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48
THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
ahead ; see La Bosse and the girl, and we'll all meet tomorrow at the tavern in Leveque. Until tomorrow, then, Louis. ' '
The companions parted, and Lonis La Salle tramped alone toward the hill from which he had so often gloried in the setting sun. He swung along at a jaunty pace, striking at the flowers with his stick, and adjusting the knapsack as it slipped back and forth on his back.
At length he reached the hill and hurried on to Toinette 's house. He crept softly to the gate and tried to move the rusty hinge without a squeak to betray him. But the gate did not swing freely, and he shook it. Glancing at the house, he saw a sign upon it, advertising the place for rent.
Wonderingly, he sauntered off to a neighboring house for news of the Savards. Spying a peasant in the tiny graveyard which received the bodies of families for fifteen miles around, Louis stepped into the cemetery and approached the fellow, whose back was turned to him as he knelt before two graves, close together.
Not wishing to interrupt the man in his prayer, Louis idly read the names on the tombstones. One, of white marble, was marked simply with a cross and the name ' ■ Toinette. ' ' A chill shook Louis; blankly, he read the other, repeating aloud, "Jean Savard, aged 65."
At the words the peasant kneeling before him turned, and Louis noticed for the first time that the man had a humped back. In another instant he knew him to be Baptiste.
With a snarl of rage, the peasant sprang upon the poet. Louis fought him off, madly, blindly.
Suddenly Baptiste 's hands fell slack, he hurled the younger man from him and stood towering above him, in spite of his deformity. "You killed them!" he screamed, his face knotting and going purple. His passion suddenly ebbed, and he drew quickly from his pocket the amber necklace, thrusting it into Louis ' hand and standing well back from him as tho fearing he could not control himself longer.
He repeated Toinette's last words in a mumble, and, with trembling finger, pointed toward the cemetery gate. ' ' Now go, go ! " he screamed, again purpling. ' ' Go before you, too, are dead! The country of La Bosse has no need of you ! ' '
His head hung in shame, Louis, still holding the necklace absently in his hand, stumbled toward the gate. As he turned into the path to forge on to Leveque, and await his companions, he had a glimpse of the peasant Baptiste prostrate before the grave of Toinette, with his arms stretched out yearningly toward it.
To Louis the peasant's love was no longer ridiculous.
A Fulfilled Wish
By GEORGE B. STAFF
If that great singer who could take a flower And from it weave a silver thread of song, Could sojourn here among us for an hour,
And mingle with the gay and joyous throng That seek the pleasure of the Photoshow, He'd find the thing he wrote of long ago Had come to pass — the pictures guarantee us A chance to see ourselves as others see us.