When she had gone alone to the fishing—a day but as yesterday,
with a clear sky and a heavy wind, when the diggers among the
rocks came back with their baskets full —Nona did not return.
Great Heavens! There was not a doubt possible. She had been
cut off, she had been surrounded by the waves, she had perished
in the sea. Ah, what a night I passed, monsieur. At my age—
yes, old tar as I am—l wept like a woman. And the remem
brance of the belief of the poor girl came to me; that to go to
heaven her body must rest in the cemetery. And so when the
tide had receded I went with the others to look for the body.
“ And we found her, my Nona,” continued the old sailor with
altered voice, ‘‘we found her on a rock covered with sea wrack,
where, seeing herself lost, the brave little girl had prepared for
death. Yes, monsieur, keeping to her old idea she had tied her
self to the wrack by her hair —her beautiful black hair —making
it thus certain that we would find her and that she would rest in
consecrated earth. And I dare to say—l who know how brave
she was —that there are not many men who would have had pres
ence of mind enough to do as much.”
The old man stopped talking. Through the twilight I saw two
big tears run down his tanned cheeks. We went down to the
village side by side, without uttering a word. I was deeply
touched by the courage of this simple girl, who in the anguish of
death had remained true to the piety of her race—and before me
in the immense distance, in the sombre solitudes of sky and sea,
shone lighthouses and stars.
Oh I brave people of the sea. Oh! noble Bretagne.
H. M. Andrews, ’9B.
aTJOIyD up there; that’s just the one I want to see.” Jack
Simmers, __ with old time familiarity, stretched out his
hand for the picture I had so clumsily tried to steal out
of the box of snap-shots which he was raking over. He and I
had been college chums and we were enjoying an evening over
our pipes in my bachelor quarters. I must explain that I used to
be a kodak fiend, and that the box Simmers was looking over
contained my collection of photographs taken at random in differ
ent parts of the country.
The Free Lame,
THE DEVIE’S EYE
[December,