The Goodness of St. Rocque, and Other Stories

								

let the world see their sorrows.
Monday evening Theophile, the missing, showed his rather sheepish
countenance in Manuela's parlour, and explained that he, with some
chosen spirits, had gone for a trip--"over the Lake."
"I did not ask you where you were yesterday," replied the girl, saucily.
Theophile shrugged his shoulders and changed the conversation.
The next week there was a birthday fete in honour of Louise,
Theophile's young sister.  Everyone was bidden, and no one thought of
refusing, for Louise was young, and this would be her first party.  So,
though the night was hot, the dancing went on as merrily as light young
feet could make it go.  Claralie fluffed her dainty white skirts, and
cast mischievous sparkles in the direction of Theophile, who with the
maman and Louise was bravely trying not to look self-conscious.
Manuela, tall and calm and proud-looking, in a cool, pale yellow gown
was apparently enjoying herself without paying the slightest attention
to her young host.
"Have I the pleasure of this dance?" he asked her finally, in a lull of
the music.
She bowed assent, and as if moved by a common impulse they strolled out
of the dancing-room into the cool, quaint garden, where jessamines gave
out an overpowering perfume, and a caged mocking-bird complained
melodiously to the full moon in the sky.
It must have been an engrossing tete-a-tete, for the call to supper had
sounded twice before they heard and hurried into the house.  The march
had formed with Louise radiantly leading on the arm of papa.  Claralie
tripped by with Leon.  Of course, nothing remained for Theophile and
Manuela to do but to bring up the rear, for which they received much
good-natured chaffing.
But when the party reached the dining-room, Theophile proudly led his
partner to the head of the table, at the right hand of maman, and
smiled benignly about at the delighted assemblage.  Now you know, when
a Creole young man places a girl at his mother's right hand at his own
table, there is but one conclusion to be deduced therefrom.
If you had asked Manuela, after the wedding was over, how it happened,
she would have said nothing, but looked wise.
If you had asked Claralie, she would have laughed and said she always
preferred Leon.
If you had asked Theophile, he would have wondered that you thought he
had ever meant more than to tease Manuela.
If you had asked the Wizened One, she would have offered you a charm.
But St. Rocque knows, for he is a good saint, and if you believe in him
and are true and good, and make your nouvenas with a clean heart, he
will grant your wish.

TONY'S WIFE
"Gimme fi' cents worth o' candy, please."  It was the little Jew girl
who spoke, and Tony's wife roused herself from her knitting to rise and
count out the multi-hued candy which should go in exchange for the
dingy nickel grasped in warm, damp fingers.  Three long sticks,