Indianapolis Times, Volume 35, Number 248, Indianapolis, Marion County, 24 February 1923 — Page 8

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Alice of Old Vincennes By Maurice Thompson COPY RIGHT. 10 08. BY ALICE LEE THOMPSON

Bcjin Hrre ALICE, the adopted child of GASPARD ROUSSILLON, a French trader, was a daughter of old Vincennes on the Wabash in the trying days of the entiesJEAN, a little hunchback, was also adopted when a tiny infant by Roussillon and his invalid wife, after the child's parents had been killed by Indians. Alice s profound love for novels is criticised by old FATHER BERET, a Catholic priest of the nearby church, and all his chorts to steer her thought into a religious channel seem of no avail. Go On With the Story IT is it curious face that religion anil the power of rum and brandy worked together successfully for a long time in giving the French posts almost absolute influence over the wild and savage men by whom they were always surrounded. The gcod priests deprecated the traffic in liquors and tried hard to control it, but soldiers of fortune and reckless traders were in the majority, their interests taking precedence of all spiritual demands and carrying everything along. What could the brave missionaries do but make the very best of a perilous situation? In those days wine was drunk by almost everybody, its use at table and as an article of incidental refreshment and social pleasure being practically universal; wherefore the steps of re form in the matter of intemperance were but rudimentary and in all places beset by well-nigh insurmountable difficulties. In fact, the exigencies of frontier life demanded, perhaps, the very stimulus, which, when overindulged in, caused so much evil. Malaria loaded the air, and the most efficacious drugs now at command were then undiscovered or could not be had. Intoxicants were the only popular specific. Men drank to prevent contracting ague, drunk again, between rigors, to cure it. and yet again to grace themselves during con valescence. But if the effect of rum as a beverage had strong allurement for the white man, it made an absolute slave of the Indian, who never hesitated for a moment to undertake any task, no matter how hard, bear any privation, even the most terrible, or brave any danger, although it might demand reckless desperation, if in the end a well tilled bottle or jug appeared as his reward. Os course the traders did not overlock such a source of power. Alcoholic liquor became their implement of almost magical work in controlling the lives, labors, and resources of the Indians. The priests with their captivating story of the cross had n large influence in softening savage natures and averting many an awful danger: but when everything else failed, rum always came t j the rescue of a threatened French post. We need not wonder, then, when we are told that Father Beret made no sign of distress or disapproval upon being inform (1 of the arrival of a boat loaded with rum. brandy or gin. It was Rene dßenville 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 bat teau 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 ab-sent-minded way. “There'll be a jelly time of it tonight,” 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 them selves 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.

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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 mu3t have these,’ so I brougth 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 tonight, 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 i liquor this night,” Father Beret went on. grasping the young man’s arm more firmly: “promise me, my son. promise me.” Still Rene was silent. The men did not look at each other, but gazed away across the country beyond the Wabash towhere a glory from the western sun flamed on the upper rim of a great cloud fragment creeping ; along the horizon. Warm as the day had been, a delicious coolness now began to temper the air: for the wind had shifted into the northwest. A meadowlark sang dreamingly in the wild grass of the low lands hard by, over which two or three prairie hawks j hovered with wings that beat rapidly. ; “Eh bien. I must go,” said Rene i presently, getting to his feet nimbly i anti evading Father Beret's hand j which would have held him. “Not to the river house, my son?" said the priest appealingly. “Xo. not there; I have another letter; one for M'sieu’ Roussillon; it came by the boat too. I go to give j it to Madame Roussillon.” ' Rene de Ronville was a dark, weather-stained young fellow, neither' tall nor short, wearing buckskin I moccasins, trousers and tunie. llis ; eyes were dark brown, keen, quick i moving, set well under heavy brows. | A razor had probably never touched ! his face, and his thin, curly beard ■ crinkled over his strongly turned cheeks and chin, while his moustaches sprang out quite fiercely abov. his full-lipped, almost sensual mouth. He looked wiry and active, a man not to be lightly reckoned with in a trial of bodily and will power. Father Beret's face and voice changed on the instant. He laughed dryly and said, with a sly gleam in his eyes: “You could spend the evening pleasantly with Madame Rousillon and Jean. Jean, you know, is a very amusing fellow.” Rene brought forth the letter of which he had spoken and held it up before Father Beret's face. “Maybe you think I haven’t any letter for M’sieu’ Roussillon,” he •1 urted; “and maybe you are quite certain that I am not going to 'be l ouse to take the letter.” “Monsieur Roussillon is absent, you know.” Father Beret suggested. “But cherry pies are just as good while he’s gone as when he’s at home, and I happen to know that there are some i particularly delicious ones in the pantry of Madame Roussillon. Mademoiselle Alice gave me a juicy sample; but then I dare say you do not care to have your pie served by her hand. It would interfere with your appetite; eh. my son?" Rene turned short about wagging bis head and laughing, and so with bis hack to the priest he strode away along the wet path leading to the Roussillon place. Father Beret gazed after him, his face relaxing to a serious expression in which a trace of sadness and gloom spread like an elusive twilight. He took out his letter, but did not glance at it, simply holding it tightly gripped in his sinewy right hand. Then his old eyes stared vacantly, as eyes do when their sight is cast back many, many years into the past. The missive was from beyond the sea he knew the handwriting—a waft of the flowers of Avignon seemed to rise out of it, as if by the pressure of his grasp. A stoop-shouldered, burly man went : by. leading a pair of goats, a kid fol- ! lowing. He was making haste ex- ; citodlv, keeping the goats at a lively : trot. ! “Bonjour, Pere Beret,” he flung ! out breezily, and walked rapidly on. “Ah, ah; his mind is busy with the ! newly arrived cargo,” thought the old i Pi-iest. returning the salutation; “his I throat aches for the liquor—the poor man.” Then he read again the letter’s superscription and made a faltering move, as if to break the seal. His hands trembled violently, his face looked gray and drawn. “Come on, you brutes,” cried the receding man. jerking the throng of skin by which he led the goats. Father Beret rose and turned into his damp little hut, where the light | was diin on the crucifix hanging op- : posite the door against the clayj daubed wall. It was a bare, unsightly. clammy room; a rude bed on on one side, a shelf for table and two or three wooden stools constituting the furniture, while the uneven puncheons of the floor wabbled and clattered under the priest’s feet. An unopened letter is always a mysterious thing. AVe who receive three or four maijs every day, scan each little paper square with a spec ulative eye. Most of us know whai sweet uncertainty hangs on the open ing of envelopes whose contents may bn almost anything except something important, and what a vxgue yet de 'icious thrill comes with riie snip of the paper knife; but if we be in a for eign land and long years absent from home, then is a letter subtly powerful to mol us, even more before it :s open' I*nan after it is read. It 1 many years since a let ter had come to Fathej

DOINGS OF THE DUFFS—

I OH, HELEN, SAX LEMA, WHEN. \ tf.'l Tji jf 6UESS I’LL 1 LIZZIE, NOW THAT I \ OUR TAX 1 ) DANNY COMES HOME j 'HAVE TO COP OFF HAVE YOO ALL DOLLED ) " lllp ME ANOTHER. CUP V IS Here • f from school give ]jj Ay II ?jly'J some wealthy up i'll try you )—-—y of tea - four, lumps / ■V. "~nf~ U-f H,M A GLASS °F )]V ry '/% BIRD AND BEGIN . OUT FOR A DAY AND ) PLEASE AND SOME S jlf J 1 — S o ILK ANDA doughnut*; j / // Ayy ro enjoy life . see if You’ll Do - / \h hot WATER-now J i | tj ' . | n

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TJLLFM DAYS IS DONE FOKFYFU—

t UjUE. YOU 15EA.RIY , MADLY - LET’S FLY AOAY O.G UIA)6S OF Ut’LrUJC 0M SOMC Fa.(?-PISTAaJT D S YOO’C?? MY UFE-MY LOLc- LOUG LCT’S FLY fO PaGTJ ISLS - WE’LL LIVc CM LOVE 9 Sl_ ? Oljli -

j HOWS .'J Jj I UpS-W iW.U PLAIN OcFANCr HAY Flfec LrJICK J 1 - - L~ ■ ' ; tc lf jhes? ‘ ' HANK had LOOKS S vT — I VpIROFESSIONALS} —* ~ : • —— y v a 2 1 1 <—. I 1.l . ...Jr ... ... .. .. 1.... ms THIRD TIME -miSNM/MTERi STRAY HORSES HAVEr CHEWED HOLES ;a| THE BALE OF- HAT HE USES FOR PURPOSESv J

in hand, had made him ill of nostal -da, fairjy shaking his iron determination never to quit for a moment his ,if<' work as a missionary. Kver since that day he had found it harder to meet the many and stern demands of a most difficult and exacting dut> Now the mere touch of the paper in his hand gave him a sense of return tig weakness, dissatisfaction, and longing. The home of his boyhood, tiie rfishing of the Klione, a seat in

OUT OUR WAY—By WILLIAMS

THE OLD HOME TOWN—By STANLEY

a shady nook of the garden, Madeline, his sister, prattling beside him, and his mother singing somewhere about the house—it all came back and went over him and through him, making his heart sink strangely, while another voice, the sweetest ever heard—but she was ineffable and her memory a forbidden fragrance. Father Beret tottered across the forlorn little room and knelt before the crucifix holding his clasped hands

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high, the letter pressed between them. His lips moved in prayer, but made no sound; his whole frame shook violently. it would be unpardonable desecration to enter the chamber of Father Beret’s soul and look upon his sacred and secret trouble; nor must we even speculate as to its particulars. The good old man writhed and wrestled before the cross for a long time, until at last he seemed to receive the calm-

When the Cat’s Away

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Play This Passionately

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ness and strength he prayed for so fervently; then he rose, tore the letter into pieces so small that not a word remained whole, and squeezed them so firmly together that they were compressed into a tiny, solid ball, which he let fall through a crack between the floor puncheons. After waiting twenty years for that letter, hungry as his heart was, he did not. even open it when at lust it arrived. The link between him and the old sweet

FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS—By BLOSSEIt

OUR BOARDING HOUSE—By AHERN

days was broken forever. Now with Clod’s help he could do his work to the end. He went and stood in his doorway, leaning against the side. Was it a mere coincidence that the meadowlark flew up just then from its grasstuft, and came to the roof's comb overhead, where it lit with a ilghi yet audib,le stroke of its feet and began fluting its tender, lonesomesounding strain? If Father Beret

SATURDAY, FEB. 24, 15)23

—By ALLMAN

—By AL POSEN

heard it he gave no sign of recogni tion; very likely he was thinking about the cargo of liquor and how he could best counteract its baleful influence. He looked toward the “river house,” as the inhabitants had named a large shanty, which stood on a bluff of the Wabash not far from where the road-bridge at pres ent crosses, pnd saw men gathering there. (To Be Continued.)