Alice of Old Vincennes

								

boat loaded with rum, brandy or gin. It was Rene de Ronville who
brought the news, the same Rene already mentioned as having given the
priest a plate of squirrels. He was sitting on the doorsill of Father
Beret's hut, when the old man reached it after his visit at the
Roussillon home, and held in his hand a letter which he appeared proud
to deliver.
"A batteau and seven men, with a cargo of liquor, came during the
rain," he said, rising and taking off his curious cap, which, made of
an animal's skin, had a tail jauntily dangling from its crown-tip; "and
here is a letter for you, Father. The batteau is from New Orleans.
Eight men started with it; but one went ashore to hunt and was killed
by an Indian."
Father Beret took the letter without apparent interest and said:
"Thank you, my son, sit down again; the door-log is not wetter than the
stools inside; I will sit by you."
The wind had driven a flood of rain into the cabin through the open
door, and water twinkled in puddles here and there on the floor's
puncheons. They sat down side by side, Father Beret fingering the
letter in an absent-minded way.
"There'll be a jolly time of it to-night," Rene de Ronville remarked,
"a roaring time."
"Why do you say that, my son?" the priest demanded.
"The wine and the liquor," was the reply; "much drinking will be done.
The men have all been dry here for some time, you know, and are as
thirsty as sand. They are making ready to enjoy themselves down at the
river house."
"Ah, the poor souls!" sighed Father Beret, speaking as one whose
thoughts were wandering far away.
"Why don't you read your letter, Father?" Rene added.
The priest started, turned the soiled square of paper over in his hand,
then thrust it inside his robe.
"It can wait," he said. Then, changing his voice; "the squirrels you
gave me were excellent, my son. It was good of you to think of me," he
added, laying his hand on Rene's arm.
"Oh, I'm glad if I have pleased you, Father Beret, for you are so kind
to me always, and to everybody. When I killed the squirrels I said to
myself: 'These are young, juicy and tender, Father Beret must have
these,' so I brought them along."
The young man rose to go; for he was somehow impressed that Father
Beret must wish opportunity to read his letter, and would prefer to be
left alone with it. But the priest pulled him down again.
"Stay a while," he said, "I have not had a talk with you for some time."
Rene looked a trifle uneasy.
"You will not drink any to-night, my son," Father Beret added. "You
must not; do you hear?"
The young man's eyes and mouth at once began to have a sullen
expression; evidently he was not pleased and felt rebellious; but it
was hard for him to resist Father Beret, whom he loved, as did every
soul in the post. The priest's voice was sweet and gentle, yet positive
to a degree. Rene did not say a word.
"Promise me that you will not taste liquor this night," Father Beret