The Goodness of St. Rocque, and Other Stories

								

direction of St. Rocque.
There were quite a number of persons entering the white gates of the
cemetery, for this was Friday, when all those who wish good luck pray
to the saint, and wash their steps promptly at twelve o'clock with a
wondrous mixture to guard the house.  Manuela bought a candle from the
keeper of the little lodge at the entrance, and pausing one instant by
the great sun-dial to see if the heavens and the hour were propitious,
glided into the tiny chapel, dim and stifling with heavy air from
myriad wish-candles blazing on the wide table before the altar-rail.
She said her prayer and lighting her candle placed it with the others.
Mon Dieu! how brightly the sun seemed to shine now, she thought,
pausing at the door on her way out.  Her small finger-tips, still
bedewed with holy water, rested caressingly on a gamin's head.  The ivy
which enfolds the quaint chapel never seemed so green; the shrines
which serve as the Way of the Cross never seemed so artistic; the baby
graves, even, seemed cheerful.
Theophile called Sunday.  Manuela's heart leaped.  He had been spending
his Sundays with Claralie.  His stay was short and he was plainly
bored.  But Manuela knelt to thank the good St.  Rocque that night, and
fondled the charm about her slim waist.  There came a box of bonbons
during the week, with a decorative card all roses and fringe, from
Theophile; but being a Creole, and therefore superstitiously careful,
and having been reared by a wise and experienced maman to mistrust the
gifts of a recreant lover, Manuela quietly thrust bonbons, box, and
card into the kitchen fire, and the Friday following placed the second
candle of her nouvena in St. Rocque.
Those of Manuela's friends who had watched with indignation Theophile
gallantly leading Claralie home from High Mass on Sundays, gasped with
astonishment when the next Sunday, with his usual bow, the young man
offered Manuela his arm as the worshippers filed out in step to the
organ's march.  Claralie tossed her head as she crossed herself with
holy water, and the pink in her cheeks was brighter than usual.
Manuela smiled a bright good-morning when she met Claralie in St.
Rocque the next Friday.  The little blonde blushed furiously, and
Manuela rushed post-haste to the Wizened One to confer upon this new
issue.
"H'it ees good," said the dame, shaking her turbaned head.  "She ees
'fraid, she will work, mais you' charm, h'it weel beat her."
And Manuela departed with radiant eyes.
Theophile was not at Mass Sunday morning, and murderous glances flashed
from Claralie to Manuela before the tinkling of the Host-Bell.  Nor did
Theophile call at either house.  Two hearts beat furiously at the sound
of every passing footstep, and two minds wondered if the other were
enjoying the beloved one's smiles.  Two pair of eyes, however, blue and
black, smiled on others, and their owners laughed and seemed none the
less happy.  For your Creole girls are proud, and would die rather than