. I want to marry you. Will you come with! me ?” And I think-I thinkâ€" she . will say yes. I don't know. but there ;is something here which tells me she fwill say yes. Good-bye. my people. LGood-bye, my children.’ “Then he turned and went swiftly from us’ like a shadow; he made no sign Of the crossâ€"he didn’t seem to see anything. We heard his steps on the stone floor and the door closed to and saw her face there with the shining eyes and the blush of a wild rose in her cheeks. It was so he thought of her. It was not the child, it was the young girl. “ ‘And one day he looked down and because the face wasn’t really there he groaned out aloud. It was all clear to him. He loved herâ€"and he was a priest of God. He loved her as you men love your wives, he loved her as you women love your husbandsâ€" he couldn’t live without her. He went back to his house, but she wasn’t there; he went out into the fields, but she wasn’t there. He couldn’t pray â€"al- ways in his prayers her face would comeâ€"he was only able to ask for one thing. “'Then he knew he wasn’t fit to guide his peOple any more. He kept away from the church, he Spent long days beneath God’s sky and he tried not to think of the happiness that you know, but it {was impossible to put that dream aside. He only asked to live a little time in the sun, he want- ed a place thereâ€"he was not so old, not so much more than forty. Then he told himself, “I’ll be a priest no long- er,” and he wrote to the bishop that he renounced his vowsâ€"’ “The oure stopped talking and stood very still with his head dropped on his breast; presently be straightened himself and looked around at us all. "P’rhaps you think, ‘msieu’, we said something. hein? But we had no words and nobody looked at his neighbor. I liked that. Why should we look at our neighbor? S’pose we had thought be- cause the cure stood so near God with our sins he was different from usâ€" that only showed our ignorance. He was no more than a man and we couldn’t blame him. It was the fault 0“ Marie Duplan’s childâ€"she wasn’t like her mother for nothing. But nobody said a word in the church, it seemed too great a sin. Bimeby A1- phonse Seguin went out on tiptoe and then Jules Perrot went too, and aft- er that everv nnn nf no #3" nm all er that ever v v-v vvv' “u“ “L Vâ€" y one of us till we all â€"â€".w-suv Jv‘ “'J ‘V " {ID no longer quiet then. Everybody was sorry for M. .le cure and everybody blamed Margot. Then what do 3011 think. m’sieu’tuMex-e Angele she up- braided me-me.‘ fie said, ‘Roae Miche- let. If you had taken Margot. this had vwâ€"v- m- V vat? ”a“ not happened !’ She said other cruel things besides, and the rest said them likewise. "Well. I went home finickyl can tell you. I didn’t want to hear their voices. But the voice in my heagt said the same, words. and-.1 knew it. spoke true. But I could do. nothing. The bishop was angry with M. Jo cure sgg'God wosgmgry. 'It‘wa's too '1‘.“ Ing. fivwâ€"w "vv-’W W w “r py and gay ihlthe world adobe would- n’teierseomm.mtmtor sorry; b at only a. little. for she hadn’t sake of a little girl. I real one to blame. So alone and wept. and p11 behind me was Opened didn’t more, for I thou the wind. but soon I h I heard the women sob, but I didn’t weep. Why should I weep? All the same I stole away; I wanted to be where I could think. I went along by the brook till I came to the Calvary and I waited there in the bushes. l was happyâ€"oh! never so happy as then. I wanted to run to the manse. but some thing held me back. and I told myself I must wait till my heart went not so quick. And I thought I’d go in alitâ€" tle while and I’d knock very soft on the study door, but M. le cure would know that knock anywhere. He’d throw the door Open wide and he’d cry. “It is Margotâ€"enterâ€"hasten 1” Just to think of that made my heart go fastâ€" fastâ€"and I knew it would take too long for it to grow slow and calm again. but when I would have left my hiding- place some people stopped near me and [ heard them say it was all my fault that the cure had given up everything. that God would never pardon him, and then they cursed me. \Vell, I didn’t know what to do then. I wasn’t able to think very plainâ€"there was so much noiseâ€"the brook and the birds seemed to mock at me. Bimeby I told my- self, “I will ask Madame Rose to help m;â€"inea.rt ieaped 'in my breast. and then I understoodâ€"never _minq whag. me.’ I don’t want harm to come to the cure. What must I do ?” “ She stopped speaking and looked at me with those soft eyes of hers. “ ‘You must never see him again.” I said; “you must go away where he can’t findyou.’ "‘Why,’ I said, “I don’t know for sure, but I think the bishop will talk with M. le cure and give him some penance and M. 1e cure will do it and so get back his peace one day." “‘And what is for me ?’ she asked. “ I couldn’t tell, m’sieu’, so there was no more speech between us for awhile. Soon she began talking again. and she said: "‘And then what will happen 2’ she asked. " ‘I have no longer any school. There is an old man in the parish yonder who wanted to marry me. He has much money and the maple there think he is a grand manâ€"me, I know different. I cannot marry him. and so I told him many times. Money and lands won’t satisfy a woman’s heart, madame. They can't buy happiness. Well, he was very angry when I tried to make that clear and he said he would fix me sureâ€"I shouldn’t teach the school longer. So he told them all it wasn’t right for me to be with the children; that I wasn’t fit. He knew all about my motherâ€" oh! she did much wrong my motherâ€"l and he made up very shameful stories! besides. about me and one Antoine'x Marcel, because I took his flowers and when he went away forever I went for his grief. He loved me. madame. very true, that Antoine. but I cared not for him either; my heart was here in Beau- pre all the while. But the ,peOple be- lieved those stories and they would- n’t let me stay. So that is why come home. andâ€"Iâ€"haveâ€"noâ€"home 1' “‘No.’ I said, ‘you have no home here.’ “Tth m’sieu’. it was plain in one great flash how the cure could be sav- eder the church. “ ‘ Hold.’ I cried to Margot; write a letter to M. 1e cure, write it quick and I will bear it to him. Tell him you don’t like the stupid life of the village and so you go to see the world with some one who is young and gay.’ “‘But. madame.’ she interrupted, that ain’t true. I cannot tell that lie. I cannot have my dear cure think me like that. I love him as he loves “ ‘ There is no other way to save him and save his soul.’ I said. ‘ Va! it will be but a little pain. S’poss it is a lie. we women. can’t always say what is trueâ€"we must think of others and keep back what will be for their balm if 1 Will do what you tell me. only I’m a good woman. madame. I’ll al- ways be a_ good woman.” “ I brought the writing things to her and she. sat and thought a long time before she began to write. She tore up much good papa and she wrote again and again; what: she had (in- ished at last she read me the letter. It wasn’t very long and tho aid in It that what tbs M10 yonder Ipoko 0‘. 1331' W38 true: and it run tru- hm lpve themâ€".7 ”U” 0 round scared and there ot. I thought I was at no! it was sheâ€" and 10 more the same Margot nnw- She was no longer I still and warred with kopce sh? glmost fell. so I i113 peop‘ 13 "yéiécf'éfiofii 99.? P4 1‘ 3'.“ time. too I. that she! knew whiz WMMP time to tlfink much of th. old life.Then she said good-bye. When she came to the end she kissed th) paper many time before she gave it to me. wm, utnvuus mi; “‘Will M nudeâ€"rstand .7" She whis- pend. " ‘Yes.’ I answered. “ What ?’ she asked, ‘will be under- stand that 7” “‘No,’ I said very firm. “be 111)] just think you are M1110 Duplan'a child and that will cure him.” “‘01). God! she sohhod ‘how canI let him think me like thatâ€"how can 1:" .“I was very sorry for Margot. ni- Bueu’. but what would you? The cure must be saved. He had not yet left the manse when I reached there, and I handed him the letter myself. He did- n’t ask any questions: he just opened it and read it, maybe. two. three times. as if the writing wasn't easy to makt out. Then he went past me very (1‘11Ck and closed the door of his room. but I saw his face and I understood. " It was late when I got home and Margot still sat by the table. She rais- ed her head when I came in and I saw the heart-break in her face too. The pain of it hurt me sharp like the blow with a knife. I had looked on sorrow that day. I had never seen such sorrow before. and never once since that time. But all the same I think it wasthe cure who was wounded the deems" because he must tell himself that. Mar- EOt had failed him every way. " As for hm”. m'sieu'. lwanted 10 keep her with me always. only that couldn’t be. She was like a pure 111' tle doveâ€"I say that and Iknos’fi” about her mother. I can say nothmlr €186. for I have looked into her 93'” and have seen the whiteness of her soul. But tl'mre could he no home“? her in Beaupre and so she went a“? into the night; and she said, the 1115t thing, ‘ Pray for me. madame. pray {0’ me.’ That is all. I don‘t know any- @hingmore about herâ€"she never came I mung; / mg my arm. 1H¢J enoeofMilbm-n’. I Ileart and Ne”, Pills. For than ten years I was troubled with throbb' wd fluttering of the heart. I tried five doctors and several remedies but noneof them did me much good. Lately I heard of Milburn’s Heart and Nerve Pills and bought two boxes. Before I started using them I could not do my house work tnd gave myself :5) to die, as I thought I would never be our . Now I feel really splendid Iinoe taking the pills, do my work, enjoy my meels and feel as if there was Ion»: thing in life worth livmg for.” _I‘_ _____ 0.. n _ - -_A , , “one Mllbnrn' I Heart and‘ Nerve Pills, sold bydl d ate at 50c. a box or 3 boxes totOl. 25 .Milbum 61 Co, Toronto, 0m "The cure. m'sieu‘? h thought. The bishOp gnu) penance, he went to thw .Q ethood. and he stayed thew thy 33!. He never cann- again. Perhaps he is dozm.’ livesâ€"I know not. But h" 1 that I know. All the WW1? him. and the good God i prayers for sure.” WHAT BRITISH AMBASSADORS ARE PAID. f With regard to the vtuolumemz; Great Britain's diplomrt‘u‘ x‘epffidm tivea abroad the best 1““ Am”? r? in Sir E. J. Manson. “'3‘” m Pam. to oeivea £0,000. The Amlvwsadifiw Constantinople. Berlin. and dlor to have each £8,000. Thf‘ Ampafina next St. Potoraburg recelves 3-7' “33b comes Rome with £7,001:T 111.950“. The ington £6 500. then Mudflfl ‘- ' 0 hi" Ministers at Pekin and 19118:: 3110" £5.03!) Plus £1,000 as a WYSO” dor gets anon. At Tokio the Amlvasaa e05 £4000. at the Hague £3,000, at 3’08” mam -4. flle‘hnlm and at by being “11118 a sufficxenn_ ”whim" tunes. In some cases 30 s . . in to Impart the desirable immfm‘ty ’nl‘ 100 15mm3 :11 other canes as many as ' ”.95 be endured before the victim at: nutter serious inconvenience from", 31th of been. Occasional”.y a p80 t0 to found who is naturally ‘mwaofl the effects of bee-stings. .Wh'ifni‘i, by .‘ are not able to Maire any amount of heroic ' Tho tug at RUSSIA’S POP‘ uhtion of B pg. rate of 1.‘ IN 0C UL . A TED B Y BE E.‘ 911;“! n inquiry am 0 m as n th be e bee-k int: 00 maypers of G ac Quireerglntgy' 1 unit, sun?“ " And the 'n :6: ngmifith and I I am 'Gz::a:ntioau=rd.w Rn-..“ .III .AJ-.A cure ?” ' E70}â€" r WI] "Poâ€"ii- -‘ Pflooyfisc. “t °e It was likcl gave him 31°“ the Silent Brod" . there many ya" came to Balm" dead, perm!” he at he is Pardomd' :STINGS' 03H "7‘" , M J “.3913“, .0.“PHARD “Eden and :11 other matter-I t m~hlghut refel enceu: BARRISI‘ERS, stoucl NOTARIES, CU.\‘\'}2\'. ERS, ETC. lacy to Lo r Lo we: lay Terms 18. LUCAS, MARKIH W. HMRICHT 0“ E\' C. A. BATSON D1 RH ’3. A. L BROWN. mealtime of .the Royal Col; Wm. “Edinburgh, SootJ an ad negligence. opposite 'Iel RESIDENCEâ€"Middaugh HI 0.“ hoursâ€"9 mm. to 6 p.m. Wm ha a the Commercial H on 1. I!“ Wednesday in each month. j LGFIEâ€"Ez'bre. Low'er Town muount of money to 10m: at ”In! pmporty. ‘ABRISTEB. Solicitor. «to. M. Lower Town. (‘mk mainly attended tr» Seal the istry Ufllce. 3- onx-o: M Div‘ Durham Agean at the? Commercl G. LEFROY cCA Medical Directory Legal Dtrectory . i IISMKEX IDENTIT lvill P J . P. TELFORD. Miscellaneous . Wtight door «at of Cdder’a Bi‘ '.. or t ed! 601 me a few Dmhum with for 0t