S
 
 THE GRINDING 
 
 BY 
 CLARA GOODYEAR BOISE BUSH 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 1921
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1921 
 
 BY 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF AN UNBROKEN 
 FAMILY CIRCLE, THIS SIMPLE 
 TALE IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED 
 
 2134465
 
 / T*HE city was throbbing with excitement. In 
 * every street where hurrying throngs of men, 
 women, and children were converging toward a com- 
 mon center, the murmur of voices rolled like a rising 
 tide. From the " river side " and the " woods' side " 
 (as the directions in New Orleans are denominated) 
 streams of humanity came pouring in, illumined by the 
 glow, as of a conflagration, in the low-hanging clouds. 
 Presently, a rocket went hissing upward from the cot- 
 ton presses on the river bank and the crowd, knowing 
 this to be the signal for the procession to start, surged 
 forward in the universal desire to get the best posi- 
 tion. In front of the club house at the corner of St. 
 Charles Avenue and Clio Street, a solid mass of human 
 beings filled every inch of available space, and every 
 eye was fixed on the balcony where Rex and his court 
 were to appear. A street car jangled cautiously along, 
 and the crowd, with laughter, ejaculations, and pro- 
 tests, trampled upon itself in the effort to make room. 
 " Now ain't that awful ! " a woman's indignant voice 
 exclaimed. "They'd ought to quit running, soon's the 
 
 procession starts." 
 
 1
 
 2 THE GRINDING 
 
 " This sure has been one grand Mardi Gras! " some- 
 one said enthusiastically. " I hope it won't go and 
 spoil everything by raining now." 
 
 " It nevaire rain on Mardi Gras," a strongly-marked 
 Creole voice asserted. Everybody talked with every- 
 body in this most democratic of all crowds. 
 
 "Wasn't the Rex procession elegant to-day! " a 
 young girl asserted rather than asked. " Who's Rex 
 this year, anyhow? I've heard two or three names." 
 
 " I reckon it's Fergus Maine," her companion haz- 
 arded. 
 
 " Now ain't that a shame? " demanded the woman 
 who had previously criticized the car system. " They 
 always gives everything to rich people." 
 
 " They have to," said a man's voice. " Poor people 
 can't afford to be Rex or queen of the Carnival." 
 Then, to the company at large, " We'd look sweet, 
 wouldn't we, trying to be Rex? " 
 
 There was good-natured laughter interrupted by a 
 deep voice that growled, " It's not Fergus Maine; it's 
 Marc Sutton." 
 
 " And if it should rain they couldn't come out," 
 said the girl who had asked about Rex. 
 
 " Don't you believe it," her escort assured her. 
 " They'll come if it's raining cats and dogs." Then, 
 in a lower tone, " This is the people's part of the 
 Carnival those who can't get invitations to the 
 balls." 
 
 " I'd give anything on earth," the girl observed, " if 
 I could go to the ball."
 
 THE GRINDING 3 
 
 " Rex's? " the man asked in a disparaging tone. 
 " It isn't any honor to go there. Anyone can get an 
 invitation." 
 
 "Well, I didn't," said the girl; "and I was crazy 
 for one." 
 
 " Did you see Miss Maine and her Maids of Honor 
 on the Boston Club gallery to-day? " a woman asked, 
 squeezing her shoulders around in order to speak to 
 someone behind her. 
 
 " They say she's the prettiest girl in New Orleans," 
 another voice asserted. 
 
 " The richest, yes," mocked the discontented woman. 
 " Poor girls ain't chosen." 
 
 A distant strain of music was heard, and there was 
 a universal cry of: " Here it comes! " 
 
 A flurry of rain pattered on the crowd and it assumed 
 the appearance of a field of mushrooms. " Shut your 
 umbrellas," called innumerable voices; " we can't see 
 a thing." 
 
 The shower was quickly past and then there was a 
 writhing and struggling to close umbrellas where there 
 was insufficient elbow room. The glow in the clouds 
 was growing brighter, the music louder, and from 
 around Lee Circle there appeared a broad line of 
 knights on horse back; the forerunners of Comus's 
 procession. Forward they swept with their long spears 
 and plumed helmets and snowy mantles embroidered 
 with a red cross, advancing over a pavement glistening 
 from the recent shower and reflecting the flare of the 
 torches until it became a path of red gold.
 
 4 THE GRINDING 
 
 "Crusaders! " ejaculated a boyish voice. 
 
 And now the floats appeared, towering above the 
 heads of the crowd, led by the car of Richard Coeur 
 de Lion in jeweled crown and mantle. Then came a 
 long line, as fantastic as if they had moved directly 
 out from the Arabian Nights: a phantasmagoria of 
 gnomes, dwarfs, giants, knights, ladies, priests, and 
 monarchs; now glittering in the electric light, now 
 moving through shadow, gleaming with every color of 
 the rainbow. 
 
 A deep, thrilling " Oh! " went up from the heart of 
 the crowd. 
 
 Rex and his court now appeared on the balcony and 
 received the tribute of a long moment of silence fol- 
 lowed by a storm of applause. In the center of the 
 group were Rex and his queen, attended on the right 
 and left by excited little pages in plumes and spangles. 
 Beyond the pages were the Maids of Honor, each with 
 her " Duke " standing behind her. Rex, towering 
 above all the rest, in a portentous blond wig and 
 beard, betrayed nervousness by the occasional twitch- 
 ing of his shoulder and neck, as if his collar were too 
 tight. The queen, on the other hand, a slender, dark- 
 eyed girl, stood in an attitude of statuesque calm, her 
 sweeping white mantle encrusted with jewels, her 
 proud young head crowned with a circlet on which 
 a pair of wings were a quivering suggestion of light, 
 above her dark hair. She held her scepter with a 
 negligent grace as if she had borne one all her life; 
 her gaze resting from the immeasurable height of her
 
 THE GRINDING 5 
 
 beauty, her wealth, her aristocratic birth, upon the 
 populace in the street. The Maids of Honor whis- 
 pered to each other and to their Dukes, but the queen 
 was as impassive and indifferent as if her royalty were 
 real and not the pageant of a single night. At the 
 extreme left of the line stood May Vincent, a gentle 
 looking girl, and behind her was George Burbank, 
 nondescript but kindly. 
 
 " Wasn't it lovely of her to choose me? " May said 
 over her shoulder. " I never was so surprised in my 
 life." 
 
 " I was much pleased and flattered at her asking 
 me," the young man confessed. 
 
 The procession went by, each float stopping to pay 
 homage to the young queen. When all had passed, 
 the royal party entered the ball room and, in con- 
 formity with time-honored custom, seated itself on an 
 elevated platform while their motley guests filed by as 
 if before a row of statues; commenting audibly on the 
 different members of the group as they passed. 
 
 " Mon Dieu! " ejaculated a young girl, pausing be- 
 fore the queen, " but she's lovely! I always heard she 
 was beautiful, but I never knew she was that pretty," 
 and she gazed with unconcealed admiration at the 
 young creature (a girl of her own age), seated before 
 her like a jeweled idol in a shrine. 
 
 " Move on, can't you? " exclaimed a woman behind 
 her. " You ain't the only one wants to see." 
 
 "Ain't Rex homely! " the irritable woman cried 
 after pushing forward into the place of the young girl
 
 6 THE GRINDING 
 
 who had shamefacedly made room; " Gracious! I 
 wouldn't have chose him." 
 
 " He ain't so awful homely," her escort declared, 
 moving on to examine the remainder of the group 
 while his companion expressed her opinions as freely 
 as if those on the platform were as far removed physic- 
 ally as they were socially. 
 
 In one corner of the ball room stood a group of 
 people wrapped in cloaks and overcoats. " It's worth 
 glancing at as a curiosity," said a gray-haired gentle- 
 man who seemed to be acting the part of guide. " This 
 is the most cosmopolitan of all the balls. Here you 
 may meet your valet and housemaid." 
 
 " What a beautiful girl the queen is! " said a mem- 
 ber of the group. " I never saw a more perfect face." 
 
 " Not amiable! " observed one of the ladies. 
 
 " A little spoiled by wealth,"' the gray-haired man 
 admitted. " We must go soon to get seats at the 
 French Opera House. Rex's visit to Comus is the 
 crowning pageant of the Carnival. It's worth seeing. 
 But wait; they're coming down from the platform," 
 and, sure enough, the court now descended into the 
 ball room and moved, a glittering procession, around 
 and around among its admiring guests. 
 
 At midnight, when all these prescribed ceremonies 
 were finished, they left the platform and went to their 
 waiting carriages, while the " subjects " danced away 
 the hours until morning. 
 
 " I'll bet anything she's cross because she wasn't
 
 THE GRINDING 7 
 
 queen of Comus," Belle Snively, another of the Maids, 
 whispered to May Vincent. 
 
 " Oh, I don't think she's cross," May whispered in 
 reply. " I suppose she's disappointed because Ronald 
 North couldn't be here." 
 
 Belle laughed and her voice conveyed an unspoken 
 innuendo. 
 
 They drove rapidly to the old French Opera House 
 where they were received by the black-coated com- 
 mittee of prominent citizens, and escorted into the 
 ball room. Here Comus and his queen, descending 
 from the throne that filled the upper end of the stage, 
 moved forward to meet them and Rex, taking the 
 hand of Comus's queen and Comus that of Rex's, they 
 returned to the throne followed by the attendants of 
 both courts. The two queens were seated in the cen- 
 ter with a king on each side and Maids and Dukes 
 grouped to the right and left. The sleepy little pages 
 collapsed in their plumes and spangles at the feet of 
 their royal mistresses, and altogether it formed, as the 
 gray-haired gentleman had prophesied, the crowning 
 picture of the Carnival. 
 
 After they were seated facing the vast audience 
 which reached like a rainbow cloud, tier above tier, 
 from floor to ceiling, Comus said in a low tone to his 
 companion, " Has it been hard? You look tired." 
 
 " I'm nearly dead, Fergus," she replied. " You 
 know it's awful to go dragging around that way at 
 Rex's ball."
 
 8 THE GRINDING 
 
 " Try to enjoy it, Catherine," he remonstrated. 
 " After all, it's a great thing " 
 
 " Not to be queen of Rex," she interrupted. " You 
 know I didn't want to be. And now I can never be 
 queen of anything else. And you know it was as un- 
 kind as it could be for Ronald to go away and not 
 wait a single day to see me queen for the one time of 
 my life. I'll never forgive him as long as I live." 
 
 A group in the highest gallery was watching her 
 through their opera glasses. " Did you ever see a 
 prettier profile? " said one of the men. " Her color 
 may be put on, but that line of the throat and chin 
 is a gift of the gods." 
 
 " What glorious eyes ! " another exclaimed. "But 
 she looks sullen. I believe all these Southern girls 
 are over-indulged. Too much is done for them. 
 They're courted and flattered from their cradles." 
 
 " They say Adolphus Banks is in love with her," 
 some one close by was saying. The crowd even in this 
 highest gallery was suffocatingly dense and every re- 
 mark seemed an announcement for the company. 
 
 " They say," another voice chimed in laughingly, 
 " she's refused every unmarried man in Louisiana." 
 
 " She never refused me," the first speaker declared. 
 
 " Because you never had the chance to ask her," 
 the other retorted, and both laughed. 
 
 Against the wall, behind the speakers, a young man 
 stood listening. Tall, athletic, clean-limbed, with pene- 
 trating, dark-gray eyes, there was in his poise and 
 manner a superb nonchalance as if he were here by
 
 THE GRINDING 9 
 
 accident and were looking with what might possibly 
 be a supercilious indifference at a bit of child's play 
 unworthy of the grown-up human beings taking part 
 in it. 
 
 But his mood was not one of indifference. He was 
 watching the young queen intently, appraisingly, as if 
 seeing her now for the first time. Unconscious of the 
 attention he attracted as he stood there, the light glint- 
 ing on his fair hair, he was deaf to the conjectures as 
 to why Ronald North was not in Rex's party. Ab- 
 sorbed in his own thoughts, he was weighing her in 
 the balances and finding her wanting. A coquette? 
 A spoiled, hard-hearted beauty? Yesterday he would 
 have denied the accusations; to-night he knew them to 
 be true, for only a few hours ago she had dismissed 
 him with unforgivable words after long years of devo- 
 tion on his part. 
 
 Never, never should she know that he had had the 
 weakness to come back for one more look. And now, 
 having seen her glowing with beauty and satisfied 
 vanity Circe that she was ! she should never lure 
 him back. With a last look, he left the gallery. 
 
 " She's very well acquainted with Comus, whoever 
 he may be," observed one of the ladies who had looked 
 in at the Rex ball. 
 
 " So I see," said the gray-haired gentleman. " He 
 is said to be Fergus Maine, her half-brother." 
 
 " He's scolding her," said the lady. " She wants to 
 cry." 
 
 But Comus was not scolding her. His rosy, dimpled
 
 10 THE GRINDING 
 
 mask was turned toward her in expressionless pretti- 
 ness, but his voice sounded troubled. " Remember 
 how many people are watching you," it said, " and try 
 to forget your annoyance about Ronald. You will 
 forgive him when you know all the circumstances." 
 
 " Never! " she retorted. " And he'll be sorry when 
 he knows something. I had a letter from Adolphus 
 Banks again to-day." 
 
 " I hope you have done nothing rash," said Comus 
 gravely. 
 
 " I've accepted him." 
 
 Comus regarded her in silence, and presently the 
 kings and queens descended from the throne and, fol- 
 lowed by their train of attendants, made the tour of 
 the ball room, acknowledging the greetings of the 
 many spectators who scanned them with the discrim- 
 ination of long habit. 
 
 At last the ball was over. In the gray of Ash 
 Wednesday morning, the kings and quee'ns, their roy- 
 alty ended, were beginning their forty days of Lent, 
 and Catherine was alone with Fergus. As they walked 
 up the broad stairs to her sitting room, he noticed that 
 the house was a trifle over-heated and that the shaded 
 lights, and all-pervading perfume of flowers made it 
 seem still warmer. The thought crossed his mind that 
 this young sister, more than a dozen years his junior, 
 might have been enervated by her hothouse existence. 
 
 As he paused at her door, he referred to their con- 
 versation in the ball room. " Are you accepting Adol- 
 phus Banks because Ronald dislikes him? " he asked,
 
 THE GRINDING 11 
 
 " Partly," she admitted. 
 
 " Cathie," he said slowly, " I'm afraid I've been 
 unjust to you." 
 
 "Unjust! " she ejaculated, "how? " 
 
 He was very pale as he looked silently down at her 
 and something in his expression so impressed her that 
 the entire scene remained indelibly fixed in her mind. 
 He was a man of medium height and build, with mild, 
 thoughtful brown eyes under straight, dark brows. 
 His face, which was somewhat long for its width was 
 framed in dark hair and close-cut, VanDyke beard 
 an unusual thing in this day of clean-shaven faces, but 
 a characteristic which enhanced his air of distinction. 
 Altogether, even a casual observer would have been 
 struck by his cultured look, betraying as it did the 
 student and dilettante. On the wall opposite the door 
 in which they were standing, hung a round convex mir- 
 ror in a quaint, antique frame. This mirror showed, 
 as in a picture, the vast, luxurious room with its flowers, 
 its Oriental rugs, its dancing firelight, and in the door- 
 way, beside her brother, her own slender figure, 
 crowned and sceptered and robed as a queen. 
 
 His silence vexed her and she repeated: " What do 
 you mean by ' unjust '? " 
 
 " I have over-indulged you cruelly, I fear." 
 
 She laughed lightly. "Cruelly? Well, Ronald 
 makes up by disappointing me cruelly. But why are 
 you so anxious about me all of a sudden? Because 
 I've accepted Adolphus Banks? " 
 
 " Partly; and partly because I was told some bad
 
 12 
 
 news as I was leaving the ball. I must tell you before 
 you hear it from others." 
 
 " What is it? " she asked in a startled tone. 
 
 " A terrible failure will be announced in New York 
 tomorrow, and " 
 
 " Oh," she interrupted, looking relieved. " I was 
 afraid Ronald had been hurt or something serious had 
 happened." 
 
 " But this is serious, Catherine." 
 
 " Oh, I know," she replied indifferently, " money 
 seriousness. But people are always failing, don't you 
 know? You can't help everybody, so let them fail if 
 they want to," and she raised her face for his good- 
 night kiss.
 
 II 
 
 'T^HE winter rain was falling, converting the heavy, 
 alluvial soil into a thick paste through which 
 the muffled footsteps of the mules plodded with rhyth- 
 mic regularity. The solitary vehicle, broken and mud- 
 spattered, in which Fergus and Catherine Maine were 
 seated, crawled along through the blurred landscape, 
 mile after mile, and hour after hour. 
 
 Finally Fergus spoke. " Are you cold, Cathie? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Yes," she answered with a shudder; then, after a 
 pause, " It seems strange that someone has the right 
 to lock us out of our own house." 
 
 He regarded her with a pained expression. As un- 
 fitted for hardship as a humming-bird, she must now 
 face poverty and friendlessness. Worn with weeping, 
 she was pitifully changed from the haughty Catherine 
 whose very wilfulness had been treated as if it were 
 an added charm. Both he and Ronald had been in 
 the habit of mentioning her as " a spoiled child, who 
 had never been crossed in anything." And now Life 
 had barred her way with its relentless hand. What 
 would become of her, he wondered with deep fore- 
 boding. 
 
 The interminable road stretched before them, foi- 
 
 ls
 
 14 THE GRINDING 
 
 lowing the windings of the bayou. On their left, 
 sepulchral moss hung in long, gray festoons from the 
 somber branches of the oak trees and dripped accu- 
 mulated moisture; on the right, the bayou, sluggish 
 and stealthy, so shrouded in mist that the farther 
 bank was scarcely discernible and they might not have 
 noticed the amphitheater of trees in which stood a 
 tall, white cross, had not Ananias, the driver, stretched 
 out his arm and quavered, " the Old Burying Ground." 
 
 And now two sails passed by; the first a vast square 
 of crimson towering above the banks of the bayou, the 
 other, white as moonlight; both gliding like shadows 
 through the thick mist toward a bend, where they 
 dimly perceived a faint light twinkling through the 
 intervening foliage. 
 
 Again Ananias stretched out one arm and quavered, 
 " Esperance." 
 
 Nearer they came and nearer until, through the 
 ever-deepening twilight, they saw the giant pecan tree 
 at the gate, with branches that swept the ground; the 
 grass-grown driveway on which the leaves lay thick- 
 strewn; the sagging steps and tottering chimneys that 
 proclaimed the poverty and desolation of their future 
 home. 
 
 " Fergus," Catherine asked faintly, " where are we 
 going? " 
 
 Strange as it seems, during the nightmare of the 
 past ten days, she had asked no questions, but like 
 one who is passively swept along toward the fall, re- 
 mained quiescent while servants and strangers came
 
 THE GRINDING IS 
 
 and went; packing furniture, books, pictures, statues, 
 everything that had gone toward making up her beau- 
 tiful home; and had sent them away, some to auction 
 rooms, some to antique shops, some no one knew 
 whither. It was like the sack of a captured city. 
 
 So stunned had she been by the avalanche of shame 
 which had fallen upon them by the torrent of news- 
 paper accusations against Fergus that, for the mo- 
 ment, material things seemed not to matter. The 
 most treasured heirlooms, the most common necessaries 
 of their daily life were taken, and she gave no heed. 
 Past and future alike were engulfed in the abysmal 
 present. 
 
 No word of sympathy came from Ronald. In her 
 numb despair, she scarcely remembered the unkindness 
 with which she had dismissed him; but, had she re- 
 membered, it would have been no excuse for his neglect 
 of Fergus. 
 
 And now, shut out from her world of warmth and 
 light and laughter, alone in that chilling mist with her 
 disgraced and ruined brother, she listened while he 
 explained that this plantation of Esperance had been 
 willed personally to her and was the only refuge left 
 them in the world. He made no excuse for his own 
 presence, knowing that she needed his company and 
 protection. 
 
 It was deep twilight as they ascended the creaking 
 steps, wet and weary, and were met at the door by 
 Marcelline, the wife of Ananias, carrying a lighted 
 candle which intensified the gloom of the great hall.
 
 16 THE GRINDING 
 
 Setting the candle on a box, she helped Catherine to 
 remove her wraps, saying, " Ef I'd a-knewn you was 
 that wet, I'd've made a fire." 
 
 " Make it now," Catherine commanded; " but first 
 show me to my room." 
 
 Silently Marcelline opened a door into what, in the 
 semi-darkness, seemed an endless space; and held up 
 the candle to enable her young mistress to avoid the 
 row of chairs standing in front of a great, empty fire- 
 place. 
 
 " You should have had a fire here, too," Catherine 
 exclaimed irritably. 
 
 " They wa'n't no fire wood," Marcelline explained. 
 " But effen you says so, I'll hunt round. I mout find 
 some branches fer Nias to break up." 
 
 " Why, of course," said Catherine, astonished at 
 the stupidity of servants who would permit their mis- 
 tress to come into so cold and damp a house; and 
 Marcelline withdrew with many forebodings as to the 
 city ways of the newcomers. 
 
 Fergus entered, carrying a lighted lantern. " This 
 has been a fine room in its day, Cathie," he said with 
 an attempt at cheerfulness. " Look at the windows, 
 and the height of this mantel-piece. And that bed is 
 handsome," regarding the massive mahogany bedstead 
 which stood, half-revealed, in the sombre depths. 
 
 " Yassir," said Ananias, who came in at this mo- 
 ment with an armful of branches and bits of wood. 
 " That war Miss Ludovine's." He knelt on the hearth
 
 THE GRINDING 17 
 
 and began the task of lighting the damp twigs. " She 
 die there, it mout be fifty year ago." 
 
 " Mercy! " Catherine ejaculated faintly. 
 
 " An' 'fore that," he continued, pausing now and 
 then to blow the feeble flame, " this war you-alls great- 
 granmaw's room; she that war Miss Felicie Trosclair. 
 An' she fell down daid, right by that winder, when 
 they tole her young Mars Raoul had kilt hisself." 
 
 Catherine was helplessly exploring a valise, in search 
 of dry clothing, and paid scant attention to the old 
 man's words. 
 
 " An' yonder," he continued, having rearranged the 
 kindling and shoved a bit of crackling corn husk under 
 the driest part, " in that yuther room," nodding to- 
 ward an open door, " is whar they foun' the ole marster 
 a-settin', daid in his cheer, arter him an' his overseer, 
 Kazim Blaise, had ben a-playin' cards all night. 
 Kazim Blaise war gone, an' the deed to more'n half 
 of Esperance war gone with him. Poof! Poof! " 
 with another effort to encourage the smouldering flame. 
 
 Catherine, still groping in her valise and dropping 
 various articles on the floor, now gave up in despair. 
 " Never mind about that fire," she said. " It ought 
 to have been built hours ago. It doesn't do any good 
 now. Besides, I want the room." 
 
 "Yas'm! Yas'm! " Ananias acquiesced, rising 
 stiffly to his feet. " Does you want some supper? " 
 
 " No," she replied impatiently, " I wish only to be 
 alone."
 
 15 THE GRINDING 
 
 " Yas'm," he replied humbly. " An' what time does 
 you want you mornin' coffee? Marcelline kin have it 
 ready any time. Five o'clock? She kin be ready by 
 half-pas' four er sooner, effen you likes." 
 
 "For mercy sakes! " Catherine ejaculated. "The 
 man's crazy, Fergus." 
 
 " I suppose they are accustomed to early hours on 
 the plantation," Fergus explained, and, turning to the 
 crestfallen Ananias, he said: " Seven o'clock will be 
 early enough for me, and I don't think Miss Catherine 
 will care for hers before nine. Shall you, Cathie? " 
 
 " Nine! " she repeated wearily. " You know I 
 never get up as early as that. I'll ring for it when I 
 want it."
 
 Ill 
 
 IN spite of her weariness, Catherine could not sleep. 
 The old house was full of strange noises. She was 
 wrapped in unaccustomed darkness and heard sigh- 
 ings and whisperings all around her. A finger tapped 
 gently at the shutter by her bed; a footfall rustled 
 stealthily among the withered leaves on the gallery; the 
 stairs that led down from the upper story creaked, one 
 after the other. Surely someone was descending from 
 those unexplored upper rooms! Every faculty of her 
 mind was strained to increase her sense of hearing. 
 Was that a hand, laid cautiously on the knob of her 
 door? There was no lock! Her blood turned to ice. 
 She held her breath and thought of the stories Ananias 
 told of her long-dead ancestors. Who was standing 
 by her bedside in the impenetrable darkness, looking 
 at her with eyes that pierced the blackness of the 
 night? She dared not call to Fergus; she dared not 
 move to cover her head with the bed clothes. The 
 long moments crept by until, at last, the tension of her 
 nerves gave way from sheer weakness. The scalding 
 tears trickled down her cheeks and soaked her pillow. 
 With daybreak she fell asleep and then came Mar- 
 celline bringing hot, black coffee, and the comforting 
 news that Miss Victorine (whoever that might be), had 
 
 sent over some things for breakfast, thinking the 
 
 19
 
 20 THE GRINDING 
 
 Madam might not yet have been able to provide her- 
 self with everything necessary to begin housekeeping in 
 the country. 
 
 Later, " Miss Victorine " herself appeared, dressed 
 in a stiffly-starched Guinea blue calico dress and white 
 sunbonnet. A tiny, dried-up slip of a woman fifty-five 
 or sixty years of age, she welcomed " Mees Catrine " 
 to Esperance in a cheerful, ringing voice and offered 
 assistance in getting settled. Catherine thanked her 
 in a perfunctory manner, assured her she should not 
 hesitate to ask for help if necessary, and then expected 
 her to leave. But no! Good manners on the bayou 
 demanded that Miss Victorine should stay at least two 
 hours, and Catherine, not understanding this infliction, 
 grew restive, listened with open indifference to remedies 
 for the diseases of cows and chickens and minute direc- 
 tions for the making of lard. She interrupted a de- 
 tailed account of the best methods for slaughtering 
 hogs, at new moon, or even at the full, but never later 
 in the month, by saying: " We'll not keep any of those 
 things. I shall buy eggs and milk and I don't expect 
 to use pork or lard." 
 
 Miss Victorine looked wonderingly at her. What 
 sort of person was this who did not wish to keep cows 
 and chickens and who did not expect to use pork or 
 lard? Very patiently she explained to Catherine the 
 difficulty of buying fresh provisions in the country, 
 and the need of laying in a sufficient supply. Very 
 impatiently Catherine listened, bidding her a careless 
 good-by when all this good advice was ended, and
 
 THE GRINDING 21 
 
 turning indifferently away, unconscious that she had 
 wounded the kindest of neighbors and friends. 
 
 At their noon dinner, she told Fergus of the inflic- 
 tion. " Who is she, any way? " she asked. " I'm 
 afraid she's going to be very intrusive." 
 
 A faint red crept into his cheeks and he spoke hesi- 
 tatingly, with a deprecating look at his young sister, 
 who had never been forced to tolerate good advice. 
 She leaned forward, her slender, interlaced fingers rest- 
 ing on the table edge, apparently as aloof from her 
 sordid surroundings as she had seemed from the popu- 
 lace in the street. 
 
 " Do you suppose," she asked, " that all country 
 people are as tiresome as Miss Victorine? " 
 
 " Perhaps," he ventured guardedly, " you won't find 
 her tiresome when you have interests in common." 
 
 " Interests in common! " Catherine ejaculated. 
 " Do you mean to imply that I'll ever be interested in 
 such things as she talked about? Slaughtering hogs, 
 and making lard, and doctoring chickens? " 
 
 " Perhaps, sometime " he began. 
 
 " Fergus," she exclaimed, " do you really think I'll 
 ever be like that? " She gazed at him horror-struck. 
 " Do you suppose she was ever like me and turned into 
 that from living here on the bayou? " 
 
 " No," he replied, " she could never have been like 
 you. But, Cathie, we have to learn new standards. 
 We must estimate people altogether by what they are, 
 and" 
 
 " I always have," she interrupted, leaning her elbows
 
 22 THE GRINDING 
 
 on the table and resting her chin on her clasped hands. 
 " I've always scorned liars and sycophants and ungrate- 
 ful, dishonest people." 
 
 " Yes," he agreed, seeing his opportunity. " And 
 we are really under obligations to Miss Victorine and 
 her son Placide. They have taken care of this place 
 from time immemorial. Her husband took care of it 
 until his death, and since then her son has faithfully 
 filled his place. I think father left a sum in per- 
 petuity for necessary implements and stock, and they 
 were paid by the usufruct of the land." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Catherine indifferently; " stewards. 
 I don't see that there's any occasion for gratitude 
 there. They were paid by that usufruct whatever 
 that was." 
 
 " And it was Miss Victorine who sent Marcelline 
 and Ananias from the fields to help us. Otherwise, 
 we should have had no servants." 
 
 Catherine gazed at him with sudden comprehension. 
 " Why," she acknowledged, " I never thought of that. 
 There wouldn't have been any servants here if she 
 hadn't sent them? Yes, that was thoughtful of her." 
 She was lost in wonder at such possibilities. " What 
 should we have done, Fergus? " she questioned. 
 " What do people do under such circumstances? " 
 
 " I suppose they do their own work," he replied. 
 
 " 'Their own work,' " she repeated slowly. " How 
 awful! I couldn't. I don't know how." Rising, she 
 went to the window and stood looking out into the 
 neglected garden.
 
 THE GRINDING 23 
 
 Day after day passed each like the preceding one 
 and day after day, Catherine wandered listlessly 
 back and forth on the gallery, or sat and waited for 
 time to pass in this land of abysmal silence and soli- 
 tude. Whenever Fergus came in from his study of 
 the fields and swamps, of the ruined sugar house, the 
 brackish bayou, the perplexing boundaries between 
 Esperance and the neighboring plantation of Gold 
 Mine, she bemoaned her discomforts and the unutter- 
 able monotony of her life. 
 
 One day as they were sitting, silent, at their noon 
 dinner, the unusual sound of wheels was heard. Fer- 
 gus set down his glass and listened. " That must be 
 Placide Chauvin," he said. " He's going to take me 
 to see the new bridge at Bayou Blanc." 
 
 They listened apprehensively, with the unspoken 
 fear that their creditors were pursuing them even to 
 this remote place. 
 
 " My jewels covered all my personal debts, you said, 
 didn't you? " she whispered. He nodded without 
 speaking. 
 
 And now footsteps were heard on the gallery, the 
 outside door was flung open, and Ronald's voice called, 
 " Where are you all? " 
 
 Ronald's voice! With an inarticulate cry, Cath- 
 erine flew to meet him. 
 
 "You don't know how glad I am to see you! " he 
 said over and over. " I thought I'd never get here. 
 I thought the driver had missed the way. I was afraid 
 to ask about you I was afraid " His voice trem-
 
 24 THE GRINDING 
 
 bled. " When any one has endured what you have " 
 He stopped, unable to say more. 
 
 " You see, Fergus," Catherine cried, " he hadn't for- 
 gotten us." 
 
 " Forgotten you! " He looked from one to the 
 other. 
 
 " We hoped for a letter, soon," Fergus explained. 
 
 " A letter! " Ronald repeated. " Fergus, did you 
 actually think I'd wait to write? I telegraphed as soon 
 as I landed. Grace Fessenden telegraphed too, but we 
 couldn't find out where you were. Marc Sutton neg- 
 lected to answer my wire " His lips stiffened as he 
 spoke. " I learned through the papers what had hap- 
 pened. I couldn't believe my eyes." He turned very 
 white as he spoke. 
 
 " You had not heard from me? " Fergus asked. 
 
 " Not a word, and when I reached New Orleans 
 Marc Sutton was off on a fishing trip and at first I 
 couldn't find out where you were." 
 
 " Oh, Ronald," Catherine exclaimed piteously, " peo- 
 ple weren't rude to you were they? " 
 
 A peculiar expression swept across his face, but he 
 merely said, " I'll never forget George Burbank's kind- 
 ness. He made me stop with him. I was going to 
 the club but he took me with him, and he attended 
 to everything. Found my letters for me at Button's 
 office. Marc had neglected to forward them. Bur- 
 bank knew where you were and a brother couldn't 
 have been kinder. And now we're all together, we're 
 all right. Here, Auntie," to Marcelline, who entered
 
 THE GRINDING 25 
 
 at that moment, " I'm starving. I want some of those 
 corn dodgers. I haven't seen anything like them since 
 I don't know when. Bring a heap, won't you? " 
 
 Dropping a courtesy, she withdrew, her face 
 wreathed in smiles, and from that moment she began 
 to love her new employers. 
 
 " How long can you stay with us? " Fergus asked. 
 
 " Forever." 
 
 " Ronald," said Fergus, " you must not ruin your 
 life through mistaken generosity. Remember, we have 
 no right to drag you down." 
 
 " No," Fergus said quietly, " one can't be too good, 
 erosity, cut Ronald to the quick. Why had he " no 
 right "? In an impersonal way, he knew that his 
 father, going on a diplomatic mission, had taken his 
 mother with him, leaving their only child with his 
 guardian, Ferdinand Maine, Fergus's father. They 
 were lost at sea and he had remained with his adoptive 
 parents. Too young to feel any loss, he had grown 
 up in the gentlest surroundings, vaguely proud of his 
 brilliant father, and revering his mother's memory as a 
 beatific vision, lovely and unreal as the angels. The 
 young stepmother who came into the family a few 
 years later, made no difference between him and Fer- 
 gus, and when a baby sister was born, he rejoiced with 
 the others. He belonged with them by the strong tie 
 of life-long affection why, then, should he not suffer 
 with them? Furthermore, he believed he was needed 
 at Esperance. While angrily rejecting the published 
 accusations, in the depths of his soul there lurked a
 
 26 THE GRINDING 
 
 doubt (smother it as he would) that Fergus could man- 
 age his affairs unaided. He had always been a 
 dreamer, gentle, charitable, unworldly, immersed in 
 his studies. What wonder that, at a time of financial 
 unrest, his business affairs, left unquestioningly to 
 others, should have suffered shipwreck! Yes, at every 
 sacrifice, Ronald felt he must stand by those whom he 
 had loved all his life. 
 
 Fergus's voice broke in on his abstraction. " You 
 must not be quixotic," it said, " and give up your ap- 
 pointment to be with us." 
 
 " Oh, my appointment? " He spoke with an effort. 
 " I failed to get it," and he did not add (what was 
 true), that there was a possibility of his obtaining a 
 still more desirable one, had he felt free to accept it. 
 
 " Failed! " the others exclaimed in a breath. 
 
 Impatiently, he tossed back a lock of blond hair that 
 had fallen upon his forehead. It seemed to him as if 
 he were rousing from sleep, as if he had been a long 
 time silent, so deep was the moment of abstraction in 
 which his mind ran over the past. " Yes, I failed. 
 Frankly, I was as much astonished as any one. But 
 let's not talk about it." He spoke in a tone of forced 
 gaiety, but his face was pale, and his gray eyes under 
 their level brows looked dark and stern. There was 
 evidently something he was keeping back and Fergus 
 believed that his disgrace had had a share in this 
 terrible disappointment. That Ronald, always trium- 
 phant in everything, should have failed in this most 
 important particular, was too incredible, too over-
 
 THE GRINDING 27 
 
 whelming a catastrophe to put into words. It seemed 
 to typify the complete ruin and downfall of the entire 
 family, and the three sat silent while the clock on the 
 mantel-piece ticked away the moments toward eter- 
 nity. 
 
 Ronald broke the silence. " And where should I 
 be, Fergus," he asked, " but with you who have always 
 been so good to me? You've been too good," he 
 added. " That was your only fault." 
 
 " No," Fergus said quietly, " one can't be too good. 
 One can be too weak and credulous but that isn't 
 goodness. I know now that it is a vicious thing, 
 when a man has the great responsibility of wealth, to 
 drift along, trusting to others; not investigating and 
 learning for himself whether people are trustworthy or 
 not. Spending his time, as I did, in collecting, in 
 writing articles of no practical value to the world. 
 All that is a roundabout expression for a fool, I take 
 it. I know all the kind things you wish me to believe; 
 but the fact remains, I did not watch your interests as 
 I ought." 
 
 "My interests!" Ronald exclaimed quickly; "I 
 had none except those you gave me. I have always 
 been proud of my father, but I know he was not a 
 rich man. No, you can't accuse yourself of neglecting 
 any interests of mine. I know that you were over- 
 indulgent toward me. I imagine, if your father had 
 lived, I should not have played the role of rich man's 
 son at school, as I did. Your father was doubtless 
 made of sterner stuff than you are."
 
 28 THE GRINDING 
 
 " He ought to have included you in his will," Fergus 
 interposed. 
 
 " Not at all. I ought to have made my own way in 
 the world. I believe, now, it would have been wiser 
 for me to work my way through school." 
 
 "Oh, Ronald! " Catherine cried in a shocked tone. 
 
 " Yes," he repeated, " I'd have been more manly; 
 and there was nothing to be ashamed of. My father's 
 short life was as brilliant as possible, and I must try to 
 be worthy of him. But you, Fergus, never failed me 
 in my life. I wonder how many foolish scrapes you 
 helped me out of when I didn't dare confess to your 
 father." 
 
 " You were never cowardly," Fergus declared. 
 " Mischievous, but straightforward. And it was nat- 
 ural you should come to me; I am so much older than 
 you. I ought never to have lost sight of your future." 
 
 " Fergus," Ronald said eagerly, " your influence has 
 been the strongest factor for good in my whole life." 
 He took Fergus's hand in a strong clasp. " If there 
 is any good in me," he added, " it is due to you. I'm 
 no longer a child. It's time for me to show if there 
 is any manhood in me, and I shall never leave you," 
 (He spoke rapidly as if half ashamed of his emotion.) 
 " never, Fergus, so long as I can be any help to you."
 
 IV 
 
 / ~|~"'HE morning after Ronald's arrival, Marcelline ap- 
 * peared with a small, inky-black boy who said his 
 name was Pidgeon, that he was " Mr. Peter's niece," 
 and that Mr. Fergus had sent him to " help regulate 
 the house." So Catherine, to whom it seemed nothing 
 incongruous that she should have servants to do her 
 work, looked on with languid interest while Marcelline, 
 Ananias, and Pidgeon knocked down dirt-daubers' 
 nests, scrubbed the floors, and arranged the scanty fur- 
 niture. The house was of the type best adapted to 
 that semi-tropical climate; with broad hall, flanked by 
 square, lofty rooms, and ending in a spacious dining- 
 room. There was a very steep, narrow stairway lead- 
 ing to the upper floor where the arrangement of the 
 lower one was repeated. 
 
 " There must have been more furniture here at some 
 time," Catherine observed as they moved a heavy ar- 
 moire into a more convenient position. " People 
 couldn't live this way, you know." 
 
 " Yas'm, they use' to be plenty furniture here," said 
 Marcelline. " Fore the wah', this were one er the 
 fines' furnish' places in the parish." 
 
 " The soldiers didn't come down this far, did they? " 
 
 " Yas'm, they was plenty soldiers all thoo these 
 
 parts; wa'n't they, Nias? " Marcelline replied. 
 
 20
 
 30 THE GRINDING 
 
 Ananias murmured some unintelligible reply and 
 Marcelline explained, " Yas'm, they was plenty sol- 
 diers, Nias say, but they didn't bother Esperance 
 none." 
 
 " How did you happen to be named Ananias? " 
 Catherine asked, dismissing the subject of the lost 
 furniture. 
 
 " Hit war his paw's name, an' his gran-paw's. Hit 
 are a Bible name," Marcelline explained reverently. 
 
 For some time they worked in silence, then Mar- 
 celline, who had discovered to her astonishment that 
 Catherine's trunks were still unpacked, asked, " Does 
 you want us to fix you room 'fore you puts away you 
 clo'es? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," Catherine answered indiffer- 
 ently; "yes, fix it," and she strolled out on to the 
 gallery to watch for Fergus and Ronald. It was so 
 lonely in this silent land where nothing ever happened. 
 So desperately lonely! In the deep blue vault of the 
 sky, three or four buzzards were sailing slowly around 
 in vast circles, their wings outspread and motionless; 
 on the highroad by the gate of Esperance, a cluster of 
 lean cows huddled cheerlessly; on the opposite bank 
 of the bayou, a straggling collection of cabins that 
 comprised the " quarters " seemed sagging toward their 
 fall. Starting up from the step on which she had 
 seated herself, she cried, " There's nothing, nothing, 
 nothing to do in this God- forsaken land! " and Ronald 
 appearing at this moment, she flew to meet him. 
 Clasping her slender hands about his arm, she clung
 
 THE GRINDING 31 
 
 to him as they came up the path. It seemed to give 
 her courage merely to feel that strong arm in her 
 grasp. " What have you been doing? " she asked. 
 
 " We're going over all the details of the place; the 
 necessary expenditures and the possible assets," he 
 answered in a tone of studied indifference. " It gives 
 one a thrill to be working against such odds. It's like 
 being on the losing side of a game and gradually see- 
 ing your side gain ground." 
 
 " But if you shouldn't gain? " 
 
 " We'll not admit such a possibility. It's a stiff 
 enough pull at best. We don't need to put any brakes 
 on; and if we all work with a will, we'll pull out." 
 
 " If you'll teach me bookkeeping, I'll go over to the 
 sugar house and help." she volunteered. 
 
 " You couldn't do that," he replied. 
 
 " Why not? " she demanded. 
 
 " Do you know the multiplication table? " he asked, 
 meaning to speak banteringly; but as she glanced up 
 she saw that his face was pale and set, and her mind 
 flew back to their last interview in the city. Perhaps 
 he was himself conscious of his harsh tone, for he 
 tried to change the current of their talk by asking 
 what she had been doing all the morning. 
 
 " Nothing," she answered drearily. " There isn't a 
 thing to do to kill time." Her hands slipped from 
 his arm and he seemed not to notice it. 
 
 " Do you want to show me the house while we're 
 waiting for Fergus? " he asked as they mounted the 
 steps. Fate had dragged him back to her, he re-
 
 32 THE GRINDING 
 
 fleeted; now he must be man enough to protect him- 
 self against her wiles, without adding in any way to 
 her undeniable trials and hardships. 
 
 " There isn't anything interesting in this hideous 
 old house," she replied to his question. " Did you 
 ever see such stairs? You have to step up a yard 
 each time. It's like climbing a ladder." 
 
 " Ax-hewn boards," he said, stooping to examine 
 them. " This house must be very old. I wish we 
 knew all about it." 
 
 " We do," she answered. " We know that every 
 day has been exactly like every other day for a hundred 
 years and will be for a hundred years to come." In 
 her exacting affection, she had always made undue de- 
 mands upon him; trying to dictate his opinions, occu- 
 pations, friendships. For her, it was quite enough that 
 he should be golf champion, and that his rows and 
 rows of silver cups should be more numerous than 
 those of his idle-busy companions and friends. Now 
 she saw that he had withdrawn from her influence; 
 his very appearance, blond and stalwart as a Viking, 
 with a trace of the Viking relentlessness, his very look, 
 showed that there was something at stake. But she 
 little dreamed what a sacrifice he had made in coming 
 to their assistance. 
 
 Pausing at the door of the room which he had occu- 
 pied the night before, he regarded the scattered cloth- 
 ing, the unmade bed, the general air of discomfort. " I 
 must learn not to throw my things around that way,"
 
 THE GRINDING 33 
 
 he commented, and crossing to the window, looked out. 
 "Some one will make up the room after a while, I 
 suppose," she replied. It did not occur to her that 
 she had any responsibility in the matter. What else 
 were servants for, except to keep their masters com- 
 fortable? Vaguely, she regretted the absence of Mrs. 
 Barrow, the housekeeper who had had charge ever 
 since the death of Catherine's mother, but somehow, 
 it seemed to her, Esperance could take care of itself. 
 Her real discomfort at the moment rose not from the 
 general household wretchedness, but from the uneasy 
 conviction that Fergus had told Ronald of her engage- 
 ment to Adolphus Banks. She wished now she had not 
 acted so impulsively, remembering too late that Ronald 
 had accused him of falsehood and dishonesty at the 
 club. Still, she asked herself, with the innate propen- 
 sity to make light of her own wrongdoings, how could 
 she know that she should ever be so thrown upon 
 Ronald for companionship? And a promise, given by 
 letter, seemed so easily broken; how could she know 
 it would so complicate matters for her? " Some one 
 ought to have done the work by this time," she declared 
 after a long pause. She was not a stupid girl, but the 
 change in her circumstances had been so sudden she 
 had not yet been able to visualize herself in these 
 surroundings, and did not discern what should have 
 been her share in the burden they were carrying. 
 " There isn't anything I can do," she added, " if you 
 won't teach me bookkeeping."
 
 34 THE GRINDING 
 
 "Oh! " he ejaculated. It was little more than a 
 sharp exhalation of the breath, but it sounded so im- 
 patient that she pressed her lips together to prevent 
 their quivering. Never before had any one spoken 
 impatiently to her. 
 
 " I suppose," he said, " country girls have to learn 
 to do housework and take care of cows and chickens." 
 
 " And hogs? " she asked in sudden exasperation. 
 " You're as bad as Miss Victorine." 
 
 " Like enough," he agreed with apparent careless- 
 ness. " That's a cunning little top-heavy church over 
 yonder. And did you ever see handsomer pecans? " 
 indicating a clump of trees on the farther side of the 
 bayou. " And look! Sometime or other, there's been 
 an orchard and a flower garden. Look at those climb- 
 ing roses." 
 
 Marcelline knocked on the frame of the open door. 
 " Miss Catrine," she said, " the peddler's cart are a- 
 comin'. What kind er meat will I get fer you-alls din- 
 ner? " 
 
 " Turkey," she replied promptly, pleased that Ron- 
 ald should see her resourcefulness. 
 
 " He don't carry no tukkey. M'sieur Poisson will 
 fotch aroun' some tukkey, effen you wishes." 
 
 " Well, chicken." 
 
 "He don't have no chicken. M'sieur Poisson " 
 
 " What does he have? " 
 
 " He don't have nothin' but pork meat these days." 
 
 " For mercy's sake! " said Catherine. " Very well, 
 get vegetables and fruit."
 
 THE GRINDING 35 
 
 " He don't have no vegetables these days; lessen you 
 orders some garlic fer the nex' time he come down the 
 bayou." 
 
 "Oh! not garlic! Fruit!" Catherine exclaimed, 
 turning impatiently away and looking out of the win- 
 dow once more. 
 
 Marcelline stepped to the head of the stairs and 
 said to Ananias, waiting at the foot, " Tell M'sieur 
 Bergeron to fotch the Madam some banana nex' time 
 he come round." 
 
 "Not bananas!" Catherine cried. "Pineapples 
 and strawberries." 
 
 Marcelline stood amazed. " He don't carry " she 
 began, but Catherine was not listening. 
 
 " That house by the church looks homelike, with its 
 broad gallery, doesn't it? " said Ronald. " I suppose 
 it's the priest's house." 
 
 At this moment a tall, angular woman emerged from 
 its side door: a grotesque figure in her voluminous blue 
 skirt, her pale pink waist, and her hair done in strange 
 protuberances like incipient horns. 
 
 "Look at that creature! " Catherine exclaimed. 
 
 " That are Miss Delicia, Pere Ignace's sister," Mar- 
 celline explained from the rear. 
 
 "Miss Delicia! " said Ronald. "What a misno- 
 mer." 
 
 " Yassir," Marcelline agreed without comprehending 
 his words, " she are a very garmentdizing lady. She 
 ain't friendly to scarcely nobody, an' she ain't keerin' 
 fer nothin' but fine clo'es an' such."
 
 36 THE GRINDING 
 
 " So she is Mrs. Grundy," Ronald observed. 
 
 " No, sir," Marcelline corrected him, " she are Miss 
 Delicia LeBreton. They ain't no Miss Grundy on 
 this bayou, lessen she be above Bergerac. I doesn't 
 know them plantation so good." 
 
 " Yes," said Ronald, looking amused, " probably 
 Mrs. Grundy must live in the neighborhood of Ber- 
 gerac. Look, Catherine, at that house crouching 
 among the trees. Is that the last house between here 
 and the Gulf, Aunt Marcelline? " 
 
 " No, sir," she replied in a tone of surprise. 
 "They's Dr. Bonvillain's, an' the Settlement, an' 
 M'sieur Evariste Ledoux's, an' the Trosclairs' Malabar, 
 an" 
 
 "The Trosclairs'," Ronald interrupted. "Where 
 have I heard that name? " 
 
 " They is you kin people," Marcelline explained. 
 " You-alls great-gran'maw were a Miss Felicie Tros- 
 clair, an' it were fer another Miss Felicie Trosclair 
 you-alls far-back uncle, Mr. Raoul, kilt hisself right 
 yere in this room. You kin 'scern the spot er his 
 blood on the floor till yet." 
 
 " Does his ghost ever come back? " Ronald in- 
 quired. Then, to Catherine, " Wouldn't it be jolly if 
 it did? He could tell us all about this house." 
 
 " No, sir," Marcelline answered firmly. " Ner I 
 doesn't crave to meet up with no ghoses; me." 
 
 Ronald now straightened himself from examining 
 the spot. " I'm afraid it's nothing but dirt," he said. 
 
 " No, sir," Marcelline repeated. " 'Taint no dirt.
 
 THE GRINDING 37 
 
 Folks has tried plenty times to scrub that up, but 
 nothin' won't never move the stain when humans sheds 
 they own blood." Then, after a deferential pause, 
 " Does you keer to order anythin' else, Miss Catrine, 
 scusin' the pork meat an' coffee an' corn pone? " 
 
 " No! " said Catherine, " but what a menu! We'll 
 starve to death." 
 
 " You won't," Ronald said in a low tone. " Fergus 
 tells me you are going to marry Adolphus Banks." 
 Then, after a moment, and with an evident effort, " I 
 never knew you loved him." 
 
 She was crimson to the roots of the hair as she 
 answered, " I like him better than " 
 
 " Than whom? " he asked sharply. 
 
 " Than any of the other men in our set." 
 
 " May I ask the reason for your preference? " 
 
 " I considered him more disinterested than any of 
 the others," she answered, at a loss for any other ex- 
 planation. 
 
 " Why did you believe that? " he demanded. Then, 
 as she made no reply, " I am asking for information. 
 You must have some reason for your belief in him." 
 
 She was trying to frame an answer that would jus- 
 tify her conduct, when he broke into her thoughts with 
 a short laugh. " Disinterested! " he repeated. "Adol- 
 phus Banks, disinterested! It's funny how women 
 reason. Well, he has the chance to show it now for 
 the first time, and it's a good thing at least that you 
 are going to escape the poverty for which you are so 
 ill-fitted,"
 
 38 THE GRINDING 
 
 " How am I going to escape poverty? " she de- 
 manded. " You know he's poor." 
 
 " He has a good salary." 
 
 " A good salary? For what? " 
 
 Ronald hesitated for the fraction of a second, then 
 said, " He gained the appointment for which I was 
 trying." 
 
 " Adolphus Banks has your appointment? " 
 
 "Not mine; I failed." 
 
 " Oh, Ronald! " she exclaimed in a smothered voice, 
 repressing her tears, " I'm sorry."
 
 conversation with Ronald left Catherine dis- 
 tinctly miserable. Hitherto, she had pursued her 
 own line of conduct without regard to consequences, 
 secure in the knowledge that any concession on her 
 part would enable her to escape retribution. Now she 
 had failed. Her utmost effort, her tears even, had left 
 him unmoved. He cared for nothing now but effi- 
 ciency. Her understanding of this word was vague 
 in the extreme, but in the same volatile spirit in which 
 she would formerly have taken up music or dancing 
 or embroidery, she determined to become efficient. In 
 her own way, of course, which did not include the 
 milking of terrible, horned cattle; but which might 
 mean the putting away of her own clothes. 
 
 She was jamming a pair of high-heeled slippers on 
 to a shelf beyond her reach when Marcelline entered. 
 
 " Ain't you tired, honey? " the old woman asked in 
 her deep, gentle voice. 
 
 " I'm nearly dead," Catherine acknowledged, sink- 
 ing down into a rocking chair. " I didn't know house- 
 work was so hard." 
 
 " I reckon not," said Marcelline, " and I laid off to 
 help you soon's I could. Pidgeon'll do the dishes fer 
 me." She began taking out the dresses and, with a 
 
 39
 
 40 THE GRINDING 
 
 natural instinct for order, folding and laying them on 
 a shelf. "You clo'es is mighty ticklesome an' tear- 
 able," she commented. " You has to be mighty keer- 
 less when you wears 'em, doesn't you, so's not to spile 
 'em? " 
 
 Catherine looked questioningly at the heap Marce- 
 line was arranging. " It seems to me there are very 
 few things," she said. " I don't see anything but old, 
 worn out evening gowns and such rubbish. I wonder 
 what became of my street dresses." 
 
 " They mout be yere," said Marcelline, stooping to 
 drag a large white velvet box from under the bed. 
 On the lid, the word " Rex " glittered in jeweled let- 
 ters. 
 
 Catherine came over to look, and, as she did so, 
 gave an uncontrollable sob. " They're my Rex 
 jewels, Marcelline," she said. 
 
 With a hasty glance over her shoulder, the old 
 woman observed in an undertone, " Better not shine 
 'em roun' yere too much. Folks ain't got no call to 
 keep too many jewels in the kentry. They's mis- 
 chievious people " 
 
 " Oh, they're not real," Catherine explained. 
 " They're only Rhinestones, don't you know? " 
 
 Rhinestone or adamant, they were all one to Mar- 
 celline, and without opening the box, she pushed it 
 back under the bed, saying, " Hit'll be safe there fer 
 a spell, an' Mr. Placide mout know some good place." 
 Then she began folding a pile of gauzy garments and 
 laying them on the bed.
 
 THE GRINDING 41 
 
 " Do you mean Mr. Placide Chauvin? " 
 
 " Yas'm; Miss Victorine's son. Her ole man were 
 name' Mr. Placide too, an' he sure were a planter," 
 she added with emphasis. " He war some kin to Nore 
 Pinel an' Nore Pinel sure were one planter man." 
 
 " Is he dead? " 
 
 " More'n a hundred year, I reckon, but he use' to 
 live hereabouts, an' he sure could plant. He use' to 
 talk with the birds an' the beasts, an' he knowed fum 
 them when they was to be high water or a freeze, and 
 bad weather never cotch him." 
 
 " I wish he were here now," Catherine said, " to 
 teach Mr. Fergus." 
 
 " Oh, hush, honey," Marcelline exclaimed glancing 
 over her shoulder, " 'taint never good to wish dead 
 folks would come; they mout. My gran-maw she liv' 
 down to Malabar, an' the ole Madam, (not Madam 
 Elysee Trosclair, but her maw-in-law) were turr'ble 
 wicked. An' time she come to die, my gran-maw were 
 alone with her in that big house, an' it were a-stormin' 
 an' a-rainin' an' the ole Madam were a-dyin' all by 
 herself, with nobody there ceppen my gran-maw, an' 
 she weren't nothin' but a little mite er a nigger, them 
 days. The ole Madam were turrible purty in her 
 young days, an' Mr. Raoul here to Esperance kilt 
 hisself case she disappint him an' marry her cousin 
 down to Malabar." 
 
 " I remember," said Catherine. 
 
 " Yas'm; I done tole you 'bout that. Well, they 
 allows as how his ghos' hants Malabar twel yit. I
 
 42 THE GRINDING 
 
 don't know, me, case I ain't never seed it ner I 
 don't crave to. Some say it have always been a lig- 
 geroo, (" loup garou "), an' no fer true ghos', but my 
 gran-ma say pintedly it were Mr. Raoul fum Esper- 
 ance. Well that night, she that were the purties' on 
 the whole bayou in her young days, were a-dyin'. My 
 gran-maw were a-settin' on the floor, side er the baid. 
 The fire were a-bu'nin' an' the room were all a red 
 light, ceppin the great, black shadder of the ole Ma- 
 dam's bed. They weren't a sound in the whole house 
 ceppin the moanin' er the wind an' a drap er water that 
 kep' a-fallin' an' a-drappin' somewheres in the shadder. 
 My gran-maw were beginnin' to nod when the ole 
 Madam say: c Sauvage, (that were all the name my 
 gran-maw ever had), I has ben lonely all my life sence 
 Raoul Maine kilt hisself fer me. I wisht he was here.' 
 An' with that, a shadder come a-stretchin' acrost the 
 ceilin' like someone were a-standin' to the foot of the 
 baid. My gran-maw jump up fum where she were 
 a-settin', an' she chunk the fire an' move the cheers 
 away so they couldn't cast no shadders, an' then she go 
 an' set down agin; an' the shadder fade away, an' my 
 gran'maw begin ter nod, an' the wind moan, an' the 
 clock in the hall tick, an' I reckon my gran'maw drap 
 off asleep fer a minute, when suthin' tech her arm, like 
 she were a-dreamin' of ice, it were so cold. It were 
 the ole Madam's hand, and the other were a-pintin' up 
 to where the shadder stretch acrost the ceilin' agin, 
 like someone were a-standin' to the foot of the baid. 
 My gran-maw set still like she were froze, an' her
 
 THE GRINDING 43 
 
 Madam's hand slip off, an' the shadder fade away. 
 But, Miss Catrine, my gran'maw seen suthin' else. 
 When that shadder glide away, they were another 
 shadder with it." 
 
 A gust of wind slammed the batten shutter. " The 
 weather's changin'," she said, opening the shutter and 
 then closing the sash. " I 'lowed to Nias this mornin' 
 these warm days couldn't las' much longer." 
 
 When Fergus and Ronald came plodding wearily 
 homeward, the cold rain was falling. Pidgeon had 
 made an attempt at building a fire in the dining room 
 and as the three gathered about their cheerless supper 
 table, dimly lighted by the smoking lamp, gusts of 
 wind shook the casements and a cloud of smoke came 
 whirling down the chimney. Catherine's mind re- 
 verted to the legend of Sauvage at Malabar and she told 
 it to the sound of rain beating against the windows. 
 
 " It was a wild night," she repeated dramatically. 
 
 " Like to-night, I suppose," said Ronald. " Hark 
 how the wind moans. It sounds like a human voice." 
 
 " Strange how those legends persist," Fergus com- 
 mented. " I remember hearing the story about Mala- 
 bar when I was a little boy. It used to frighten me 
 dreadfully." 
 
 Catherine leaned forward listening, her slender 
 hands, as exquisite as those of a child, clasped in a 
 characteristic attitude. Her face, grown thin during 
 the past weeks, white and clear as a cameo. " I love 
 to hear those legends about Malabar," she said, " I 
 wish I could go there."
 
 44 THE GRINDING 
 
 " Undoubtedly you can if you wish," Fergus re- 
 plied. " They are really our relatives although dis- 
 tant ones. But I fear you would find them very un- 
 satisfactory. Totally provincial and unaccustomed to 
 meeting people." 
 
 " I want to," she repeated. " They fascinate me." 
 
 " The legends about Esperance might be just as in- 
 teresting if we knew them," Ronald observed, his gaze 
 directed toward Fergus, but taking in Catherine in 
 her white satin evening gown and coral colored 
 shoulder scarf so inappropriate for her present sur- 
 roundings and so indicative of her childish vanity, as 
 he forced himself to remember. Knowing nothing of 
 her depleted wardrobe, he believed her costume to be 
 another proof of the unquenchable coquetry which 
 wished to retain its hold over him, even while it 
 claimed the allegiance of his personal enemy, Adolphus 
 Banks. " She sided with him against me in a question 
 of veracity," he thought, while his soul grew hot within 
 him, and for the hundredth time he repeated to him- 
 self her expression, " At least he's disinterested." 
 
 Fergus, on the other hand, who loved her with an 
 almost paternal affection, looked anxiously at her. 
 " You are cold, Cathie," he said. " You look very 
 pale," and rising he crossed the room to close the door 
 that had swung noiselessly open. Pausing at the un- 
 curtained window he looked out into the darkness. 
 " It's turning bitterly cold," he exclaimed, and shud- 
 dered involuntarily.
 
 VI 
 
 THE opportunity to visit Malabar came sooner 
 than expected. The morning after she had told 
 the story about Sauvage, when Fergus and Ronald had 
 gone to their work, Catherine, forgetting her new plan 
 of efficiency, was walking listlessly back and forth on 
 the front gallery, glancing now and then at the high 
 road where the wind was raising little eddies of dust, 
 and where, at long intervals, a cart creaked by on its 
 way to the distant village of Bergerac. She had noth- 
 ing to read, for those who did the packing had not 
 included books. In fact, they had sent nothing but a 
 heterogeneous mass of old evening wraps, tea gowns, 
 high-heeled slippers, broken opera glasses, and so on. 
 One noticeable characteristic was that all the garments 
 were out of date, and she wondered from what ancient 
 cedar chest they had been unearthed. Thinking cas- 
 ually of this matter, she slipped her hands into her 
 sleeves and clasped her elbows to keep them warm as 
 she walked back and forth, counting her steps. What 
 did people do to pass the time in the country, she 
 wondered, then resumed her counting: " Five hundred 
 and one, five hundred and two, five hundred and three." 
 Her high-heeled slipper turned and she twisted her 
 ankle. As she stopped and rubbed it, she was still 
 
 45
 
 >i6 THE GRINDING 
 
 wondering what people did to pass the weeks am? 
 months and years of their lives. How long time was, 
 any way, she thought. How interminably long! Of 
 course, she had been in country places before, but 
 they had always been the elaborately rural resorts pre- 
 pared for rich people. " Camps " fitted up with elec- 
 tric lights and telephones and motor cars and with 
 trained, liveried servants to anticipate every wish. 
 
 Marcelline appeared at the door. " Miss Catrine," 
 she asked, " does you want some one to do your 
 washin'? " 
 
 "Why, of course! " Catherine replied, astonished 
 that one must plan such elementary things as having 
 one's washing done. She had noticed that her piles 
 of clean clothing were nearly exhausted, but that had 
 suggested nothing to her. 
 
 " Chukey Nightshed say she kin do it," Marcelline 
 suggested hesitatingly. " She say she are right han'- 
 some at washin' but you know she are a Ab'aham 
 Lingcum nigger." 
 
 " A what? " 
 
 " A Ab'aham Lingcum nigger born sence the war; 
 you know they is all right, Miss Catrine, but they 
 isn't as well train' as the Jeff Davis niggers." 
 
 " Oh, I don't care. Have her do it." 
 
 " In our wash house? " 
 
 " Yes, yes; I don't care where." 
 
 " Does you want to count the clo'es? " 
 
 " Mercy, no; go on and have her do it," and she 
 resumed her walk, thinking that really Marcelline was
 
 THE GRINDING 47 
 
 very tiresome at times. And now the long, wailing 
 note of a conch shell reached her, and from around 
 the bend in front of Miss Victorine's house, a lugger 
 glided into view. It stopped at the bridge, and a 
 figure standing at the prow, waited with statuesque 
 patience to blow another signal if the bridge did not 
 open. He was bare-headed and the wind tossed his 
 dark hair and the ends of the red neckerchief knotted 
 about his throat. Catherine looked at him with pleas- 
 ure, he was so graceful and picturesque. Uncle Peter, 
 the bridge tender, hobbled slowly out of his cabin 
 on the bayou side, and parleyed with him. She did 
 not know that Uncle Peter was refusing to open the 
 bridge unless the boatman first sold him some oysters 
 for the Big House. This was a frequent way of get- 
 ting supplies on the bayou, and Marcelline had com- 
 missioned him to waylay the passing boats. At first 
 the boatman was obdurate, preferring to carry his 
 whole cargo to Bergerac. Finally, however, the bridge 
 opened, the lugger glided through, turning its vast ex- 
 panse of crimson sail toward the morning sun, and 
 presently Uncle Peter came trundling a wheelbarrow 
 on which lay a mass of dark, dripping shells secured by 
 his innocent piracy. In a few moments, Catherine 
 heard voices in murmured conversation, emanating 
 from the kitchen, a square, detached building at some 
 distance from the main house. 
 
 When Uncle Peter left, Marcelline returned to the 
 gallery. " Does you 'member 'bout Malabar, Miss 
 Catrine? " she asked.
 
 48 THE GRINDING 
 
 " Yes ! " said Catherine with sudden interest. 
 
 " Unc' Timothy Brim from Malabar war on that 
 boat, and he say they's havin' plenty trouble down yon- 
 der. The liggeroo have ben a-prowlin' roun' there, a- 
 cryin' in the swamp, an' a-peepin' into the winders an' 
 scarin' the young Madam into high-ster ricks. Miss 
 Hortense don't believe in no liggeroo, an' the young 
 Madam rare an' charge an' say hit are all 
 Miss Hortense fault the liggeroo are there. 
 An' Unc' Timothy are a-goin' up to Bergerac 
 fer the young doctor. I reckon somebody done 
 conjur the young Madam 'case she sure are 
 mean, an' neither she ain't quality but, howsome- 
 dever, her ole man, Mr. Ovide, have done sont fer the 
 doctor, an' crave fer Miss Victorine to come down an' 
 lend a hand. But Miss Victorine have went over to 
 Bayou Blanc an' shore's you is born, that liggeroo 
 ain't a-hantin' Malabar fer nothin'. Hit are a warnin', 
 sure." 
 
 " Marcelline," Catherine exclaimed, her face flush- 
 ing with eagerness, "I'd like to go and help. Would 
 they think it an intrusion? " 
 
 Marcelline hesitated. Of what use could so helpless 
 a person be, she wondered. And yet her eagerness 
 was so manifest the old woman was reluctant to put 
 her doubts into words. 
 
 " I want to go," Catherine cried, clasping her hands 
 those slender, useless hands. 
 
 "Jacques Lirette are a-comin' back to-day," Mar- 
 celline mused, " but," with sudden decision, " you
 
 THE GRINDING 49 
 
 cain't go in his boat. He are mighty bold an' sassy, 
 and you cain't mix up with no sech trash. But neither 
 the young Madam ain't quality. She come from the 
 oyscher reefs, an' Mr. Ovide done wrong to marry her, 
 an' 'tain't fitten fer you to mix up with her nor no- 
 body like her, neither." Like all self-respecting plan- 
 tation negroes, Marcelline was keenly alive to the dif- 
 ference betwen " quality " and " trash " and resented 
 the crossing from one caste to another. 
 
 " Who is Miss Hortense? " Catherine demanded 
 eagerly, ignoring Marcelline's last words. 
 
 " She are Mr. Ovide's sister; you-alls far-away par- 
 ent." 
 
 " Oh, I want to go," Catherine repeated. " I will 
 go! " she asserted after another pause. 
 
 " I could drive you down," Marcelline began. 
 " They ain't plowin', an' Gladys an' Damon could haul 
 you but Miss Hortense are " She paused as 
 if uncertain how to continue her objections. 
 
 " I don't care if she is," Catherine interrupted in her 
 headstrong way. " If Damon and Pythias or what- 
 ever the mules' names may be if they're plowing, 
 they can stop. That's all. I'm going." She could 
 scarcely have explained why she longed so ardently to 
 take this trip, nor what she anticipated in the visit. It 
 was " something to do " and that was reason enough. 
 
 Fergus was somewhat taken aback when he learned 
 at dinner that a trip to Malabar was to be made that 
 very day; that Marcelline was to act as driver, and 
 Ananias would take her place and cook supper.
 
 50 THE GRINDING 
 
 " Shall you be back before dark? " he asked anx- 
 iously after helping Catherine into the rickety vehicle. 
 
 " Hit'll be the aidge er the evenin' er later," Mar- 
 celline, who was starting with manifest reluctance, as- 
 sured him; but Catherine, impatient to be off, merely 
 waved good-by. 
 
 The road, stretching ahead, followed the windings of 
 the bayou. A blue kingfisher flying before them, 
 skimming swiftly along close to the surface of 
 the water, was reflected in its brown bosom. The 
 day was cold in spite of the fitful sunlight, and 
 as the wind swept up the bayou, Catherine but- 
 toned her coat more tightly, congratulating her- 
 self that it had not disappeared with her other posses- 
 sions. 
 
 Presently they came in sight of an unpainted house 
 with toppling mud chimney. It was surrounded by 
 leafless China trees, their shriveled balls dropping on 
 the bare earth where a few lean fowls wandered and 
 scratched, picking at the broken crockery in the fence 
 corners. On the dilapidated gate leaned a young 
 woman with a baby in her arms. The woman was 
 barefoot, bareheaded, unkempt, unwashed. Two or 
 three emaciated hounds sniffed and yelped at the ve- 
 hicle. Marcelline bowed in passing. The woman 
 stared at Catherine whose tailored suit was more 
 amazing to her than wampum and war paint would 
 have been. Catherine, for her part, looked at the 
 woman with an expression of distaste and aloofness 
 mingled with the most unbounded surprise, for never
 
 THE GRINDING 51 
 
 in her sheltered life had she beheld such an object as 
 her haughty gaze now rested upon. 
 
 " That are Madam Bonvillain; Dr. Bonvillain's ole 
 lady," Marcelline explained when they had passed. 
 
 " I didn't know there was a doctor nearer than 
 Bergerac," said Catherine. " Evidently he has no 
 practice." 
 
 " Yas'm, he are got plenty practice," Marcelline cor- 
 rected. 
 
 " I suppose they pay him next to nothing then," 
 Catherine hazarded. " Doctors in the country can't 
 make much." 
 
 " Yas'm they does," Marcelline corrected again. 
 " They suttinly comes high. They charges a dollar a 
 mile an' it ain't never lessen a mile to nowhar." 
 
 " I wonder where he studied," Catherine said indif- 
 fently not that she cared, but merely speculating 
 idly as one does over unfamiliar objects. 
 
 " Him? " Marcelline exclaimed, " he ain't never 
 studied. He's a natural doctor. He ain't never 
 needed to study like that young doctor up to Bergerac. 
 Dr. Bonvillain don't know how to read ner write; ner 
 he don't need to. He has jes' got natural knowledge. 
 He know all about sickness. He don't believe in givin' 
 all them messes what other doctors gives. He say 
 tha's all foolishness. He kin doctor you 'thout .so 
 much as lookin' at you. He jes' send word: Tust off, 
 you take calomel a plenty of it. Then you take 
 castor oil, then you take quinine! ' Drunk or sober, 
 them's all he give. Them three drugs."
 
 52 THE GRINDING 
 
 And now they came in sight of a row of cabins 
 thatched with palmetto leaves. There were nets dry- 
 ing on the fences ; and on the bayou side, frames under 
 which fires were burning. Around the frames, through 
 the thick smoke that rose from the smouldering flames, 
 the forms of half naked children could be dimly dis- 
 cerned stirring masses of coral-colored shrimp spread 
 out to dry. As the vehicle approached, the children 
 stopped their work and gazed at Catherine with the 
 timidity of untamed creatures. Beside one of the 
 cabins was a row of bee hives. 
 
 " These people seem thrifty," Catherine observed. 
 " I see they keep bees." 
 
 " Yas'm," Marcelline replied in a disparaging tone. 
 " That are ole man Lirette's place; but he don't make 
 much fum his bees. They loses so much time." 
 
 " How so? " Catherine asked. " On account of the 
 weather? " 
 
 " No, Ma'am; on account of they religion." 
 
 " I don't understand," Catherine exclaimed in be- 
 wilderment. 
 
 " Bees doesn't never wuk Sundays," Marcelline ex- 
 plained, " neither feast days, neither fast days ; an' 
 them's Catholic bees an' they has plenty holy days in 
 they chu'ch. An' they won't wuk effen they owners 
 is in mou'nin' an' fergits to put suthin' black on ter 
 the hives, so's they kin mou'n too." 
 
 Back of the row of cabins a vast sweep of meadow 
 reached to the horizon. " Is that a rice field? " Cath- 
 erine asked.
 
 THE GRINDING S3 
 
 Marcelline turned and gave her mistress a searching 
 look, then having apparently satisfied herself that the 
 question was asked in good faith, she replied, " That 
 ain't nothin', Miss Catrine, ceppin a floatin' prairie. 
 Nothin' won't never grow there an' it ain't no use on 
 God's earth." 
 
 " There surely are things growing there," Gather- 
 ing argued. " I see them." 
 
 " Yas'm, they's things growin'," Marcelline agreed, 
 " but in underneath, it ain't nothin' but water with 
 trash what have floated on ter it an' weeds what has 
 sprouted an' grewd. It air the deceivin'est thing in 
 the world. Effen you was to try to step on ter it, 
 you'd sink right down over your haid in water. Some- 
 times I wonders," she said musingly, " why it were ever 
 made, case they says everything have some use." 
 
 " I should think they'd drain it," said Catherine, and 
 again Marcelline turned a questioning look upon her. 
 
 " They's miles an' miles of floatin' prairie in this 
 parish," she explained. " I don't reckon it kin be 
 drained, no more'n Barataria Bay. Effen it could be, 
 I reckon Mr. Tobias would sure have buyed it cheap 
 an' drained it too long ago to talk about. But it have 
 ben there sence world without end, an' I reckon hit'll 
 stay till Jedgment Day." 
 
 The carriage wheels now ran along the edge of the 
 bayou, crushing the wild morning glory vines, the cy- 
 press and May-pop, where occasionally a belated blos- 
 som showed a gleam of carmine or azure. On the op- 
 posite side of the bayou, in a place where the bank
 
 54 THE GRINDING 
 
 was a jungle of thorn bushes and creepers, Catherine 
 dimly discerned an unpainted cross, overgrown with 
 lichens and sagging to one side as if about to fall. 
 
 " What's that? " she asked. 
 
 " They allows that are Nore Pinel grave," Marcel- 
 line replied. 
 
 " Nore Pinel! " Catherine exclaimed. " It's strange 
 he should be buried in this remote place here on 
 the bayou side." 
 
 " No, Ma'am, 'tain't strange," Marcelline corrected 
 her, " 'case he war a fisherman." 
 
 " I thought he was a planter." 
 
 " Yas'm, he war a planter, an' he war a fisherman. 
 He could turn his hand to anything. Times he plant, 
 an' times he hunt, an' times he fish; but mos'ly, he fish. 
 He could fish/" Marcelline drawled impressively. 
 " He cotch whales an' sharks an' mermaze. I ain't 
 never see them kin's er fish, but they tells me he cotch 
 'em jes' ez easy ez nothin'." 
 
 " I have seen whales and sharks," said Catherine, 
 " but never mermaids." 
 
 " They tells me they is sca'ce," Marcelline observed, 
 " but he cotch 'em." 
 
 The road grew lonelier and more desolate; the bayou 
 widened and there was no sign of human life. No 
 sound except the whispering of the wind in the tall, 
 dried grasses on the bank, or the occasional scream of 
 a gull or an osprey flying overhead. Skirting the edge 
 of the floating prairie, they came to higher ground 
 where they were able to move more rapidly. Here
 
 THE GRINDING 55 
 
 they passed a lugger beating its slow way against the 
 wind to the Gulf for a night's fishing. Leaning over 
 the edge, watching her, was the same figure she had 
 seen that morning parleying with Uncle Peter. The 
 stinging wind that tossed his dark hair, painted his 
 cheeks a vivid carmine. As their eyes met, he smiled 
 and it was like a flash of sunlight. Seated at the stern 
 of the boat was an old man smoking a pipe and stolidly 
 staring at her. 
 
 " Who are they? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " Ole man Lirette an' his son, M'sieur Jacques." 
 
 " Oh, the ones that own the bees? " 
 
 " Yas'm." 
 
 " They are fishermen? " Catherine asserted rather 
 than asked. 
 
 " The ole man are. M'sieur Jacques ain't nothin'. 
 He kin dance, an' he kin sing, an' all them fool gals 
 fum Bergerac to the Gulf is crezzy about him but 
 he don't wuk, ceppin when the notion take him. That 
 are Madam Lirette fault. She spile him. Every time 
 he ax fer the moon she cut it right down an' hand it 
 to him. His sisters kin wuk 'case they ain't purty; 
 but him! He don't do a blessed thing lessen he feel 
 like it." 
 
 Catherine turned and looked at him. He had risen 
 and was standing at the prow watching her; as grace- 
 ful, as boyishly beautiful as a young Greek god. And 
 as their eyes met, he smiled again a smile so allur- 
 ing that, unconsciously, she smiled back.
 
 VII 
 
 THE drive proved longer than expected and night 
 was falling when, emerging from a strip of thick 
 woods, they drew up at a gate flanked by tall posts on 
 which moss-grown urns showed dimly in the light of 
 the carriage lamps. 
 
 " Malabar," Marcelline announced, descending pon- 
 derously from the vehicle to open the gate. 
 
 At the sound of their rattling wheels as they drove 
 up the long, winding approach through the trees, a 
 slender figure came out on to the gallery carrying a 
 lamp. Catherine's heart gave a bound. This was 
 what she had hoped for this woman with the pure, 
 refined face illumined in the surrounding darkness like 
 that of a saint in a shrine. Here was companionship. 
 
 Catherine spoke eagerly as she ascended the steps. 
 " I am Catherine Maine," she said. " I heard that 
 Mrs. Trosclair was ill and I came, hoping I might 
 help." 
 
 The lady greeted her with grave courtesy, leading 
 her into a great, cheerless room where everything 
 the empty fireplace, the uncurtained windows, every- 
 thing spoke of poverty. The lady seated herself 
 beside a table on which she had placed the lamp, and 
 without a word, began knitting. There was absolute 
 
 56
 
 THE GRINDING 57 
 
 silence except for the ticking of a clock somewhere at 
 a distance; the very clock, Catherine imagined, that 
 had measured the last hours of the " old Madam's " 
 life. 
 
 " I heard that Mrs. Trosclair was ill," Catherine 
 repeated after waiting in vain for the other to speak, 
 " and that you had sent for the doctor." 
 
 The lady looked at her with inscrutable dark eyes; 
 eyes so dark, so large, they gave her pale, delicate face 
 an emaciated look. There was about her an aloofness 
 as if the silence had penetrated her very soul. 
 
 " I think Mrs. Trosclair's trouble is more an affec- 
 tion of the nerves than of the body," she replied with 
 apparent effort. " I am surprised Uncle Timothy 
 should have intruded upon you!' 
 
 " He wanted Miss Victorine," Catherine explained. 
 "He didn't ask for me; but she had gone to Bayou 
 Blanc. I wanted to come. I am lonely," she added, 
 " and I believe we are related are we not? " 
 
 The lady seemed not to hear, but continued knitting, 
 her eyes resting upon some fathomless abyss of space. 
 Apparently she had become oblivious of her surround- 
 ings, and Catherine, wounded in her tenderest point 
 her pride longed to escape. Oh, why had she come! 
 Why had she not obeyed Marcelline's hinted sugges- 
 tion that it would be best not to know these unfriendly 
 Trosclairs? Had the shame and ridicule with which 
 Fergus had been assailed penetrated even here? 
 Were they still to be shunned and scorned? Had they 
 not yet escaped the threatened prison shadow? She
 
 58 THE GRINDING 
 
 wished the lady would realize how lonely she was, how 
 innocent of wrongdoing, how starved for companion- 
 ship. 
 
 A man appeared at the half open door and now 
 Catherine became conscious of a woman's voice quer- 
 ulously moaning. " Hortense," he said, " don't you 
 think the doctor will be here soon? " His thin lips 
 were compressed as if to prevent their trembling. 
 
 " He should be here now," the lady replied. " Some- 
 thing must have detained him." Then to Catherine, 
 " Miss Maine, this is my brother, Ovide Trosclair." 
 
 He barely acknowledged the introduction and re- 
 peated, " He'll surely be here soon. Don't you think 
 so?" 
 
 " I hope so," the lady replied, and added, " Miss 
 Maine came to help." 
 
 " She's very kind," he said in an absent, perfunc- 
 tory tone, evidently listening for a sound outside. 
 Then he broke off fretfully, "I wish he'd come! I 
 think she's getting worse." 
 
 " I think it can't be much longer now," his sister 
 reassured him, and he left the room without glancing 
 at Catherine. 
 
 " Am I of so little importance? " she thought with 
 a confused nightmare feeling. Manifestly, they neither 
 needed nor wished her presence yet she felt desper- 
 ately that she must, she would conquer the indiffer- 
 ence of this kinswoman her own blood and yet as 
 remote as if oceans separated them. And as she looked 
 at her, yearning with her whole heart for her friend-
 
 THE GRINDING 59 
 
 ship, searching in her mind for some word that might 
 prove a bond between them, a face looked in from 
 the blackness outside. A white face with hollow eyes 
 in which the lamp-light glittered; a face whose pallor 
 was intensified by a dark spot on one temple. At 
 her startled gasp, Hortense Trosclair became suddenly 
 conscious of her presence, and rose, gazing at her with 
 an eager, questioning look. 
 
 " What did you see? " she asked in a hushed tone. 
 
 "A face," Catherine said tremulously; "a face " 
 she could say no more, but motioned with a shaking 
 hand toward the glass door. Without a word, Hor- 
 tense walked out into the darkness. Quivering in every 
 limb, afraid to go, yet afraid to remain alone in the 
 vast, shadowy room, Catherine followed and stood be- 
 side her. There was not a sound to break the stillness. 
 Even the night wind seemed to hold its breath. 
 
 " Might you not have been mistaken? " the lady 
 whispered. 
 
 " No," Catherine breathed, peering into the darkness 
 about them. " I saw it plainly." 
 
 " Could it not have been an optical illusion? " 
 
 " No," Catherine repeated almost inaudibly, " I saw 
 it plainly. There was a stain of blood on one temple. 
 Fresh blood " 
 
 The lady pressed her hands together. They stood 
 listening, and now, close beside them a voice broke the 
 stillness with weird, mournful tremolo. Convulsively, 
 Catherine caught Hortense's hands. 
 
 " How foolish we are," the lady said, gently disen-
 
 60 THE GRINDING 
 
 gaging herself. " Did you never hear an owl before? " 
 
 " Never," Catherine replied, shuddering. 
 
 " You are excusable," Hortense observed in her tone 
 of aloofness and abstraction. Then, after a momen- 
 tary silence, she repeated, " You are excusable, for you 
 are young and unaccustomed to the country, but I, 
 who am old enough to be your mother and who have 
 lived for years in this solitude, ought not to be so 
 easily startled. You must have seen it fly past the 
 door. At night one easily mistakes shadows for real- 
 ity." 
 
 " But sometimes," Catherine began, then stopped, 
 not wishing to be too insistent. After a moment, she 
 added, " My mother's family, the Fessendens, have 
 Irish blood, and they say the Celtic strain always 
 brings superstition with it." 
 
 " 'Fessenden,' " the lady repeated in a changed tone. 
 " It is an unusual name. I never knew but one person 
 named Fessenden." 
 
 " You know a Fessenden? " Catherine asked eagerly, 
 feeling that, at last, she had found a link between 
 them. " What is the given name? I'm always inter- 
 ested in every one of that name." 
 
 " Ralph was the given name," said the lady, hesi- 
 tating as if she spoke with difficulty. 
 
 " Ralph Fessenden! " Catherine ejaculated. " Why, 
 he was my mother's cousin! It must be he. Where 
 did you meet him? " 
 
 " In London many years ago. Where is he 
 now? "
 
 THE GRINDING 61 
 
 " I don't know," said Catherine. " I, too, saw him 
 last in London, when I was quite a little girl. I re- 
 member I admired him extravagantly and I have heard 
 since that he was very brilliant. How interesting that 
 you knew him! " 
 
 " And you don't know what became of him? " 
 
 " In a way, yes. There was some sort of story 
 I don't remember exactly what " She paused, and 
 then went on, anxious to hold the interest of this 
 woman who had fascinated her. She could not have 
 explained the charm that Hortense Trosclair possessed 
 for her, but she longed to take her in her arms, to 
 beg for her love. She had found her must she lose 
 her? Could she not claim and hold her by the strong 
 right of kindred blood? 
 
 " And you don't know what became of him," Hor- 
 tense Trosclair repeated as if to herself. 
 
 " I think he disappeared from the world long ago. 
 He was in Switzerland and it was believed that he was 
 lost in a crevasse in one of the glaciers. No, I think 
 he was lost at sea or something I don't remember 
 the details, but I know he disappeared. Everyone was 
 very much shocked, I remember, and wouldn't speak 
 of it before me but I heard enough to know that he 
 was dead." 
 
 The lady drew a faint, shuddering sigh. From a 
 distance came the silvery, minor note of the owl, and 
 now Catherine felt, rather than heard, far off, a rhyth- 
 mic vibration which was scarcely a sound. She stood 
 in silence beside Hortense Trosclair, who had already
 
 62 THE GRINDING 
 
 forgotten her. Nearer came the hoof beats and nearer, 
 now mingled with the rattle of wheels, and finally 
 there emerged from the darkness the young, rosy-faced 
 doctor with old Uncle Timothy Brim beside him. 
 
 Catherine stood irresolute. Hortense Trosclair had 
 bidden her good-by with a clasp of the hand as light 
 as the touch of a snowflake, and with a perfunctory 
 word of thanks had dismissed her forever and ever. 
 They had no need of her. She groped her way down 
 the steps, her eyes smarting with unshed tears. 
 
 Huddled in one corner of the vehicle, she rode 
 silently through the interminable darkness. Marcel- 
 line, now dozing, now waking with a start, muttered 
 imprecations upon the proverbial inhospitality of the 
 Trosclairs. The carriage lamps cast fantastic shad- 
 ows in long perspective across the bare fields where a 
 few withered husks of cane whispered in the cold night 
 wind. The fishermen's settlement was dimly outlined 
 in the wavering lights; then, after another long inter- 
 val, the decrepit cabin of Dr. Bonvillain. A hound, 
 hearing the sound of wheels, raised his voice mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 The eastern sky showed a faint tinge of gray when 
 Catherine heard the plantation bell calling the laborers 
 to their day's toil. Then, presently, across the bayou, 
 she saw the dim light of the quarters, and, a moment 
 later, the great, open gate of Esperance.
 
 VIII 
 
 A FTER the first questions in regard to Catherine's 
 **' visit to Malabar questions which she answered 
 briefly and with evident reluctance nothing more 
 was said on the subject, and having lost her one hope 
 of outside companionship, she fell into a fathomless 
 loneliness. " Nothing to do! No way of passing the 
 time! " and Fergus, rightly interpreting her need, sug- 
 gested one occupation after another. 
 
 "You always liked flowers," he said; "supposing 
 you see what Uncle Peter can do with your garden. 
 They tell me he's a good gardener." 
 
 The morning was clear and bracing, and Catherine, 
 for once accepting a suggestion, went out and strolled 
 in her garden. She walked along, watching for snakes 
 and caterpillars (her high, French heels leaving a trail 
 of little round holes in the soft earth), and presently 
 she heard the sound of a conch shell. Going to the 
 fence, she looked over and saw several luggers, freshly 
 painted in brilliant blues and greens and covered with 
 flags and streamers, gliding through the open bridge 
 where Uncle Peter stood waving with unusual friendli- 
 ness. 
 
 They floated up to the little landing opposite the 
 gate of Esperance and the owners, laughing and chat- 
 tering, disappeared into the church, 
 
 63
 
 64 THE GRINDING 
 
 Marcelline came into the garden bringing a wrap 
 which Catherine slipped on without glancing at it. 
 They stood for a time watching the scene on the oppo- 
 site bank. And now carts filled with people came up 
 the road; then a stream of pedestrians. Of these, 
 nearly all, men, women and children, were carrying 
 their shoes in their hands, and, crossing the bridge, 
 sat down on the grassy roadside to put them on. 
 
 Marcelline respectfully standing a little back of her 
 mistress, announced regretfully, " 'Tain't no funeral. 
 They ain't no undertaker's wagon." 
 
 " Why do they do that? " Catherine asked in aston- 
 ishment as they began putting on their shoes. 
 
 " 'Case they wants to be fine in the chu'ch. Hit's a 
 weddin'. I reckon hit's Ottinsia Lirette's. Unc' Tim- 
 othy Brim tole us she war goin' to marry one er 
 M'sieur Poisson's boys." 
 
 " But why did they take off their shoes? " Cath- 
 erine asked. 
 
 " They never tooken 'em off; they didn't put 'em on, 
 'case it hurts too bad to walk in good shoes when you 
 is goin' so further." 
 
 Another boat appeared, more gaily painted and dec- 
 orated (if possible) than the others, and someone was 
 playing a guitar and singing in a clear, thrilling tenor. 
 " That are Jacques Lirette," said Marcelline. " Hit 
 mout be his weddin'." 
 
 A pang shot through Catherine, unreasonable and 
 impossible to explain. Jacques Lirette was not of her
 
 THE GRINDING 65 
 
 world; she could never know him she did not really 
 wish to know him and yet, for no reason, she felt 
 one degree lonelier. She fell to imagining what might 
 have happened under other circumstances. If she 
 had lived in other days, and had been a queen, she 
 would have had that beautiful boy with the soul- 
 stirring voice as her page. She thought of Mary Stuart 
 and Rizzio. She would have had this boy educated 
 and he might have become her knight no, he should 
 have been her troubadour. Ronald might have been 
 her knight. Ronald, swift of foot, with unerring eye 
 and muscles of steel. 
 
 Presently the people came pouring out of the church; 
 the bride in her white dress and veil; the bridegroom, 
 gawky and miserable in the unaccustomed splendor of 
 a store suit and white collar; the crowd of friends 
 in all they could muster of finery, and, conspicuous 
 among them for grace and beauty, the bride's brother, 
 Jacques. The luggers were loosed and starting down 
 stream, when, standing at the prow of his boat, he 
 looked up at Catherine and with a graceful, sweeping 
 motion, took off his hat and smiled at her. Smilingly, 
 she returned his salutation. 
 
 " He are mighty bold and sassy, that Jacques Lir- 
 ette! " Marcelline grumbled. 
 
 Ronald's voice, close beside her, asked: " Was that 
 impudent Jacques Lirette bowing to you? " 
 
 " I suppose so," Catherine replied. 
 
 " Where did you ever meet him? "
 
 66 THE GRINDING 
 
 " I never met him," she acknowledged, feeling unac- 
 countably guilty. "I thought every one bowed to 
 every one in the country." 
 
 "They do when they meet on the high road, but 
 he knows better than to bow that way across the 
 bayou. It was bold and familiar of him." 
 
 She felt an inclination to laugh at such hair-split- 
 ting. If Jacques Lirette could bow to her on the 
 high road, why must he not bow on the bayou? It 
 seemed too foolish; but she merely said, " I thought 
 you were at the sugar house." 
 
 " I was, but had to come over for some papers." 
 They walked together toward the gate. Now and then 
 he steadied her as she stepped cautiously, fearing to 
 twist her ankle. " You ought to have some sensible 
 shoes and clothes," he said. " Such things aren't ap- 
 propriate for the country." 
 
 She glanced down at the opera cloak in which she 
 was enveloped. " I do look like a Mardi Gras," she 
 acknowledged. It seemed to her he might have said 
 something pleasant. He might have told her she looked 
 pretty, anyway, in spite of her fantastic costume. In 
 other days he would have done so, but now he walked 
 along in silence. And yet she felt a secret amusement 
 at his perverse mood, as she considered it. In spite 
 of his flaunting independence, his ostentatious pulling 
 away from her influence, he was not indifferent to her. 
 He was jealous of that Cajan boy! There might be 
 some amusement, after all, she reflected, even at this 
 last end of the world.
 
 THE GRINDING 67 
 
 " Ronald," she said as they walked toward the gate, 
 " I was building castles in the air. I was thinking, if 
 I had lived in other days and had been a queen, I'd 
 have chosen you to be my knight." 
 
 "Me! " he ejaculated. "You would have chosen 
 me? " His face flushed, and she felt a twinge of con- 
 science at having told him a half-truth. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " you were born to be a knight." 
 Her velvety eyes looked marvelously soft and gentle 
 as she smiled up at him, and moved by an overmaster- 
 ing impulse, he stooped and kissed her. Instantly, 
 he regretted the act, realizing that this was the very 
 mood he must avoid and resolving it should be the 
 last time he forgot his determination. 
 
 " Excuse the intrusion," called a laughing voice, and 
 Belle Snively leaned out of the great red car from 
 Gold Mine which, unperceived, had glided up to the 
 gate. 
 
 " Belle Snively! " Catherine ejaculated and the two 
 were clasped in each others' arms. For the moment, it 
 seemed to Catherine that they had loved each other. 
 Then, as Belle looked curiously at her, and Catherine 
 became conscious of her scrutiny, she remembered she 
 had never liked Belle very well; that she had chosen 
 her to be one of her Maids out of caprice and to tease 
 Angelina Home who coveted the honor; and that her 
 prying, intrusive assistance had made those last days 
 in the city doubly hard. 
 
 " I want you both to meet my friends, Mrs. and 
 Miss Blaise; your near neighbors," Belle ran on, and
 
 68 THE GRINDING 
 
 her companions murmured, " Pleased to meet you," 
 while they examined Catherine from head to foot. 
 " I'm here just for the week end," Belle explained, 
 " or I'd come to see you. But we're simply rushed 
 to death. We're on our way to Bergerac now. Isn't 
 this just the most adorable country? We're going to 
 lunch at the cunningest, little, old hotel with Pierre 
 Poisson he's just as odd and original as he can be. 
 Well, bye-bye, Catherine, we'll come to see you the 
 next time I'm out here. Oh," with a restraining mo- 
 tion to the chauffeur as the car gave a premonitory 
 jerk, " Modesta had a letter from Adolphus Banks the 
 other day. He's having a wonderful time in Washing- 
 ton, but he hasn't forgotten his New Orleans friends. 
 He may come down for a vacation and if he does, he's 
 coming out here didn't he say so, Modesta? " 
 
 " He asked if he could," she replied, the while her 
 eyes were furtively taking account of Ronald's fine 
 physique, his haughtily poised head, and his general 
 air of distinction. 
 
 " He asked after you, Catherine," Belle added, but 
 with the manner of one who is keeping something 
 back. " He wanted to know how you were getting 
 along, and all that, you know. Well, bye-bye." 
 
 As the car started, Miss Blaise leaned out and said, 
 " I'm coming to see you very soon, Miss Maine. I 
 won't wait for Belle." 
 
 Catherine and Ronald stood in the open gate looking 
 after them. They were apparently laughing, and Belle, 
 looking back, waved her hand.
 
 THE GRINDING 69 
 
 " She's pretty," Ronald observed. " You may find 
 her companionable." 
 
 " That Blaise girl? Oh, Ronald! " with a deprecat- 
 ing little laugh. 
 
 " She's certainly pretty," he repeated. 
 
 " Pretty? " she mocked, secretly annoyed. Within 
 her own soul, she could not deny that the girl was 
 pretty; perhaps even unusually so. But she who had 
 never abdicated and had never brooked a rival, was 
 now playing the part she had assigned to Ronald. She 
 was jealous. " Since when have you admired paint 
 so much? " she inquired. 
 
 " Since I saw it so skillfully used by Miss Blaise; 
 if, as you seem to imply, she was painted." 
 
 " 'If,' " Catherine repeated, " didn't you see it? " 
 
 " I saw she was quite fresh and rosy, and altogether 
 a charmingly innocent-looking young girl." 
 
 " Doubtless, a reigning belle in the city of Ber- 
 gerac," Catherine agreed. 
 
 " Doubtless. You two will be rivals " 
 
 " I think not," she retorted. " I hardly think that an 
 overseer's daughter and I are very likely to be rivals." 
 
 " Her father is the owner of Gold Mine not the 
 overseer," Ronald corrected. " You both have youth 
 and beauty " 
 
 But Catherine was not to be so easily placated. 
 " You forget," she reminded him, " that her grand- 
 father was overseer at Esperance and stole half of the 
 plantation or am I mistaken? Wasn't it her grand- 
 father? "
 
 70 THE GRINDING 
 
 " If the servants' gossip is correct," he replied, " it 
 was her grandfather who beat your grandfather at a 
 game of cards and won half of Esperance. But that 
 is rather ancient history, isn't it? If you have no 
 more recent grievance than that " He stopped. 
 
 " I haven't," she observed with careful indifference, 
 " and perhaps you are right. Perhaps I may learn to 
 admire the overseer's daughter as much as you do " 
 
 " Or perhaps as much as if her father were a Cajan 
 fisherman? " he suggested. It was a chance shot, but 
 it struck home. 
 
 " Yes," she said over her shoulder as she walked 
 haughtily away, " if he is honest. I still prefer honest 
 people to thieves."
 
 IX 
 
 IF Ronald had shown any sign of penitence for his 
 part of the quarrel, Catherine would have met him 
 half way, for, in her intense loneliness and need of 
 companionship, she preferred peace to war. But 
 Ronald had been too deeply and too often wounded to 
 find it easy to forgive. Furthermore, the very fact 
 that he loved her with the devotion of a lifetime, made 
 it impossible for him to overlook her facile vanity 
 that was willing to accept homage from every chance 
 comer. Haughty and exclusive in her social inter- 
 course, she had the true siren instinct which tried to 
 enslave others while holding herself absolutely free. 
 Less easily aroused than she, he was slower to forgive, 
 and the pride inherited from a long line of ancestors 
 showed in his face and bearing. Inordinately proud 
 herself, she felt something like fear of his nature which 
 added to all its other sources the unyielding pride of 
 poverty. Feeling that no one but Fergus cared for 
 her now, she found solace in scorning and hating " the 
 Blaise girl " whole-heartedly. 
 
 The atmosphere was in this turbid state when, one 
 day, Miss Blaise, fair as a lily, and dressed in the 
 most stylish of riding habits, rode up to the gate of 
 Esperance, and Ronald, appearing from somewhere, 
 
 71
 
 72 THE GRINDING 
 
 walked along the driveway with his hand on her 
 horse's shoulder. Catherine saw the flash of his white 
 teeth as he looked smilingly up at the girl's face and 
 without considering the unwisdom of the act, flew up- 
 stairs and hid. From where she was crouching in 
 the semi-darkness, she heard their voices Miss 
 Blaise's, thin, nasal, the proverbial " American voice "; 
 Ronald's, mellow and cultured. 
 
 "And he can like a girl with a voice like that! " 
 Catherine thought scornfully. 
 
 Presently there was an opening and shutting of doors 
 as Marcelline made her slow way from room to room. 
 Toilsomely, she climbed the stairs, and Catherine felt 
 the terror that assails little children when they are 
 playing hide and seek. 
 
 " She sha'n't find me," she thought, and crouched 
 lower behind the boxes that half filled the closet. 
 
 The door opened and Marcelline's face peered in, 
 screwed up to enable her to penetrate the dark recesses; 
 finally she turned away and Catherine heaved a sigh 
 of relief. After a time, she knew by the sounds that 
 the two were on their way to the gate; so, stealing from 
 her hiding place she ran softly down stairs where, to 
 her discomfiture, she found Marcelline waiting in the 
 hall. 
 
 " She say she mighty sorry you wa'n't to home," 
 the old woman reported, then, glancing at the top of 
 her mistress's head, she added, " I ben layin' off to 
 make Pidgeon cobweb that upstairs dark closet too long 
 to talk about."
 
 THE GRINDING 73 
 
 Involuntarily, Catherine raised her hand to the top 
 of her head (which was draped with a cobweb mantilla) 
 and Marcelline, apparently ignoring the gesture, turned 
 and walked away with the erect and stately carriage of 
 a peasant who, all her life, has borne burdens on her 
 head. She perceived her mistress's dislike of Modesta 
 Blaise and felt a sympathy she dared not express. 
 
 The bleak, wintry weather continued, and Catherine, 
 insufficiently clad, suffered from a succession of colds. 
 Her lack of executive ability was so manifest that only 
 Fergus could be blind to it; but, while Ronald saw 
 and deplored it, he often longed to take her in his 
 arms and shield her from her own follies. But this 
 mood he was careful never to betray. 
 
 " She should provide herself with proper clothing," 
 he said to Fergus one day after she had sneezed miser- 
 ably all through dinner. 
 
 " She can't get ' proper clothing '," Fergus reminded 
 him. 
 
 " Then she should marry her successful and disin- 
 terested suitor, Adolphus Banks." 
 
 " Do you wish her to do so? " Fergus asked. 
 
 " Yes," Ronald answered after a brief hesitation, 
 " I wish she would." And he did not explain that, 
 until she was actually married he could never fully rid 
 himself of a feeling of suspense in regard to her. 
 
 " Do you think he would make her a good hus- 
 band? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then why do you wish her to marry him? "
 
 74 THE GRINDING 
 
 They looked a moment at each other and then Ron- 
 ald said, " I confess, it is a selfish reason." 
 
 " I see," said Fergus and resumed his writing (they 
 were in their dingy little office at the sugar house); 
 presently he paused and said, " I believe you are crip- 
 pling your future by remaining here." 
 
 " For the present," Ronald replied, " I have no 
 future except with you. I wish no other." 
 
 "And my duty keeps me here," Fergus observed. 
 " It is a debt of honor I owe to my father to take 
 care of Catherine." He said no more, but as he spoke, 
 it occurred to Ronald that he too owed a debt of 
 honor and that he was not discharging it by remaining 
 in his present attitude of mind. He must regain the 
 moral balance which he had temporarily lost. 
 
 While this conversation was taking place, Catherine 
 was writing a letter to Adolphus Banks. She had 
 begun a dozen and torn them up. What should she 
 say? She could not acknowledge that she had ac- 
 cepted him merely to annoy Ronald, neither (it seemed 
 to her) could she confess that, stung by his silence, 
 she had drifted, because, for her, he no longer existed. 
 Seated in a corner of the high-backed wooden settle 
 close to the fire, yet shivering with cold, she read- 
 justed her writing materials and thoughtfully bit the 
 end of her penholder. 
 
 Half hidden behind the load of wood he held clasped 
 in both arms, Pidgeon entered. With a jerk of the 
 head, he tossed his cap on to the floor and, tip-toeing 
 from the dining-room door, dropped the wood with a
 
 THE GRINDING 75 
 
 thunderous noise into the box beside the fireplace; 
 then, straightening himself, brushed the dust from his 
 sleeves and said, " Will I chunk the fire and put on a 
 log, Miss Catrine? " 
 
 She regarded his short, square figure which seemed 
 to grow bunchier as the days went by, and noticed 
 how frozen his hands looked. A few weeks ago, before 
 she herself had known what it was to feel pinched with 
 cold, she would not have noticed his suffering. " Yes, 
 Pidgeon," she said, " you may as well. It's very cold, 
 isn't it? Are you cold? " 
 
 " Yas'm, Miss Catrine," he replied, standing at at- 
 tention with the poker in his hand, " I sure is." 
 
 " Are you warmly enough dressed? " 
 
 "No, Ma'am, I isn't; but I has on everything they 
 is. I has on two coats an' three pairs of pants. I has 
 on mines, an' Hezekiah's an' Theophiles', an' they is 
 stayin' in bed whiles I wuks." 
 
 " Oh," she said gently, " That's hard." 
 
 " Yas'm," he agreed cheerfully, " but my maw say 
 we cain't expec' to walk on flower beds of ease; an' 
 neither we cain't, Miss Catrine." 
 
 " Were you christened, Pidgeon? " she asked. " Is 
 it your real name? " 
 
 " No, Ma'am," he replied emphatically, standing 
 with chest and stomach rounded out like the breast of 
 a pouter pidgeon, " my for true name are Hilerion 
 Aurestille Pichoff, but they calls me Pidgeon for short." 
 
 " Oh," said Catherine and resumed her writing. 
 
 He " chunked " the fire, then, rising to his feet,
 
 76 THE GRINDING 
 
 announced as if he had just learned the fact, " Miss 
 Catrine, M'sieur Jacques Lirette have brang you some 
 bird, an' he say, mout he see you a minute." 
 
 She was saved the necessity of answering, for 
 Jacques now spoke from the dining room door. " Mees 
 Catrine," he said, coming into the hall, " Mr. Fergus 
 tole me you would like some bird. I shot some, soon 
 this mornin' for you, an' here they is." He held up a 
 bunch of birds for her to see, then, with an authorita- 
 tive gesture, motioned Pidgeon to carry them away. 
 
 " You are very kind," she said. " It must have been 
 cold so early in the morning." 
 
 "Cold, yes;" he replied, "but beautiful. There 
 were such a frost, Mees Catrine, my pirogue cut 
 through the hice. An' deep in the swamp, there were 
 some pink flower, all in hice, like glass. I wished I 
 could 'ave bring them to you." 
 
 She looked up at the beautiful boy standing there in 
 the firelight, his face radiant at the thought of the 
 ice-encased flowers. Seen from a distance, he had 
 seemed to her the most graceful creature she had ever 
 seen, but, at the same time, she suspected that he would 
 not bear nearer inspection. Now, at close range, she 
 was almost disconcerted by his lustrous eyes, the rich, 
 soft coloring of hair and skin, the purity and delicacy 
 of feature. Where did he get such beauty, she won- 
 dered. And looking up at him, and listening to his 
 soft, foreign voice, she endowed him with all the poetry 
 and tragedy of his race: the Acadians Evangeline's 
 people. These thoughts flashed through her mind,
 
 THE GRINDING 77 
 
 and, meanwhile, he stood, with the unembarrassed ease 
 and grace of the Creole, waiting to be dismissed or re- 
 tained at her pleasure. She chose the latter. 
 
 " They were in a case of ice, did you say? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " an' they shined like like " 
 (He searched his mind for a comparison.) "like the 
 clouds when the sun are risin'." 
 
 " What kind of flowers were they? " she asked. 
 
 " I don't know," he answered musingly. " I never 
 seen none like them before." 
 
 (Oh, Catherine, Catherine, what should you have 
 thought of those double negatives if uttered by Mod- 
 esta Blaise? Coming from him, they seemed only 
 quaint and foreign.) " I'd love to see them," she ex- 
 claimed impulsively. 
 
 After an imperceptible hesitation, in which his eyes 
 searched her face, he went on, " They was growin' to 
 the yuther aidge of the swamp, an' I push my pirogue 
 through a long, narrer stream, like a bayou, in the 
 hiddenes' heart of the swamp, where the trees bend 
 over an' the green light shine soft an' dim like they 
 was a mist, an' right there, when I wan't lookin' fer 
 flowers, there was the blossoms, shinin' through the 
 hice." His face wore an inspired expression as he re- 
 called the scene, and watching him, she unconsciously 
 reflected his look. " An' there was birds' nesses," he 
 went on. 
 
 " What kind of birds? " she asked, moving a little so 
 as to look at him more at her ease. The truth was, 
 her cold had given her a stiff neck, but the boy, not
 
 78 THE GRINDING 
 
 knowing this, and taking her change of position as a 
 tacit invitation, seated himself beside her. She felt 
 an instant's constraint at the situation that he, the 
 fisherman's boy, should be sitting beside her, Catherine 
 Maine, then, yielding to his charm, she gave herself 
 up to the pleasure of having someone to talk to. Some- 
 one who was neither admonishing nor scolding her, who 
 was young and attractive. Fergus was away all day 
 and absorbed in his writing in the evening; Ronald 
 was always constrained with her; Miss Victorine, Mar- 
 celline, these were the dramatis personse of her pres- 
 ent life. Why should she not talk with this 
 chance comer? It was a moment's diversion. A law 
 to herself, she dismissed the fear of possible ill con- 
 sequences and gave herself up to the pleasure of the 
 moment. 
 
 " I reckon you'd love them swamps," he said, lean- 
 ing back in the firelight as gracefully carefree as the 
 immortal gods. " The pirogue move along without 
 makin' no noise an' you hears the- birds a-callin'. 
 Everything's pretty what God have made; even the 
 snakes. Tain't their fault they is snakes; they cain't 
 help it; an' they is pretty too if you keeps from hatin' 
 them. I wonder why people hates anything what 
 lives," he mused, looking at the fire. " But I reckon 
 everybody loves flowers an' some folks seems just 
 like flowers. You cain't help lovin' them. It ain't 
 no use tryin'." He raised his eyes from the fire and 
 regarded her, with a soft, caressing look. "And 
 birds," he said, " is like that. You loves them, an' yet
 
 THE GRINDING 79 
 
 you kills them same as you picks a flower an' lets 
 it wither." 
 
 " You ought not to kill them if you feel that way," 
 she commented. " It's too painful." 
 
 " It didn't pain me none," he replied. " I killed 
 them same's I'd pick them flower fer you. It seem 
 like they belong to you an' they had a right to die, 
 ef you want them." 
 
 She looked dreamily into the fire. Lulled by the 
 music of his voice, she scarcely followed his words 
 until she was roused by a change of tone. With a 
 rippling laugh, as merry as a child's he said, " An' you 
 doesn't even know how to cook them! When is you 
 goin' to learn? Women has to work same's men, out 
 in the kentry. I'm skeered your ole man'll beat you 
 good an' plenty, when you gits married." 
 
 " What? " she ejaculated, scarcely crediting her hear- 
 ing. 
 
 " Yes," he continued meditatively, " when girls is 
 triflin', it goes hard when they gits married. 'Tain't 
 good to be too lazy. But," returning to his soft, allur- 
 ing tone, " I reckon some folks ain't made to work no 
 more than a mockin'-bird are made to haul a plow." 
 He smiled at her with that brilliant, lovable look. He 
 had meant no harm. His beauty disarmed her. 
 
 The door opened and Ronald came in bringing a 
 gust of cold air and a dash of rain from out of doors. 
 As he came up the walk, his head bent to shield him- 
 self from the storm, he was thinking of what he would 
 say to Catherine what he had come home early to
 
 80 THE GRINDING 
 
 say. He would forgive the past forget it as far as 
 was consistent with safety. There should be peace and 
 not quarreling in the home. He would forgive the 
 public affront she had put upon him by accepting 
 Adolphus Banks. He would even believe that she had 
 done it thoughtlessly without fully understanding the 
 circumstances poor, headstrong child that she was. 
 He knew that she was keenly disappointed at his re- 
 fusal to stay and see her as queen. And she had 
 never been able to bear disappointment, or pain of 
 any kind. And he would accept the position of friend 
 never again of lover since that was all she could 
 give him. 
 
 Then he opened the door, and a wave of indignation 
 swept over him as he saw her sitting there in the 
 firelight with the Cajan boy beside her. So this was 
 what she was doing while Fergus and he toiled in the 
 frost and rain! Dawdling away her time with this 
 fisherman's boy, whose beauty had attracted her notice. 
 It was unbelievable! Now had come the supreme 
 test. Either he must be strong enough to control him- 
 self or he must give up what he considered his duty, 
 and abandon Fergus in his struggle for a livelihood. 
 
 With perfect deliberation, he hung up his hat and 
 overcoat, and came forward to the fire. 
 
 Catherine searched his face for a trace of the anger 
 which she expected, but there was no sign of it as he 
 stretched out his hands to the blaze and said, " It's 
 penetratingly cold. Did you come in your boat, 
 Lirette? "
 
 THE GRINDING 81 
 
 " No, Mr. Ronal'," the boy replied, rising and speak- 
 ing deferentially. " I come on my pony." 
 
 Catherine also rose, and saying, " I have been much 
 interested in what you told me of the swamps," with- 
 drew to her room. Here she stood listening to their 
 voices. What were they talking so long about, she 
 wondered. She could not distinguish their words. 
 Could it be that Ronald was actually indifferent to 
 what she had done? She wished he had been angry. 
 
 She thought of their conversation when she told him 
 that he should have been her knight. Her knight? 
 No! Modesta Blaise's knight. And Jacques Lirette 
 was to have been her troubadour. No ! Her fool who 
 had come and spoken cruel truths to her.
 
 X 
 
 THAT evening Fergus remonstrated with Catherine. 
 They were sitting together at a table drawn close 
 to the hall fireplace. He was writing, she was playing 
 solitaire. It was cold; that bitter, penetrating cold of 
 a semi-tropical climate. Laying down her cards, she 
 wrapped her hands in her chiffon scarf and watched 
 Fergus. She wished she could absorb herself in writ- 
 ing; or that she were free to go around as Ronald did. 
 Certainly if she were, she would not seek companion- 
 ship among those deadly-dull Blaises at Gold Mine. 
 At the Settlement, perhaps ; it might be quaint and in- 
 teresting, just to see how such people lived. She 
 wished she could go around and peep into windows 
 and see what people were doing to pass the time; or 
 disguise herself and prowl around like Haroun-al- 
 Raschid. Or have a magic carpet on which she could 
 sail away anywhere she liked. But she'd have to have 
 a cap of darkness to make herself invisible, otherwise, 
 people would see that queer, square thing flying over- 
 head and shoot at it, or gather in crowds to watch 
 her when she landed. That idea was so unpleasant 
 that she decided she'd rather have a wishing ring than 
 a magic carpet. Then she would make herself in- 
 
 82
 
 THE GRINDING 83 
 
 visible, and wish she were where should she wish to 
 go first? 
 
 She had reached this point in her reflections, when 
 Fergus looked up from his writing, disturbed by the 
 rattling of the casement. Through the uncurtained 
 window, he could see the garden bathed in brilliant 
 moonlight. A " black frost " was spreading devasta- 
 tion and his wan face looked even more than usually 
 anxious. " I hope it won't hurt the cane," he said, not 
 knowing that, at this season, after the grinding and 
 before the new crop had sprouted, the frost would do 
 no harm. 
 
 The life of the sugar planter is a perpetual oscilla- 
 tion between hope and fear. If the sugar cane the 
 staple product of that part of Louisiana succeeds, he 
 is well paid for his eleven months of toil and anxiety; 
 but, in addition to the farmer's inborn distrust of 
 providence and certainty that the weather is on the 
 point of doing the wrong thing, the sugar planter has 
 the constant fear of political complications that will 
 rob him of his legitimate profits. 
 
 Catherine looked across at him and her heart swelled 
 within her. So refined, so gentle; plain but so lovable, 
 she thought. So emphatically a city man and exiled to 
 this remote country. For the thousandth time she 
 wondered if there were no other way of retrieving their 
 fortunes than by staying in this desolate place where 
 all the forces of nature seemed hostile. 
 
 " Fergus," she said, " what is it you're writing? " 
 
 He looked at her with a deprecating expression in
 
 84 THE GRINDING 
 
 his brown eyes. "I suppose I'm foolish," he said, 
 " but I'm trying to rewrite some of my manuscript 
 from memory." 
 
 " And what are those little pictures? " she asked, 
 leaning forward to look at the page upside down. 
 " That looks like a rose." 
 
 " Oh," he exclaimed with a smile, " do you recog- 
 nize it? Then I am more successful than I feared." 
 
 " I thought your book was about coins. Is it bot- 
 any? " 
 
 " Oh, no. Do you recognize this other picture? " 
 
 " A bird, isn't it? " 
 
 " No." He turned the manuscript around for her 
 to see, " What does it look like? " 
 
 " Oh, I see. It's a fly. I didn't know you could 
 draw so well." 
 
 " It's a honey-fly: a bee." 
 
 " Botany and zoology! " she exclaimed. " How in- 
 teresting that is, Fergus. You're perfectly wonderful 
 to be writing that." 
 
 " No, no, it isn't botany or zoology," he explained. 
 " It's on numismatics, and the bee was the emblem of 
 the coins of Ephesus, and the rose of those of Rhodes." 
 
 " How interesting! " she said, but with flagging en- 
 thusiasm. " Did you ever receive that coin of Mith- 
 ridates you ordered? " 
 
 "Yes; the day after the failure." He turned the 
 manuscript back and resumed his writing. Evidently, 
 it was painful to him to think of the lost collection. 
 Perhaps he regretted the sums spent in gathering it
 
 THE GRINDING 85 
 
 together. It had been his pet hobby; even dearer to 
 him than his rare woodcuts. 
 
 He took off his glasses, breathed on them and wip- 
 ing them carefully, held them up to the light to see if 
 they were clear, then put them on and smiled at her. 
 " I thought they were misty," he said, " but I believe 
 it's the poor light." After a pause, in which he glanced 
 back at the page he had just finished, he said, " Cathie, 
 Ronald told Jacques Lirette you were engaged." 
 
 Blushing furiously, she asked, " What right had he 
 to do that? " 
 
 " The right of affection," he answered slowly. 
 
 " ' Affection '! " she repeated scornfully. " Lots of 
 affection he has for me! " and she laughed bitterly. 
 
 " Yes, he has ' lots of affection ' for you," Fergus 
 repeated, " and because he feared you were drifting into 
 a dangerous situation, he interfered." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me," she demanded, " that he 
 didn't do that out of temper? He came prancing in 
 out of the rain and marched up and told that boy I 
 was engaged! Did you ever hear anything as crude 
 as that? " 
 
 " It wasn't quite that way," Fergus replied. " He 
 had occasion to ask the boy to attend to some matters 
 for us at Bergerac and, in the course of the conversa- 
 tion, casually mentioned that you were engaged." 
 
 " Of all preposterous things," she murmured, lean- 
 ing her elbows on the table and burying her face in 
 her scarf. " In the course of a business conversation 
 with a stranger he tells him I am engaged! I'd like
 
 86 THE GRINDING 
 
 to know what business it was of Jacques Lirette's." 
 
 " Ronald feared he might make it his business. 
 That he might misinterpret your condescension " 
 (he hesitated and searched for the word) " and become 
 presumptuous." 
 
 "What crazy nonsense! " she ejaculated, emerging 
 from behind the scarf. " Not yours, Fergus, but Ron- 
 old's. He might know I could manage my own affairs 
 without any interference from him. He's cross because 
 I don't want to know that horrid Blaise girl that he 
 admires so much. Why, Fergus, she's just an ordi- 
 nary overseer's daughter, with just a little prettiness 
 (this she acknowledged grudgingly) . We'd never have 
 known of her existence, under ordinary circumstances, 
 and here's Ronald behaving as if she were Mary Queen 
 of Scots herself. She's a billion times commoner than 
 Jacques Lirette. He doesn't pretend to be anything 
 but a fisherman's boy; and she puts on the airs of a 
 Rockefeller, with her stolen money. I told Ronald " 
 
 " I know," Fergus gently interrupted, reaching across 
 the table to clasp her ice-cold fingers, " and when once 
 we get at cross purposes it's hard to become recon- 
 ciled. We see everything from opposite angles. But 
 you're misjudging Ronald. It grieves him to see you 
 insufficiently clad and with shabby, inappropriate 
 shoes." 
 
 " Oh, he's been discussing my wardrobe, has he? " 
 she cried hotly. " It's true, I can't be as magnificent 
 as that Blaise girl. She outshines the Queen of 
 Sheba."
 
 THE GRINDING 87 
 
 " We mustn't quarrel, Cathie dear," he remonstrated 
 in his gentle tone, ignoring her fling at Modesta; 
 " there isn't room in our home for anger and hatred, 
 is there, little sister? " 
 
 " Oh, Fergus," she exclaimed, " you are so good and 
 we are so bad. I will try for your sake to be friends 
 with Ronald not that he deserves it." 
 
 When she had gone to her room, she looked through 
 her wardrobe. With the exception of the one tailored 
 suit which she had worn from the city, there were no 
 street dresses; nothing, in fact, but the discarded even- 
 ing gowns, wraps, and so on, of the year before. Dis- 
 missing from her mind a fleeting anger against those 
 who must have appropriated this year's wardrobe, she 
 determined to consult Marcelline on the subject of a 
 dressmaker; for, truth to tell, it hurt her keenly to be 
 shabbily dressed. She had always been over-fastid- 
 ious, and had doubtless prided herself on that fact. 
 
 The old woman was stirring something in a great 
 iron pot as Catherine appeared at the kitchen door the 
 following morning, a rose-colored chiffon hanging over 
 one arm and trailing on the floor. 
 
 " Marcelline," she began, " I've grown so thin my 
 clothes wrap twice around me." 
 
 " Yas'm," Marcelline politely agreed, " me an' Sis 
 Rose was makin' mirations 'bout that, no longer ago'n 
 yestiddy. You ain't nothin' but a little frame." 
 
 " Can I get this made over, out here, do you think? 
 How do people get things in the country? " 
 
 " Miss Delicia are right handy."
 
 88 THE GRINDING 
 
 "Miss Delicia! How does she know anything 
 about styles way out here? " 
 
 " Styles? " Marcelline rested her hands on her pon- 
 derous hips and gazed doubtfully at Catherine. 
 " She'd oughter know," she said. 
 
 " And you think she could make this over? " Cath- 
 erine repeated. 
 
 " God willin', she'll fix it all right," Marcelline re- 
 plied. " An' as fur style, everything is style out here. 
 You watch them ladies goin' into the chu'ch; no two is 
 dress alike but all is in style." 
 
 And so it came about that Catherine went to see 
 Miss Delicia. As she laid her hand on the gate she 
 discovered the priest's portly form on the gallery. He 
 rose at once and came down the path to meet her, his 
 round, jovial face wreathed in welcoming smiles. 
 
 " It is a pleasure to welcome you, Mees Catrine," he 
 said, offering her a chair on the sheltered gallery. " I 
 have talk' very often with Mr. Maine an' Mr. RonaP, 
 an' I have promise' myself the pleasure to pay my 
 respect very soon at Esperance. It is my seester you 
 desire to see? O-h, Delicia! Mees Catrine desire to 
 spik with you." 
 
 There was a sound of scurrying inside the house and, 
 a moment later, a shrill voice answered from the ex- 
 treme rear. 
 
 " I fear Miss Delicia is busy," said Catherine, re- 
 calling the note of exasperation in the voice. 
 
 " Ah, bah," he replied airily. " You figure that to 
 yourself from her voice. She 'ave the himpatient
 
 THE GRINDING 89 
 
 voice, my seester Delicia, but loud hollering don't mean 
 nothing in this house." 
 
 " Then I will wait," said Catherine, seating herself. 
 " What lovely ferns you have," lifting a delicate, lace- 
 like leaf. " How exquisite it is. Of what variety is 
 it?" 
 
 " Not mine," he disclaimed. " I ignore the house 
 plant. They belong to my seester. For me, I prefer 
 the vegetable to flower. An onion, for example is beau- 
 tiful, and" 
 
 A hot tongue licked her hand and with a violent 
 start she turned, expecting to see a dog. A pig stood 
 beside her gazing up into her face. She recoiled with 
 a startled cry, and Pere Ignace called, " Va-t-en, Tob- 
 ias! " Then, in a tone of surprise, " You do not like 
 the pigs? " 
 
 " I was never so near one before," she answered, 
 watching the creature distrustfully. 
 
 " They are very intelligent," he assured her, " and 
 very affectionate. Now I will mek him beg pardon 
 for the liberty of embracing your hand. Ask pardon 
 at Mees Catrine, Tobias," he admonished. 
 
 Tobias bent his front legs and knelt after a fashion. 
 Pere Ignace reached among the flower pots and found 
 a chip of wood with which he gently scratched the pig's 
 head and back. " Now, Tobias," he said, " sing for 
 Mees Catrine." 
 
 The pig demurred. 
 
 " Sing, Tobias," Pere Ignace commanded. " Do, re, 
 mi, fa; sing! "
 
 90 THE GRINDING 
 
 The pig grunted. 
 
 " You are not in good voice? I will give you some 
 corn bread if you sing." 
 
 Whether Tobias understood the promise or not, he 
 suddenly lifted up his voice in a succession of the 
 most amazing and ear-splitting squeals. 
 
 Pere Ignace laughed until his bright, red-brown eyes 
 were watery crescents, and Catherine laughed too, 
 until she was wiping her eyes. 
 
 " You would think there was a boucherie here, 
 hein? " he asked as the pig became suddenly quiet. 
 Pere Ignace had a small, droll mouth with regular, well- 
 shaped teeth stained with tobacco. Somehow, those 
 yellowish teeth added an extra touch of drollery to 
 the face. " Now, once more, Tobias," he requested. 
 " One more aria and then a scherzo to finish and you 
 shall have your corn bread." 
 
 Tobias squealed until it made Catherine's head ring. 
 When he stopped, Pere Ignace went to the open door 
 and called, " Send me some corn bread, Delicia." 
 
 There was a shrill reply from the rear, and Pere 
 Ignace expostulated, " Oh, Delicia! Jus' a little piece. 
 I have promise'." 
 
 Another retort, and Pere Ignace repeated, " Oh, De- 
 licia! Please! For me, then. I ate little breakfas'; 
 it is not a fast day. Send me a little piece." 
 
 A small, inky-black, barefoot girl appeared, carry- 
 ing a plate on which lay one small piece of corn 
 bread. 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu! " Pere Ignace ejaculated as he re-
 
 THE GRINDING 91 
 
 ceived it, " there is not enough for you an' me. Tobias, 
 I mus' deny myself." 
 
 " How does he happen to be named Tobias? " Cath- 
 erine asked as Pere Ignace once more seated himself. 
 " I thought Ananias said all pigs were called Chuney." 
 
 He shot a glance of infinite mischief at her as he 
 answered, " Tobias is name' in honor of a neighbor. 
 But it is a resemblance! Look him in his face. It is 
 to marvel! " 
 
 There was a stir among the plants close by Cath- 
 erine's left hand and turning she saw the face of a 
 horse, reaching with long, flexible lips toward the ferns. 
 Instantly, as she turned, the animal's face assumed an 
 indescribable malevolence of expression; the ears were 
 laid close to the neck, the lips were drawn back and 
 the great, square teeth grinned hideously. 
 
 "Cauchemar! " Pere Ignace shouted, and with a 
 snort the creature whirled and dashed around the cor- 
 ner of the house. " Guard thyself, Delicia," Pere Ig- 
 nace called to the invisible person within doors. 
 " Cauchemar have escape'. Call Gaston to catch her." 
 
 "It startled me at first," said Catherine, "but I 
 don't suppose it would have hurt me." 
 
 " But yes," he replied, " with all her heart she would 
 have hurt you. She will do her possible for mischief." 
 
 " She is vicious? " 
 
 " Her temper is of the worst. She have every vice 
 and no virtue." He smiled jovially. " As you ob- 
 serve, she is as ugly as the seven deadly sins and her 
 character resemble her appearance."
 
 92 THE GRINDING 
 
 " Where did you buy her? " 
 
 " I did not buy her; no. I am not so poor a trader." 
 His sides shook with laughter. " M'sieur Tobias 
 Blaise present her to the church as an Easter h-offer- 
 ing. It is an old saying: ' What is bought is cheaper 
 than a gift '." 
 
 " Are you not afraid of her? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " Undoubtedly; but, by good fortune, she is also 
 afraid of me. Our hintercourse is a reign of terror." 
 
 " I'd sell her," Catherine declared positively. 
 
 The laughing eyes regarded her quizzically, and she 
 interpreted their unspoken question. " That's true," 
 she corrected herself, "you couldn't. Nobody'd buy 
 her. Why don't you give her away? " 
 
 " I have no friend whose death I desire." 
 
 " She seems to be a fast animal," Catherine ob- 
 served. 
 
 " At times," he replied, " she is very fast. But 
 excessively fast. It is now three, four month she mek 
 a record for rapidity. I have a call down Bayou 
 Blanc; she prefer to promenade herself in the cane 
 field of M'sieur Tobias Blaise; I recommend her to 
 read the sign, everywhere posted: ' The Public is de- 
 fended to eat the canes under penalty of the law.' She 
 still proceed into the canes. I hinform her we mus' 
 hasten down Bayou Blanc. She stand and look back. 
 I beat her; she walk sideways. I continue to beat; 
 she continue to walk sideways; she creep; she stop an' 
 repose. I spik hasty to her. I renew to beat. I 
 have a pain of the arm. The musquitoes devour me.
 
 THE GRINDING 93 
 
 I wish her in " He made a motion with hands, 
 shoulder, head. A motion apologetic, objurgatory. 
 " Enfin" he explained, " I beat her all the way. At 
 las' we arrive. It is four hour we are on the road to 
 mek four mile. I tie her at the gate and enter to my 
 penitent. I remark a sound a tumult. The end 
 of her rope 'ang to the gate post, but no Cauchemar is 
 visible. Two mile up the Bayou I perceive a cloud 
 of dust. She consume four minute to mek four mile. 
 An' when I walk back, very weary, soak' with transpi- 
 ration, perishing of sunstroke, I discover her devour 
 the canes of M'sieur Blaise. Nex' day he come to 
 mek complaint that I 'ave allow her to eat his canes; 
 he wish to battle himself with me. I h-offer to restore 
 to him Cauchemar in payment of the cane she have 
 devour. He say no more. He retire in peace. Yes, 
 she is a fast animal if she wish." 
 
 Miss Delicia appeared at the door with apologies 
 for her delay. 
 
 She had evidently taken time to put on her best 
 dress, a marvelous garment, dotted over with small 
 white buttons that made her look as if she had been 
 caught in a hail storm. Her thin, reddish hair was so 
 tightly coiled and twisted at the back of her long, 
 narrow head that she seemed unable to close her eyes. 
 You wished to wink for her in looking at the inflamed 
 lids, strained so wide open that a rim of white was 
 visible all around the iris. 
 
 Catherine explained her errand and went inside 
 where, to the discomfiture of all concerned, she dis-
 
 94 THE GRINDING 
 
 covered Miss Victorine snatching up a bundle on her 
 way to the back door from which she was evidently 
 planning to escape unseen. Catherine realized that she 
 had not treated Miss Victorine as kindly as she ought, 
 but, without betraying her secret embarrassment, she 
 stepped forward and cordially offered her hand. There 
 was an almost imperceptible reluctance on the part of 
 Miss Victorine, but she took it with a respectful, " Bon 
 jour, Mees Catrine," and Catherine had made peace 
 with her neighbor. 
 
 Miss Victorine had evidently been trying on a dress 
 which lay spread out on two chairs, and she was again 
 withdrawing when Catherine asked her if she would 
 not wait a moment so they could walk back together, 
 adding with outward grace but some inward reserva- 
 tions, " I am glad of the opportunity of becoming ac- 
 quainted with my neighbors in the country." 
 
 As they emerged, after the consultation with Miss 
 Delicia a consultation which concluded by Cath- 
 erine's saying she would buy calico from the peddler's 
 cart and have some more durable garments made than 
 those she had brought from the city Pere Ignace 
 rose from his capacious chair, laid his pipe on the edge 
 of the bench, and walked with them down the path. 
 
 "How pretty the church is," Catherine observed, 
 looking up at the tall, slender spire. " That is unus- 
 ually graceful, I think." 
 
 " So it appear to me," Pere Ignace agreed with evi- 
 dent gratification, " but, alas, it need repair." 
 
 " It is the fines' church in the parish," Miss Vic-
 
 THE GRINDING 95 
 
 torine announced with pride, " an' the oldes'. That 
 church was built by Nore Pinel, hein, Pere Ignace? " 
 
 "It is a tradition that the foundation were laid by 
 him," Pere Ignace replied with a flicker of amusement 
 in his eyes; "and if it please us to believe a tradi- 
 tion " (He raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, and made a gesture of inquiry with both hands.) 
 " Why not believe? " 
 
 With the natural grace and cordiality of the Creole, 
 he opened the gate, thanking Catherine for the honor 
 of a visit, and bidding them both a friendly bon soir. 
 
 As she turned toward the bridge, Catherine looked 
 back. He was leaning on the gate, smiling after them 
 and showing his shapely, yellow teeth.
 
 XI 
 
 ATHEKINE was born on the anniversary of Ron- 
 aid's birth, and the day had been annually cele- 
 brated with special rejoicings. Now, as the day ap- 
 proached, she resolved to prepare a great celebration. 
 Even in these desolate surroundings, it should be like 
 the old times of unconstrained happiness. She would 
 make him forget that, in a moment of perversity, be- 
 cause he would not (or perhaps could not) delay his 
 trip to Washington, she had wounded him so deeply. 
 The dead past should bury its dead. They would be 
 cheerful together once more, and when this year's crop 
 was made, and they had sold it for a phenomenal price, 
 they would all go away from Esperance forever. 
 
 With these thoughts in her mind, she made ready for 
 the birthday supper, planning, meantime, how, when 
 they were seated around the fire, they would talk things 
 over. She would ask him to have nothing to do with 
 those vulgar neighbors, because they were personally 
 so obnoxious to her that she did not wish to be thrown 
 with them. Of course, if it were necessary to have 
 business dealings with Mr. Blaise, that would be a 
 different matter. But she wished never to be brought 
 into personal contact with such persons. Then she 
 thought somewhat uneasily that, perhaps, he would 
 
 96
 
 THE GRINDING 97 
 
 ask her never to speak to Jacques Lirette again. She 
 half wished he would, for that would prove that he 
 was not quite indifferent to her actions. But she was 
 sure she could persuade him that what he was mis- 
 taking for a sentimental interest was merely a kindly 
 consideration, such as she entertained toward Miss 
 Victorine. 
 
 Here she paused. The explanation sounded uncon- 
 vincing. She would write it, very carefully, very dip- 
 lomatically, in a note which she would wrap up with 
 his birthday present. She rehearsed the wording to 
 herself, smiling softly, as she cut up her only remain- 
 ing linen blouse into handkerchiefs for Ronald, and 
 hemmed them as painstakingly as if her whole plan 
 depended on the length of her stitches. 
 
 On the morning of the momentous day she went 
 out and watched for the peddler's cart, for she was 
 going to surprise them with fruit as well as other 
 dainties; furthermore, Marcelline needed salt and that 
 too must be obtained from the cart. The keen wind 
 sweeping up the bayou tinted her cheeks a vivid car- 
 mine and transfigured her from the pale, listless Cath- 
 erine of the past few weeks. 
 
 The sound of rattling wheels became audible from 
 up the road and presently Miss Victorine appeared, 
 bouncing along in her jumper, accompanied by a pallid 
 mite of a boy. " Good morning, Mees Catrine," she 
 said, drawing rein, " It is your day of fete, is it not? 
 You will permit me to felicitate? " 
 
 " Thank you," Catherine replied cordially, but won-
 
 98 THE GRINDING 
 
 dering how Miss Victorine knew it was her birth- 
 day. 
 
 " Marcelline have commanded two dozen egg," the 
 old lady explained. "The hen do not lay so good 
 when it mek cold like to-day. But it is a time to kill 
 people with cold, hein? " 
 
 "Yes, it is cold," Catherine agreed, rubbing her 
 numb hands together. " Isn't the weather almost too 
 severe for such a little fellow to be out? " smiling up 
 at the puny face that looked pinched and blue, the tiny 
 nose scarlet and the black eyes swimming in frosty 
 tears. 
 
 " It ain't really so cold," Miss Victorine explained, 
 " but it penetrate. I would not have bring him, but 
 I have promise Mees Delicia it is many time already. 
 He are her godson." 
 
 " And what is your name, little man? " Catherine 
 asked. 
 
 The child's watery eyes rolled in her direction, but 
 he made no reply. 
 
 " Told the lady your name," Miss Victorine admon- 
 ished; then, as he still maintained silence, she answered 
 in his place, " He is name' Seraphin, but he are cair 
 Feesclay." 
 
 " ' Feesclay '," Catherine repeated in surprise. " Is 
 Feesclay a nickname for Seraphin? " 
 
 " But no," Miss Victorine replied, surprised in turn, 
 " it is no nick; it is a magic." 
 
 " A what? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " A magic. He have a rising a very bad rising.
 
 THE GRINDING 99 
 
 Two, three, possiblement more. See? " removing his 
 cap and showing the mark of a boil behind one ear. 
 " It is for that we call him Feesclay." 
 
 More and more bewildered, Catherine listened in 
 silence. 
 
 " You comprehend," Miss Victorine asserted; 
 " when nothing don't cure a risings, you call him Fees- 
 clay. Then it disappear. But we are scared to call 
 him Seraphin too quick. We will call him Feesclay 
 until all the marks has went away." 
 
 " Miss Victorine," said Catherine, dismissing the in- 
 comprehensible Feesclay, " did you see the peddler's 
 cart up the road? Marcelline says we are out of 
 salt." 
 
 " But you will permit me to give you some? " said 
 Miss Victorine, with her kindly, pursed-up smile. 
 "For salt you need not wait the peddler cart when the 
 day mek cold like it do this mornin'." 
 
 " I am waiting for something else besides the salt y 
 but Marcelline needs that as soon as possible, and 1 
 shall be most grateful to you if you can lend us some." 
 
 " Not ' lend '; geeve" Miss Victorine corrected. 
 " It is a sin to lend salt; it is a sin to borrow it." 
 
 "A sin? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " But yes," Miss Victorine explained, " that under- 
 stands itself. If we are the salt of the earth, we 
 must not borrow it; we must not lend. We must 
 geeve / Is it not true? " 
 
 " Perhaps so," Catherine replied, politely yielding 
 to Miss Victorine's superstition, " and I am all the
 
 100 THE GRINDING 
 
 more indebted to you. May I send right over for it 
 and for the eggs? " 
 
 "I will send, this hinstant," said Miss Victorine, 
 and with a polite " Au Revoir " and a parting but futile 
 admonition to Feesclay to " Mek his adieux at Mees 
 Catrine," she rattled homeward. 
 
 As she approached the bridge, Jacques Lirette came 
 in sight, galloping up the bayou road. His dark hair 
 blowing back from his face, his whole figure, lithe and 
 slender, the very incarnation of youth and strength 
 and beauty. There was a radiant light in his eyes, 
 and Miss Victorine glanced back at Catherine for the 
 explanation. She thought she had discovered it, for 
 his expression was reflected on the fair, girlish face, 
 and unmindful of the taciturn Feesclay, Miss Victorine 
 exclaimed aloud: "No! it is not possible! " As she 
 crossed the bridge, she looked back again, and seeing 
 him swing himself down from the pony and stand be- 
 side Catherine, she repeated, " It is not possible! It 
 was not for heem she wait? " 
 
 He had a basket on his arm, and as he looked down 
 at her, Catherine's eyes sank. There was a moment 
 of self-consciousness on the part of both; then, first 
 to recover himself, he spoke: " I has somethin' for 
 you," he said. " We ben slaughterin' to our house, an' 
 I brought you some of my maw's hog's head cheese. 
 She kin cook! " he exclaimed with evident pride. 
 " An' so kin my sisters. My maw say girls don't stand 
 no chance of gettin' husbands ef they don't know how 
 to cook but I don't know about that," he added
 
 THE GRINDING 101 
 
 quickly. " A girl can learn after she's married, hein? " 
 He smiled at her, that sweet, that alluring smile that 
 had made " all the girls betwix' Bergerac and the 
 Gulf," fall in love with him. 
 
 Avoiding his eyes, and ignoring his words, she re- 
 garded the mixture in the bowl he handed her. 
 " There are little green flakes all through it," she said. 
 " They must be herbs of some sort, I suppose." 
 
 " See that? " he ejaculated. " You'll catch on jest 
 as easy! " Then, in his soft, foreign voice, " That 
 ain't true what Mr. RonaP tole me?" 
 
 " Yes," she said with downcast eyes, " it was true 
 when I left the city. I was " She didn't know how 
 to go on. What if she never heard from Adolphus 
 Banks again? She wished she need never hear from 
 him never! And how could she explain the incredi- 
 ble situation to anyone? That she should have been 
 treated with such contemptuous neglect! Although the 
 time had in reality been short since she came to the coun- 
 try, it had seemed interminable to her. Then why pre- 
 tend she was still engaged to him? It would put an end 
 to these glimpses of Jacques which were among the few 
 interests left her. But neither did she wish a declara- 
 tion from him; that, equally, would put an end to their 
 acquaintance, and so she left her sentence unfinished. 
 
 " It was true when you lef ' the city," Jacques said 
 softly, " but it ain't true now. The city is a fur ways 
 off" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," she interrupted. " I don't 
 want to talk about it."
 
 102 THE GRINDING 
 
 " / know," he persisted gently. " You ain't engage' 
 to nobody." 
 
 " I'm cold," she said, ignoring his words, " I must 
 go into the house. Thank you so much for this I've 
 forgotten the name," and she walked away, forgetting 
 the peddler's cart. 
 
 Fergus and Ronald were standing by the dining- 
 room window while they waited for their breakfast. 
 From that position, they had a distant view of the 
 gate through the trees, and they saw Catherine and 
 Jacques apparently deep in conversation. Then they 
 watched her as she came up the path, bowl in hand. 
 She was smiling and her cheeks were like roses, from 
 the cold. Fergus glanced at Ronald, saying, " Evi- 
 dently, she had ordered something from him." 
 
 " Possibly so," Ronald answered with apparent care- 
 lessness. " It isn't for me to interfere again, but her 
 passion for admiration brings her into some peculiar 
 positions. Banks had at least some of the outward 
 attributes of a gentleman but she may find it hard 
 to make this Cajan understand exactly what she means 
 by the language she is talking to him. He may not 
 realize that all is fish that comes to her net." Ronald 
 had never spoken so scornfully before. 
 
 " She's very young," Fergus said apologetically. 
 
 " Young? " Ronald questioned. " Do you call 
 twenty-three ' very young '? When she was sixteen 
 and seventeen her youth did excuse her. But now she 
 ought to realize the danger. I hear his father is a
 
 THE GRINDING 103 
 
 Cajan; but his mother is a Sicilian. That is a danger- 
 ous inheritance. The Sicilians are brought up on the 
 blood feud. And here is Catherine, playing with that 
 tigress's youngest cub! " 
 
 Meantime Catherine, with the bowl in her hand, had 
 gone around to the kitchen door, where she found 
 Ananias bringing armfuls of wood in to the house, 
 while Pidgeon stood idle, at the foot of the steps, his 
 neck wrapped in voluminous folds of a dingy woolen 
 material, impossible to classify. 
 
 " Why, Pidgeon," she exclaimed, " what's the mat- 
 ter? Why aren't you carrying in the wood for Uncle 
 Ananias? " 
 
 " My palate's down," he replied in a deep, bass 
 voice. 
 
 Ananias, emerging from the kitchen door corrobo- 
 rated the statement and added, " I reckon his maw on- 
 wrapped his hair too quick." Then, turning to Pid- 
 geon, " Has you a misery in you haid? " 
 
 " Yassir," Pidgeon replied in basso profundo, " I 
 shore, has." 
 
 " You mouter ben cunjured," Ananias hazarded in a 
 tremulous falsetto. " Effen you is, you get you maw 
 to put two bran new needles crossways in you hair when 
 you goes to bed. En effen that don't cure you, make 
 her sprinkle salt an' sawdust top er you haid." 
 
 Marcelline appeared at the kitchen door. " You go 
 home," she said, " an' do like Unc' Nias tell you; an' 
 me an' him'll fetch you suthin' fum dinner effen Miss
 
 104 THE GRINDING 
 
 Catrine are willin'. Breakfus' are ready, Miss Cat- 
 rine," and Catherine went to the dining-room, full of 
 happy anticipations and unconscious of the suspicions 
 she had aroused by waiting for the peddler's cart.
 
 XII 
 
 /CATHERINE sang as she took the last stitches in 
 ^-^ Ronald's handkerchiefs and wrapped them into as 
 neat a parcel as possible where there was neither tissue 
 paper nor narrow ribbon. Inside was the friendly lit- 
 tle note wishing him happiness and expressing her sis- 
 terly affection. She untied the parcel and reread the 
 note with the pleased consciousness of having been 
 very good indeed perhaps even excessively so. 
 
 Then she went out of doors to look for flowers with 
 which to decorate. She knew where she could find 
 the first violets, hidden away under their leaves, and 
 where, in a sheltered corner of the garden, a row of 
 pepper bushes still held some of their scarlet fruit. 
 The thorny branches of the Chinese quince were cov- 
 ered with blossoms, and in spite of the biting cold, 
 there were armfuls of roses in the garden. 
 
 By six o'clock the dining-room mantel was banked 
 with flowers; the center of the table was a mass of 
 roses and wild ferns which she had gathered with 
 stiffening fingers in the drizzling rain, and everywhere 
 were candles waiting to be lighted. By dint of in- 
 cessant effort, the cavernous fireplace glowed with roar- 
 ing flames that danced and flickered on the white- 
 washed walls. The little, square parcel lay on Ron- 
 
 105
 
 106 THE GRINDING 
 
 aid's plate where he could see it the moment he seated 
 himself. How surprised he would be that, in this far 
 land, she had been able to find a birthday present for 
 him! And the thought that he could not, by any pos- 
 sibility, have anything for her increased her pleasure. 
 For once, she felt the sweetness of giving and not re- 
 ceiving. 
 
 After surveying the results of her work, she turned 
 away with a happy look and carefully closed the door 
 to keep in all the warmth and brightness. A fire was 
 smouldering in her bedroom, but the air was so pierc- 
 ingly cold she could scarcely dress and she fumbled in 
 trying to pin the pink roses on her breast. And yet, 
 with her shining eyes and flushed cheeks, she was love- 
 lier than ever she had looked in her life. One short 
 year ago, she remembered, Fergus gave her her beau- 
 tiful pearls. Where were they now, she wondered. 
 Who was wearing them to-night? Nevermind! She 
 would not think about them. They had not made her 
 happy; nothing made her happy in those days; noth- 
 ing satisfied her; nothing was good enough. Was that 
 the reason why everything had been taken from her, 
 she wondered. And now, she thought, I am poor but 
 I am happy. She was in a state of exaltation. 
 
 Back to the dining-room to light the candles and 
 take a last look at everything. Then she stood wait- 
 ing, holding a slender foot to warm before the flames. 
 Presently the outer door slammed as the wind caught 
 it and there were footsteps in the hall. How aston- 
 ished they would be when they saw the candles burn-
 
 THE GRINDING 107 
 
 ing and the table covered with flowers! She stood 
 looking expectantly toward the door. It opened, and 
 Fergus entered. 
 
 " Oh! " he exclaimed, " how lovely! " Standing by 
 the fire he looked smilingly at her as he warmed his 
 hands. " The fairest thing in mortal eyes," he said 
 and, drawing her to him, kissed her. 
 
 Eagerly, she watched the door. What made Ronald 
 so slow, she wondered. 
 
 Fergus spoke with a perceptible effort. " You may 
 as well order supper," he said. " I don't believe Ron- 
 ald will be back. Something must have happened to 
 detain him." 
 
 " Where is he? " she asked. 
 
 " I believe in fact I know he went to Ber- 
 gerac." 
 
 "To Bergerac! " 
 
 " Yes; he's been wishing for several days to go." 
 
 " I saw the automobile pass by," she observed in a 
 measured tone, " but I didn't notice that he was in it." 
 All the brightness had faded from her face as she rang 
 for Marcelline and ordered supper. So this was the 
 end of all her effort! This was all Ronald cared or 
 remembered about their birthday! She was white with 
 anger, but made no comment as she seated herself at 
 the table. 
 
 " He had been wishing very much to go, for some 
 days, and was planning to do so yesterday, in Octave 
 Robichaux's lugger; but Octave disappointed him, and 
 Placide says they came by and invited him " He
 
 108 THE GRINDING 
 
 stopped, feeling that his explanation was a lame one, 
 and wondering himself that Ronald could have been 
 so unfeeling. Remembering the trace of relentlessness 
 in his character, Fergus feared this was done deliber- 
 ately to wound Catherine. And yet it was the first 
 time Ronald had ever been so inconsiderate. He would 
 suspend judgment, and hope it was merely due to the 
 levity of youth. 
 
 " Certainly," she said after a long pause in which 
 she was trying to steady her voice, " he'd have been 
 very foolish not to go if he wished to. How dark 
 it is ! " with a glance at the uncurtained window. 
 
 " I'm so sorry to have nothing for you," Fergus 
 said presently, " I tried " 
 
 " Oh, Fergus dear," she interrupted gently, " I 
 didn't expect anything. How could you give me any- 
 thing?"" 
 
 " I knew you'd understand," he said, " but you 
 don't know, Cathie, how it hurt me." 
 
 She smiled tremulously at him across the table, bend- 
 ing to one side to look between the flowers and lights. 
 " I think I do," she said. 
 
 Supper ended, Fergus drew their chairs before the 
 fire and lighted his evening pipe. He rested his arm 
 on her shoulder and they sat a long time in silence. 
 The clock ticked on the mantel, the wind sighed and 
 moaned in the chimney, and Catherine's thoughts wan- 
 dered to other days. How easily she had been disap- 
 pointed then! How hard to please! And now no
 
 THE GRINDING 109 
 
 one cared to please her except dear, faithful Fergus 
 and perhaps 
 
 " It's a wild n.ght," he said, breaking the silence; 
 " hark how it is raining. I'm afraid Ronald won't be 
 able to get home. We mustn't worry if he doesn't. 
 And," he added with ill-concealed eagerness, " we 
 mustn't blame him; it won't be his fault, I'm sure." 
 
 " No," she agreed, " I sha'n't worry." After a long 
 silence, she suddenly broke out impetuously, " Fergus, 
 Ronald isn't happy here. Why does he stay? Grace 
 Fessenden loves him and if he married her his future 
 would be assured. I think Uncle Frank would give 
 his consent. I wonder why he doesn't go." She 
 wished Fergus would say that Ronald was staying be- 
 cause he couldn't make up his mind to go. 
 
 Instead of that, he asked, " Have you any reason to 
 suppose that Grace loves him? Has she ever said 
 so?" 
 
 "No; but I know it," Catherine declared, "and it 
 would be so much better for him than to be here. Far 
 more advantageous." She paused. Would he accept 
 his freedom, she wondered, or would he choose to stay 
 here? And what would he think if Fergus told him 
 she had proposed that he should go? 
 
 " I don't agree with you," Fergus replied. " Why 
 would it be better even admitting that Grace does 
 love him for him to marry a woman whom he does 
 not love, merely because she has money? Even if 
 he were willing to do so selfish a thing, I'm not sure it
 
 110 THE GRINDING 
 
 would be an advantage to him. Think of the moral 
 side, Catherine. Would it be better for him to go back 
 and become Uncle Frank's pensioner; marry Grace for 
 her money and lead an easy, sheltered life, than to 
 fight it out bravely here? If the development of char- 
 acter is the chief end of existence as I suspect it is 
 no one attains that end by running away from hard- 
 ship. I suppose human conditions are valuable in 
 proportion to their development of our power not 
 in proportion to our material gains nor our pleasure in 
 life. No, I should be sorry to see him give up and 
 go off to a life of ease with the Fessendens unless 
 his presence here makes you unhappy " 
 
 " Oh, no," she answered lightly, " I'm speaking only 
 for his good. He's welcome to stay as long as he 
 wishes." 
 
 " Besides," Fergus added, following out a train of 
 thought, " that is not his only alternative " 
 
 " How so? " she asked. 
 
 " There are other things open." 
 
 She waited for an explanation of his words, but he 
 gazed musingly into the fire and remained silent. 
 " Oh, Fergus," she said, leaning forward for her good- 
 night kiss, " I'm so tired." 
 
 When she reached her room, her look changed. She 
 was transported with anger. Wildly, she tore off the 
 roses and crushed them. The little parcel which she 
 had prepared with so much pleasure, she dashed on to 
 the dying embers. It flared up and burned for a mo- 
 ment with a vivid light. Then, with a stifled cry, she
 
 THE GRINDING 111 
 
 threw herself upon the bare floor whispering, " I'll 
 never forgive him! Never! Never! " 
 
 Exhausted as she was, she must have fallen asleep, 
 for she was dreaming of a vast, luxurious room with 
 lights and mirrors and great, open windows through 
 which the wind was blowing, when something roused 
 her. At first she thought someone had knocked at 
 her door, but in a moment she heard voices. 
 
 " Yes, I'll tell her in the morning," Ronald said, and 
 then she heard him running lightly up to his room.
 
 XIII 
 
 WHEN Catherine entered the dining-room the fol- 
 ing morning, Ronald was waiting for her and 
 began an immediate explanation of his absence from 
 the birthday supper. 
 
 " Why," she interrupted with an air of surprise, " it 
 wasn't of the slightest importance.' 
 
 " I'd have been home in time," he persisted, " but 
 the machine skidded so we nearly toppled into the 
 bayou where the road makes that sharp turn just be- 
 low the Old Burying Ground." 
 
 " What an appropriate place that would have been 
 for the accident," she. said, laughing gaily. "Think 
 how it would have sounded in the Society Notes next 
 Sunday. ' A brilliant party of joy riders ran into the 
 bayou just below the Old Burying Ground and stuck 
 hopelessly in the mud.' Do you remember the poem 
 of the little boy who got caught in the tree by his hair? 
 And the story ended: * To-morrow we'll go out and 
 take him down.' The neighboring planters would have 
 rushed to get you out this morning." 
 
 He tried to reintroduce the subject, but she refused 
 to listen seriously and only said, " Oh, Ronald, you 
 never did have any sense of humor." 
 
 That afternoon she and Fergus were waiting in the 
 112
 
 THE GRINDING 113 
 
 hall for the arrival of the mail. Their only communi- 
 cation with the outside world was by way of Bergerac, 
 and not wishing to depend on the slow uncertainty of 
 the peddler's cart for their letters, they sent Pidgeon 
 on a weekly trip to the village. Presently Ronald 
 came through the gate and up the long walk with his 
 easy, swinging stride. Thin as a greyhound, yet ath- 
 letic, his well-set head and square shoulders gave him 
 a look of pride and obstinacy. The two watched him 
 through the door which, characteristically of Southern 
 people, they had left open in spite of the cold. He 
 entered the hall, and likewise leaving the door open, 
 came and stood by the fire. 
 
 " I wish we could manage to get some modern ma- 
 chinery for our sugar house," he said. " You know 
 we can never compete with other planters, making this 
 old-fashioned, open kettle sugar, by our wasteful, out- 
 of-date methods. It's dreadful to be harassed with 
 anxiety for ten months and then fail because we haven't 
 the necessary utensils." 
 
 " We can't get them this year," Fergus replied. 
 
 " Oh, I know it," Ronald admitted. " I know it. 
 I'm like a child crying for the moon. But when I see 
 other people's sugar houses, with their improved 
 methods, it drives me wild to think what we're work- 
 ing with. And here we are, subject to overflow, and 
 struggling to make our crop against such odds " 
 He broke off and gazed frowningly into the fire. 
 
 " Money's the most important thing in the world," 
 Catherine observed.
 
 114 THE GRINDING 
 
 " No," said Fergus, " it's of third importance.?' 
 
 " How so? " she asked, but at this moment Pidgeon 
 appeared with the mail and Fergus began assorting the 
 letters while she and Ronald looked over his shoulders. 
 
 " Look," said Fergus, " they've mixed the Gold Mine 
 mail with ours. ' Miss Modesta Blaise '," he read 
 aloud, " ' Miss Blaise ', ' Miss Blaise '; she seems to 
 have a monopoly of the correspondence at Gold .Mine." 
 
 " Perhaps she's the only one knows how to read," 
 Catherine suggested in an innocent tone. 
 
 " No," said Fergus, ignoring her words, " here's one 
 for Tobias Blaise, Esq. Why! " with an astonished 
 pause, " isn't that Marc Button's handwriting? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Catherine. 
 
 "That's just like Marc," Fergus declared. "I 
 wrote to him about that boundary line above the Old 
 Burying Ground, and you see he's attending to it right 
 away. He's pure gold, Marc is." 
 
 " Do you think so? " Ronald asked. 
 
 " Why," Fergus exclaimed, " don't you? " 
 
 " I've wondered sometimes if there were not a good 
 deal of alloy in his composition." 
 
 " I don't believe it," Fergus protested. " I've al- 
 ways found that he rang true. What makes you sus- 
 pect him? " 
 
 " His neglect to forward your mail, and his absence 
 from the city when I arrived were too opportune, it 
 seemed to me, to be altogether accidental." 
 
 'Those coincidences do happen, Ronald. I have 
 reason to know " he broke off as if he had changed
 
 THE GRINDING 115 
 
 his mind about finishing the sentence. Then, handing 
 him a letter, " Here's one for you, Ronald." 
 
 " Nothing for me? " Catherine asked in a disap- 
 pointed tone. 
 
 " Not this time*, darling," Fergus answered, smiling 
 up at her as one might at a child. " The next time, I 
 hope." 
 
 Glancing at the superscription of his letter, Ronald 
 exclaimed, " It's from Tom Ogers," then, running 
 through its contents, " He may come to see us. 
 Wouldn't that be the greatest luck? It might change 
 the entire situation." 
 
 " It might indeed," said Fergus. 
 
 Ronald reread Tom Ogers 's letter, smiling uncon- 
 sciously the while, then, catching up those for Gold 
 Mine, said, " I'll take these over for you, Fergus." 
 
 " Perhaps," Fergus suggested, " it might be just as 
 well not to mention Tom's visit to any one at least 
 until it's a certainty." 
 
 " Yes, I know," Ronald agreed. " We may be dis- 
 appointed, but I don't believe we shall. He'll come," 
 and whistling gaily, ran down the steps. 
 
 Catherine was annoyed at his light-heartedness. He 
 had not spoken to her and had made a parade of 
 going to Gold Mine with the letters. " Why would 
 it be such an advantage to have Mr. Ogers visit here? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " He might become interested in the plantation and 
 advance us the money we need for our crop," Fergus 
 explained in an abstracted tone as he -unfolded the
 
 116 THE GRINDING 
 
 paper and handed her the sheet marked, "Society 
 Notes." 
 
 She began reading. "Fergus," she exclaimed, 
 " May Vincent and George Burbank have anonunced 
 their engagement." 
 
 " That's good," he said, resting his paper on his 
 knee and looking at her with an expression of pleasure. 
 " I'm very glad." 
 
 " I always liked May," said Catherine, " but I 
 thought George Burbank a commonplace person." 
 
 " So did I," said Fergus, " until trouble came." He 
 paused and resumed his reading. 
 
 " How so," she asked, " ' until trouble came '? " 
 
 " I never told you how Burbank expressed sym- 
 pathy," he said. " He had some money his life's 
 savings a few thousand dollars, and he offered to 
 lend it all to me without security. There's not one 
 man in a million would have done that." 
 
 " But he knew he could trust you." 
 
 " Yes," he answered in a constrained tone, " he be- 
 lieved in me when no one else did. He has a heart of 
 gold. Such generosity and faith are not common- 
 place." 
 
 "No," she agreed; then, after a pause, "How do 
 you account for Uncle Frank's not offering to help 
 us? I've often wondered." 
 
 Fergus answered with evident effort, " He had lost 
 faith in my capacity for business not in my hon- 
 esty, I truly believe. But I have lost credit and to 
 lose credit is ten thousand times worse than to lose
 
 THE GRINDING 117 
 
 money. Credit is capital. A man may afford to risk 
 money; he's a fool if he risks his credit." There was 
 an unusual ring of bitterness in his tone, but in a 
 moment he added in a kindlier voice, " And you know 
 his money is not his own. When a man is using his 
 wife's capital he has to be doubly careful; and your 
 Aunt Kate is not sentimental." 
 
 " I think she might be decently liberal," said Cath- 
 erine, " seeing I'm named for her." 
 
 " She's a very keen business woman," Fergus ex- 
 plained, " and possibly she thinks he married her for 
 her money. You know it used to be said that all the 
 Fessendens married for money. But that was not 
 true of all," he added hastily, remembering that Cath- 
 erine's mother was a Fessenden. 
 
 Silently she resumed her reading of the Society 
 Notes. So many new names had crept into the exclu- 
 sive set, she reflected. Presently, she came upon this 
 item: " Miss Belle Snively has returned from a delight- 
 ful visit to Gold Mine plantation, the palatial country 
 home of Miss Modesta Blaise." So Belle had been in 
 the country again and had not communicated with 
 her. But it could not be otherwise after the dis- 
 courtesy shown to Modesta here at Esperance. At the 
 top of the next page, she read: " Miss Modesta Blaise, 
 who has been entertaining a numerous house party at 
 her magnificent country home, Gold Mine, took her 
 guests to the sea shore on Thursday last for a day's 
 outing on her beautiful new launch, The Fair Mod- 
 esta." She wished she had a launch and could go
 
 118 THE GRINDING 
 
 down the bayou to Barataria Bay; or that she had an 
 automobile and could explore all the country. She 
 thought longingly of her own little electric runabout. 
 Who was riding in it now, she wondered. 
 
 " Fergus," she said, " if Mr. Ogers doesn't come, 
 wouldn't it be right to let George Burbank lend us 
 that money? We're sure to make an immense crop; 
 and sugar's getting a good price, isn't it? " 
 
 As she spoke, Ananias appeared, hat in hand. " I 
 reckon Pidgeon los' dishyer, somewheres," he said, 
 handing Fergus a letter. " M'sieu Jacques pick it up 
 somewheres." 
 
 " How long have you had it? " Fergus asked, glanc- 
 ing at the date on the soiled and crumpled envelope. 
 
 Ananias scratched his head in perplexity. What 
 would be best, he wondered; to speak the truth, or to 
 brave it out and say Jacques had that moment brought 
 it. 
 
 " You have had it a week," Fergus said accusingly. 
 " You must not be careless with the mail. Tell Pid- 
 geon I wish to see him." 
 
 By one of those premonitions that come to us all 
 occasionally, Catherine knew what Jacques Lirette 
 had brought. Why, oh why, had she not written to 
 Adolphus Banks as she had planned! 
 
 Opening the letter, she read: 
 
 "My Dear Catherine: 
 
 " What shall I say in answer to your letter telling me 
 that you were accepting me after long hesitation? If
 
 THE GRINDING 119 
 
 you love me, why did you hesitate? And if you do not, 
 why did you finally accept my offer? 
 
 " Emerson says that every action should be meas- 
 ured by the sentiment from which it proceeds. And 
 you have assured me a thousand times that there was 
 no sentiment in your nature. Then why do you bind 
 yourself with promises that you cannot fulfill? 
 
 " I might wish to shelter you from the storm and 
 restore to you the brightness of life, but I am too inti- 
 mately acquainted with human nature to believe 
 that the mere surrounding you with comforts could 
 make you happy when you were bound by irksome 
 ties. 
 
 " No, my dear girl, I cannot accept such a sacrifice 
 from you, and I restore the freedom which you have 
 renounced. 
 
 " Wishing you happiness in your new surroundings, 
 I am 
 
 " Very truly yours, 
 
 " ADOLPHUS BANKS." 
 
 Fergus glanced uneasily at her as she read, for he 
 had recognized the handwriting. She was very pale 
 and still, with a certain steadfastness of expression. 
 What had the scoundrel written, he wondered. 
 
 For a time she sat perfectly quiet with the open 
 letter in her hand. How she had complicated her life 
 by engaging herself to that bad, dishonorable man! 
 She recalled Ronald's ironical tone when he said that 
 now Adolphus Banks had the opportunity to prove his
 
 120 THE GRINDING 
 
 disinterestedness. She felt herself burn with shame. 
 How she had played the fool! 
 
 Springing to her feet, she dashed the letter into the 
 fire and went out on to the gallery. As she stood look- 
 ing down the bayou, thinking of all that had befallen 
 her, a horseman flew by on his way to Bergerac. Had 
 he really passed, or was it a wraith, a spirit of the 
 woods and clouds, evoked from her imagination? 
 
 Fergus too, had seen the figure and with an intuitive 
 perception of danger came and stood beside her. 
 
 " That letter was from Adolphus Banks," she said 
 in a low tone. 
 
 " I recognized the handwriting," he replied. " You 
 had written to him, had you not? " 
 
 " No, Fergus; but he releases me." With a sob she 
 added, " I'm glad." Then burying her face against 
 his breast, " I'm not crying about him. I never loved 
 him but everybody " 
 
 " I know," he murmured soothingly, " I under- 
 stand."
 
 XIV 
 
 /CATHERINE was seated on the sheltered side gal- 
 ^^ lery, reading a letter from May Burbank, invit- 
 ing her to come to the city and make her a visit. It 
 contained innumerable items of news, for May had 
 always been full of small talk. That was one reason, 
 Catherine remembered, why she was popular. Not 
 malicious nor gossipy in an unpleasant sense, but full 
 of the news of the day. 
 
 " Do come," the letter urged, " I want you to see 
 my little house, and George and I want to take you to 
 the opening of the Country Club. It's a lovely build- 
 ing, right on the Bayou St. John, between that and 
 the City Park. I know you'd like it. I wish you 
 could come in time for Belle Snively's wedding. She's 
 going to marry a cousin of your old beau, Adolphus 
 Banks. He is coming down to be best man at Belle's 
 wedding, and that girl from your parish that she's 
 always visiting that Miss Blaise is to be maid of 
 honor. I suppose you know her, but Belle said you 
 lived on different bayous and didn't see each other 
 often. Angelina Horn is to be matron of honor. It's 
 to be a very grand party twelve bridesmaids and 
 three flower girls. Do come, Catherine. We'll have 
 
 121
 
 122 THE GRINDING 
 
 such lots of fun sitting in the gallery and looking down 
 on the procession. It's to be at Trinity, and the 
 chancel will be a dream, I know, although I do think 
 they've half spoiled it putting in those choir stalls. 
 Don't you remember how we sat up there at Mary 
 Harris's wedding? We admired the groom so in his 
 white suit, and all those other navy men attending. 
 That was the prettiest wedding I ever saw, but it 
 wasn't grand as this is going to me. They say the 
 man isn't rich, and every one's wondering how Belle 
 can afford such grand goings-on; but I'm glad she can, 
 if she wants it. It must be a satisfaction to be so fine 
 once in one's life, though I can say from experience 
 that a little, plain, home wedding is just as happy." 
 
 The letter ran on for several pages more and Cath- 
 erine, with a pang of bitterness, reflected upon the 
 changes in her life. Belle Snively, that girl whom she 
 she brought into prominence by including her in her 
 court, had not invited her, Catherine Maine, to her 
 wedding! And Adolphus Banks, and Modesta Blaise 
 would play important parts in the great pageant! Her 
 lip curled. Common people, all of them, she thought, 
 in spite of their pretentiousness. But May was not 
 common. How kind she was! In an agony of home- 
 sickness, she longed to go; to be a part of that world 
 once more. To have clothes to wear, and her own 
 beautiful home, and to be the Catherine Maine of 
 other days. But in a moment she realized what a 
 humiliation it would be to her to see her former friends, 
 who, perhaps, believed Fergus to be dishonest, and
 
 THE GRINDING 123 
 
 who would laugh at her poverty. Friends? No, such 
 people were not friends. She didn't belong there 
 nor here nor anywhere. 
 
 The voices of Chukey and Marcelline reached her 
 where she sat. Marcelline was in the milk-shed, car- 
 rying pan after pan into the cool, dark closet under the 
 cistern. The mellow, African voice would grow faint 
 as she went into the closet, and louder as she came 
 back into the shed. Finally she sat down and began 
 churning. 
 
 " Did you seen the ottermobile go up the high road 
 jes' now? " Chukey inquired from the wash-house door. 
 
 " I smelled it," Marcelline answered laconically. 
 
 " Miss Modesta shore look fine," said Chukey. 
 
 " I reckon so," Marcelline answered coldly. 
 
 " Why ain't she quality, same's our Madam? " 
 Chukey asked. 
 
 " 'Case she ain't; tha's why." 
 
 " But she shore are pretty, an' she dress fine, an' 
 Miss Drusilla Zeek say they is got more silver dishes 
 in they pantry than what our Madam is got pots in her 
 kitchen." 
 
 " Then you go long wuk to Gole Mine, effen you 
 craves to," Marcelline retorted sternly. " You wants 
 to know why they isn't quality? 'Case they money 
 war stole; tha's why. Miss Modesta 's grandaddy war 
 overseer, right yeah to Esperance, an' he stole every 
 blessed thing he could lay han's on. I know, me, 'case 
 my gran-paw war one er the things what he stole. An' 
 he hid him up yonder by the gas pocket, an' he 'low a
 
 124 THE GRINDING 
 
 alligator had et him. He war the alligator," she mut- 
 tered. " An' that war the very fust nigger them peo- 
 ple owned an' you asks why is they trash? They 
 has bad blood them people thief's blood; low- 
 down, common, white-trash blood; you hear me? " 
 
 "All the same," Chukey retorted defiantly, "Mr. 
 Ronal' are goin' to marry Miss Modesta." 
 
 " Well," Marcelline answered slowly, " effen he cuts 
 off his nose, I don't see what he'll do with the rest of 
 his face." 
 
 "All the same " Chukey began, when the sound 
 of wheels interrupted her, and up the path from the 
 wagon gate, a cart slowly wobbled along on loose 
 wheels that creaked and protested at every revolu- 
 tion. 
 
 Catherine, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of 
 the newcomer, beheld the counterpart of Father Time 
 seated in a two-wheeled cart, and huddled behind him, 
 a sorrowful congregation of chickens and turkeys. He 
 sat bunched up with his chin close to his knees, his 
 hat on the back of his head, and a corncob pipe in his 
 mouth. 
 
 " Howdy, M'sieur Poisson," Marcelline said politely 
 as the cart rounded the corner of the house and drew 
 up at the milk shed. " Is you brang them chicken 
 you promise? " 
 
 Very deliberately he replied to her question: " I has 
 brang you chicken an' tukkey. Them tukkey was 
 feed on puccon, an' my wife say to me, ' Volcar,' she 
 say, ' you is trow away you puccon. Them city people
 
 THE GRINDING 125 
 
 don't know no diffunce twix' tukkey what are raise' 
 on puccon, an' tukkey what are raise' on oyscher 
 shell." 
 
 " This," Catherine thought bitterly, " is all that is 
 left me in life. These are my companions. There are 
 no interests left me," and she was blind to the beauty 
 all about her: to the branches swathed in trailing moss; 
 the deep, soft grass with here and there an early wild 
 flower showing its timid face; the broad, brown fields 
 stretching to the foot of the somber forest. Unnotic- 
 ing, she breathed the fragrance of the upturned soil 
 and the faint perfume of the feathery foliage. She was 
 deaf to the soft, mysterious sounds of nature those 
 sounds which enhance the stillness: the twittering of 
 birds, the little creakings and rustlings of the trees. 
 Of all these things, she was unconscious, wrapped only 
 in her passionate loneliness. 
 
 Marcelline rose from her churning, and in spite of the 
 turkeys' protesting gobbles, felt of their razor-like 
 breast bones. " They's turr'ble thin, M'sieur Pois- 
 son," she said, " an' they looks turr'ble ole. I don't 
 reckon the Madam crave to have no such Methusalems 
 in her chicken yard." 
 
 " Methusalems! " he repeated indignantly, " they is 
 jes' crezzy to get them to Gole Mine." 
 
 " Then you bes' carry them to Gole Mine," she re- 
 plied. 
 
 Ananias now joined the group. " They looks like 
 they has the pip," he observed disparagingly. 
 
 " Nias," said Monsieur Poisson, ignoring this last
 
 126 THE GRINDING 
 
 insult, " is you saw my red cow anywheres? He are 
 los', now, it are two day." 
 
 Ananias shook his head, still examining the turkeys. 
 " They looks mighty pindlin' an' ageable to me," he re- 
 marked. 
 
 " Nias," Monsieur Poisson resumed, " Ef my red 
 cow come trapezin' anywheres roun' yere, you push 
 him along to'ards the Ole Buryin' Groun', you hear? 
 He are los', an' I don' know who's got him." 
 
 " I reckon your cow are daid," Ananias replied by 
 way of comfort. " I seen a flock of buzzards over yon- 
 der by the swamp; soon, this mornin'." 
 
 Chukey now joined the group by the wagon. " I 
 seen M'sieur Pierre up to Bergerac, las' Sunday," she 
 said. " He sure do look fine an' peart. They tells me 
 he are wukkin' to the bank." 
 
 Monsieur Poisson nodded slowly. " My boy Pierre 
 are the smartes' boy on the bayou," he agreed. " They 
 is pay him forty dollar a mont', an' ef he ax fur it, 
 they is goin' to give him I dunno how much." 
 
 " I'd ax fur it; me," said Ananias. " An' does they 
 eat him, M'sieur Poisson? " 
 
 " At the moment," Monsieur Poisson replied, puffing 
 ruminatively, " he eat himself. More later, he will be 
 I don't know what. An' then they will eat him to 
 the hotel." 
 
 This statement produced a sensation among his 
 hearers. 
 
 " You sure mus' be proud, M'sieur Poisson," Chukey 
 said deferentially.
 
 THE GRINDING 127 
 
 The old man nodded and taking his pipe from his 
 mouth, spat musingly. " They was over by the 
 swamp? " he questioned as he drew up the lines. 
 
 " Yassir," Ananias replied politely, " nigh on to 
 M'sieur Zelinka's house. A whole flock hit look 
 like all the buzzards in this part er the parish war 
 over yonder to a camp meetin'. Hit mus' er ben you 
 red cow, I reckon." 
 
 Slowly Monsieur Poisson wobbled away, his eyes 
 fixed on the distant horizon in search of the flock of 
 buzzards which would serve as a guide in the search 
 for his cow. 
 
 " Ain't that a shame? " Chukey commented, watch- 
 ing the retreating figure, " M'sieur Pierre look jes' ez 
 sassy as a jay bird, with a gole watch chain, an' grease 
 on his hair. An' look at his paw! " 
 
 " He look like what he are," Ananias interrupted. 
 " He look like a chicken gentleman, an' tha's what he 
 are." 
 
 " No use strainin' fer a persimmon what's beyond 
 you reach," Marcelline said thoughtfully. " Ef you 
 borrows somebody else's pole to knock it down with, 
 anybody kin pick it up. M'sieur Pierre ain't goin' to 
 set the bayou afire, fer all the bear's grease on his 
 haid. I reckon his homely brother Zelinka'll out-hoe 
 him specially sence he've marry Ottinsia Lirette, a 
 good, homely girl what don't let the grass grow in 
 under her feet. Heap er times, it's lucky to be 
 homely." 
 
 " Well," said Chukey, " plenty folks is lucky, then."
 
 128 THE GRINDING 
 
 From across the bayou came the sound of a church 
 bell, now loud, now faint, as the breeze brought it or 
 carried it away. Marcelline stood, her arms crossed 
 upon her breast, listening. " Who that bell a-tollin' 
 for, I wonder," she said. 
 
 Chukey turned her inky face toward the sound and 
 listened. " You know who it are? " she hazarded. 
 " I lay hit are ole M'sieur Cyrille Thibodaux, over to 
 Bayou Blanc. He war tuk mighty bad yestiddy, an' 
 they sont fur Miss Victorine to come an' help nuss 
 him. He mus' be daid. Uhn! Uhn! Ain't that 
 turr'ble? " 
 
 " No," said Marcelline, " tha's fair. We all has to 
 die, an' hit war his turn." 
 
 But it was not old Monsieur Thibodaux, for pres- 
 ently there swept up the bayou a fleet of boats, sailing 
 slowly along. They stopped at the church landing. 
 Then the men lifted a coffin from the deck of the first 
 boat and carried it up the bank into the church. The 
 voice of Pere Ignace, intoning the service, reached 
 Catherine where she sat listening with a faint, detached 
 interest. Presently she heard a sound of chanting, a 
 wavering, plaintive sound, and soon thereafter the little 
 group of people came out of the church and walked 
 slowly down the bank. First, Pere Ignace, then the 
 pall bearers with the coffin which they placed on a 
 sort of platform and covered with a white cloth, then 
 the rest of the company, silently taking their places. 
 The boats were loosed from their moorings and swept
 
 THE GRINDING 129 
 
 majestically onward, the vast, crimson sails and the 
 deep blue sky above reflected in the brown bosom of 
 the bayou with a pomp of coloring too splendid for 
 any but the royal dead.
 
 XV 
 
 WHILE the cool, spring weather lasted, there were 
 long evenings which Fergus and Catherine spent 
 together. Unconscious of her own selfishness, she 
 would interrupt his writing to pour out to him her 
 one companion and friend the tale of her loneliness 
 and ennui. He had ceased to remonstrate or suggest 
 any cure for her troubles, but, looking up from his 
 work, would listen in silence or with an occasional word 
 of sympathy. So absorbed was she in her own lamen- 
 tations, in an unrecognized enjoyment, perhaps, of her 
 self-pity, that she failed to perceive the weariness in 
 his tone. Once, however, when Ronald happened to 
 be with them (a rare occurrence now-a-days) she was 
 startled into silence by the expression of his stern gray 
 eyes. What was he thinking, she wondered. He had 
 said nothing, but his very silence, she thought, implied 
 that she ought to find occupation for those interminable 
 hours of which she complained. What ought she to 
 do, she wondered. She, Catherine Maine, who had 
 never been taught to work. Did he think she ought 
 to go out like the bayou women and labor in the fields? 
 What was this new fetish of efficiency that he wor- 
 shipped? " 
 
 130
 
 THE GRINDING 131 
 
 The others began talking. They were wondering 
 if they could rent a dredge boat, as they were unable 
 to buy one. 
 
 " Blaise has one," Ronald said. " I think he'd let 
 us have it for a week or so at a reasonable price. I'll 
 ask him to-morrow, and wouldn't it be well at the same 
 time to speak to him about the veterinary surgeon 
 that's coming down to vaccinate his stock? Undoubt- 
 edly there is charbon in this parish, and we can't afford 
 to lose our mules." 
 
 " How perfectly hideous to have to think of such 
 things! " Catherine exclaimed. " Vaccinating mules! " 
 She shuddered. " Going over and over the same 
 things, day after day. Working with such poor mate- 
 rials there's nothing great and fine in such a life." 
 
 " I don't agree with you, Cathie," Fergus interposed 
 gently. " I think it is ' great and fine ' to get good 
 results out of poor materials. Better, probably than 
 it would have been to finish my book." 
 
 The following day the weather changed as if a win- 
 dow had opened and summer poured through. The 
 birds sang, the bees hummed, the flowers blossomed, 
 but with the advent of these lovely things, all the 
 insect world awoke and Catherine found herself robbed 
 of her evenings; for at twilight, the air was filled with 
 mosquitoes humming in tall columns above her head; 
 nipping and stinging her unbearably, until, in self- 
 defense, she was driven to adopt the early hours of the 
 bayou people. 
 
 " I certainly never imagined I'd have to go to bed
 
 132 THE GRINDING 
 
 with the chickens," she complained, " and hide under a 
 mosquito bar to escape the mosquitoes." 
 
 " We have merely advanced the clock," Ronald de- 
 clared. " Our days begin with sunrise; that's the only 
 difference. We really have more hours for work." 
 
 " Yes, for work," she repeated in an aggrieved tone, 
 but later she pondered his words. He thought of noth- 
 ing but work, she reflected, and Fergus thought of noth- 
 ing else. There was no room left in their scheme of 
 life for any of the pleasant things. It was all a strug- 
 gle and a battle and Ronald apparently thought she 
 ought to plunge in and do as they did. Very well, she 
 would. She would work so hard that her health would 
 fail, and then even he would be sorry for the hard- 
 ships she had endured, and the unbearable loneliness. 
 She would work until her hands were blistered; until 
 they bled. Yes, she would work until Ronald himself 
 begged her to stop. 
 
 In pursuance of this plan, she gathered an armful 
 of yellow jessamines and went up the steep stairs to 
 his room. Pausing in the doorway, she looked at the 
 comfortless scene. Boots and shoes were scattered 
 about; soiled clothing lay heaped in one corner; pipe, 
 collar buttons, a broken knife, odds and ends of every 
 sort littered the dusty mantel-piece. The mouldy 
 mirror gave a shadowy reflection of her figure as she 
 stood, her arms full of flowers. She would begin with 
 the mirror, she determined. She would twine long 
 sprays of jessamine around the frame to hide the places 
 where the gilding had flaked off.
 
 THE GRINDING 133 
 
 In order to do this, she must stand on a chair. The 
 only one at hand was covered by a pile of clean cloth- 
 ing Chukey had deposited on it, days and days ago. 
 In fact, it seemed an accumulation from several weeks 
 of washing. Catherine took the pryamid of starched 
 linen and heaped it on a shelf in the armoire. It did 
 not as yet occur to her that she might mend the frayed 
 and torn garments, sew on the buttons and darn the 
 socks. The thought of making herself useful was still 
 nebulous and more in the way of self-justification than 
 anything else. 
 
 She was crowding the clean shirts on to one of the 
 shelves of the armoire, when an avalanche descended 
 upon her from above: collars, cuffs, all the odds and 
 ends of clothing that men relegate to the upper shelves, 
 resolving to use them when the present supply is worn 
 out. She was gathering them up from the floor, think- 
 ing that he had a needless quantity, when her mind 
 reverted to the fact that she had come, not to put the 
 room in order, but to make it attractive. So, leaving 
 the wreckage where it had fallen, she crossed the room 
 to get the flowers which she had laid on the table be- 
 tween the two windows. At this moment, a breeze, 
 laden with the scent of orange blossoms, swept some 
 papers to the floor. Picking them up, she replaced 
 them on the table, and as she did so, her eyes were 
 drawn to a signature in an exaggeratedly angular hand: 
 " As ever, Modesta." 
 
 It was written on the back of a photograph. With- 
 out intending anything dishonorable, Catherine studied
 
 134 THE GRINDING 
 
 the snap shot of a group on board the Blaises' launch. 
 In the center was Modesta Blaise, all in white and 
 showing her teeth: supposedly laughing. In fact, all of 
 the group were laughing. What was there so amusing 
 about having a snap-shot taken aboard a launch? 
 Catherine questioned scornfully while studying Mod- 
 esta's face. Yes, it was pretty; a plebeian, dimpled 
 prettiness, sure to be lost in embonpoint before she 
 was ten years older. The picture looked her straight 
 in the eyes, laughing. " As ever," Catherine thought 
 with a pang. Yes, the overseer's daughter had 
 triumphed. She herself had made no outward effort 
 to retain Ronald. On the contrary, she had maintained 
 that she did not wish him to stay in the country; that 
 he was at perfect liberty to leave Esperance, that, in 
 fact, it was a matter of utter indifference to her whether 
 he went or stayed. But now, as she gazed at that 
 laughing, triumphant face, and read those words, " As 
 ever, Modesta"; as she realized that he had actually 
 accepted his freedom from her, a feeling of bewilder- 
 ment came upon her, followed by a deep sense of isola- 
 tion. So alone, she thought, so alone! 
 
 Under the window, the mellow voices of Marcelline 
 and Chukey rose in conversation. 
 
 " Does you know who that were they bury yestiddy, 
 Miss Marcelline? " Chukey was saying. 
 
 " I isn't year tell," Marcelline replied, pausing in 
 the scrubbing of her milk pans. 
 
 " Miss 'Ortense Trosclair," said Chukey with evident 
 enjoyment of the sensation she was producing.
 
 THE GRINDING 135 
 
 " Fer the Lawd's sake! " Marcelline ejaculated, 
 dropping the scrubbing brush with a rattling sound. 
 After an instant's silence, she said, " You means 
 the young Madam not Miss Hortense. It was 
 Miss Rosaline what was pindlin' Not Miss Hor- 
 tense." 
 
 " Hit were Miss 'Ortense what die," Chukey per- 
 sisted. " The young Madam are as peart as ever, an' 
 more pearter, now Miss 'Ortense are daid." 
 
 " Who tole you all them tales, Chukey? " Marcelline 
 asked in a stern voice. 
 
 " My ole man done tole me, an' wha's more, he ben 
 down yonder, an' he seen Unc' Timothy Brim, an' 
 pears like it were Mr. Ovide what found her a-settin' 
 in her cheer, a-smilin', like she were asleep. My ole 
 man went down yonder a-fishin' yestiddy." 
 
 " Fer the Lawd's sake! " Marcelline repeated, slowly 
 resuming her work. " I reckon she are glad," she 
 added after a long pause. 
 
 " I reckon so," Chukey agreed cheerfully. " The 
 young Madam were always a-tellin' her how it were 
 charity to keep her an' " 
 
 " Well, the young Madam don't need to do no more 
 charity. An' Miss Hortense don't have to swallow no 
 more of them dry crust. When people like the young 
 Madam helps you, they crams they charity down you 
 throat half a dozen times. You has to swallow them 
 mouldy crust five or six times, an' you ain't never sure 
 it ain't a-goin' to choke you. An' she are daid! Uhn! 
 Uhn! "
 
 136 THE GRINDING 
 
 " How come the Trosclairs doesn't bury theyselves 
 to home like quality? " Chukey demanded. 
 
 " Hit war this-a-way," Marcelline answered in a 
 slow, solemn voice. "Time er the big storm, the 
 tombs to Malabar got all wash away. Then the crop 
 fail, an' they-alls 'gun to git porer an' porer, an' they- 
 alls 'lowed they w'a'nt goin' to be everlastin' buildin' 
 tombses jes' to wash away; an' with that, they tuk an' 
 build up to the Ole Buryin' Groun'. An' sence then, 
 they ain't made no more good crops. 'Taint good to 
 get mad at God an' make you brags what you is goin' 
 to do. But," with a deep sigh that was almost a groan, 
 "heap er times we all is sorry fur what we has did; 
 niggers, an' trash, an' quality. I reckon they was 
 sorry, plenty times, that they 'gun to bury theyselves 
 up yonder like trash. Quality ain't got no call to mix 
 up with trash, not even when it's daid. An' now Miss 
 Hortense are there the purties' an' the proudes' of 
 them all. But I reckon she war so heart-hurted she 
 didn't keer whar they bury her. When she went on 
 that far journey, to them furrin parts, she war purtier'n 
 a angel." 
 
 " She didn't favor no angel to me," Chukey inter- 
 rupted Marcelline's soliloquy. 
 
 " Huhn? " Marcelline grunted interrogatively. Then, 
 with sudden severity, "You hesh that nonsense, 
 Chukey." 
 
 :c Yas'm, she war purty, I reckon, but not angel- 
 purty. She war too sinful. She didn't have no 
 call"
 
 THE GRINDING 137 
 
 " Now you hesh, Chukey! " Marcelline commanded. 
 " Remember, the tongue are a oily an' a slippery mem- 
 ber, but it ain't goin' to wag lessen you makes it. Ef 
 you speaks them hard words, you is goin' to be sorry 
 fer it, same's the young Madam are goin' to be sorry. 
 An' sorry are a mighty dry crust to swallow. But 
 you mark my words, when we-all gits to heaven, an' 
 sets to the table of the Lawd, with crownds on our 
 haids, an' harps in our moufs, Miss Hortense will be 
 there. She'll sure be there." 
 
 Their voices rose in mellow cadence to where Cath- 
 erine stood, and gradually their meaning penetrated 
 her soul. Hortense Trosclair was dead! Hortense 
 Trosclair, whom she loved, whose love she had cov- 
 eted. Dead! Dead! The blight that fell on every- 
 thing belonging to her, had fallen on Hortense Tros- 
 clair. " Because I loved her! " she thought. There 
 was a fierce pang in her grief as of the hunted creature 
 that could find no hiding place. " She is dead," she 
 thought with lips compressed to keep herself from 
 crying out, " and over there " 
 
 She turned away from the window as she caught a 
 distant gleam of the red roof of Gold Mine shining 
 through the trees like a splotch of blood.
 
 XVI 
 
 ANANIAS looked surprised when, the following 
 morning, Catherine told him to get ready to drive 
 to the Old Burying Ground, and to bring a rose bush 
 from the garden to plant beside a grave. She made 
 no explanations. Why should she acknowledge that, 
 in spite of the humiliating visit to Malabar, she had 
 still cherished a hope of gaining Hortense Trosclair's 
 friendship? Why should she lay bare her soul? She 
 must fight her battle alone. 
 
 After they had started, she told him to go back and 
 get her a young cedar tree. Although she could not 
 have explained the impulse, it seemed to her that the 
 dark, mysterious cedar was more appropriate to that 
 silent soul than the rose bush she was bringing. Ana- 
 nias, deeply versed in plantation lore, studied her coun- 
 tenance for a clue to her conduct. He knew that to 
 plant a cedar tree invariably brought bad luck; but 
 how could it injure the dead? And whom did she 
 wish to harm? Then, remembering the recent funeral, 
 and connecting that with the trip to Malabar, he ar- 
 rived at a partial truth. It was beside Hortense Tros- 
 clair's tomb she wished to plant it. And, putting two 
 and two together, recalling the return in the early 
 morning, the all-night journey, the proverbial inhos- 
 
 138
 
 THE GRINDING 139 
 
 pitality of the Trosclairs, he decided that his young 
 Madam was wreaking a belated vengeance upon her 
 distant kinswoman. 
 
 Pondering these things, he returned, cedar tree in 
 hand, and Catherine, looking back, saw him shake his 
 head as he talked to himself. Certainly, he thought, 
 it was unlike a quality lady to be " conjuring " any 
 one, alive or dead. But the impulse of revenge, so 
 deeply imbedded in the primitive mind, was one he 
 could understand, and even while he recognized it as 
 one of the unconfessed motives of the " quality," he 
 regarded his mistress with a new respect. 
 
 It was still so early that, as they followed the wind- 
 ings of the bayou, the dew was not yet dried on the 
 grass. Over all the vegetation spread a soft, purplish 
 haze, like the bloom of the plum, and the early sun- 
 light striking on the polished surface of the lily leaves, 
 on the points of the yuccas and palmettoes where drops 
 of dew were hanging, flashed back a myriad jewels of 
 ruby and emerald and sapphire. Over all the distant 
 landscape there was a soft blur of mist above which 
 the tree tops loomed like shadowy islands. 
 
 The road ran along the edge of the bayou for sev- 
 eral miles above the Catholic church, then it went 
 through a tract of thick woods and when it came out 
 at the other side, it had left the bayou some distance 
 on the right and was skirting the rear of the Old Bury- 
 ing Ground. Through a break in the trees, she saw 
 the tall, white cross on the bayou's bank, but on this 
 side, within the black picket fence, rose another cross
 
 140 THE GRINDING 
 
 about twenty feet high, on which was an attenuated 
 figure painted in bright colors and emphazing the grue- 
 some details of wounds and blood. The mournful 
 eyes seemed to look down on the straggling paths bor- 
 dered with tombs on which hung wreaths of black and 
 white beads with the interwoven words: " Ma Mere" 
 " Mon Pere," " Ma Soeur," " Mon Frere," or most fre- 
 quently of all, the word " Regrets," so inadequate to 
 the Anglo-Saxon mind. 
 
 Catherine dismounted at the gate, passing a covered 
 wagon painted black, which she knew to be the " un- 
 dertaker's wagon," and at a distance she saw a group 
 of mourners about an open grave. Following Ananias 
 to the opposite side of the Burying Ground, she 
 stopped at a neglected-looking brick tomb. Some ef- 
 fort had recently been made to repair it, and propped 
 against one corner, was a broken urn filled with 
 flowers. The stone door was covered with inscriptions, 
 and at the bottom was the freshly cut name of Hortense 
 Felicie Trosclair. Nothing else. No date, no com- 
 ment of any sort, no word of sorrow or of hope. 
 
 At Catherine's bidding, Ananias planted the rose 
 tree, then murmuring a charm under his breath to 
 ward off any possible harm, he planted the cedar. As 
 he was pressing down the loose earth with his foot, a 
 voice reached them a voice of prayer. She had 
 barely noticed the little group beside an open grave, 
 so deep was her own absorption, but now she read the 
 story of their lives in the poor, flimsy mourning gar- 
 ments, the pale, pinched faces, the toil-hardened hands.
 
 THE GRINDING 141 
 
 Tears ran down their faces as they knelt in prayer and 
 Catherine, silently joining in their petition, -was uncon- 
 scious of the tears on her own cheeks. Then, as she 
 stood praying, though with no outward sign of prayer, 
 a silence seemed to steal into her soul. She might 
 not, herself, have called it resignation, but the storm 
 and anger and despair of the past weeks, seemed, for 
 the moment, a part of another life than hers. She felt 
 that she belonged with these unknown toilers the 
 patient children of the soil. Without a vestige of 
 pride that cruel pride that made her feel herself 
 a being apart, a creature singled out for suffering, 
 alone and above the ignorant bayou people she 
 turned to go, and with a last, unspoken farewell to 
 Hortense Trosclair, she walked quietly away, giving a 
 glance of gentle sympathy to the group now filing out 
 of the graveyard with their burden of want and toil 
 and bereavement. 
 
 The dew had dried on the grass as they drove home- 
 ward. From time to time, Ananias gave a backward 
 glance as if to study the landscape; in reality, to 
 scrutinize his mistress's face. If he had rightly under- 
 stood the mystery of the cedar tree, why had she wept 
 beside the tomb? And why was she now so calm and 
 still? There was no trace of joy or triumph in her 
 expression, as of satisfied revenge. What was the 
 meaning of it all? 
 
 They approached the wooded stretch and drove 
 noislessly over the thick carpet of leaves. Suddenly, 
 at no great distance, a blinding light flashed up, there
 
 142 THE GRINDING 
 
 was a roaring of flames, a shout, and two men dashed 
 out of the thicket into the road. 
 
 " The gas pocket! " Ananias ejaculated. 
 
 One of the men was tall and black-haired, with a 
 large, pale face. The other was a small, weazened 
 person with gray hair. But as quickly as they had 
 appeared, they dashed back out of sight, and it was 
 doubtful whether they had noticed the vehicle at the 
 turn of the road. "Uhn! Uhn! " Ananias piped in 
 his mournful treble, " I lay them two is conjurin' 
 you-alls gas pocket. Mr. Tobias ain't got no call to 
 be foolin' long of you-alls woods, an' neither hasn't Mr. 
 Marks." 
 
 " What was that fire? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " The Gas Pocket." 
 
 " I don't understand. What is a gas pocket? " 
 
 " It are a pond uv water mighty deep an' dark 
 an' effen you lights a leaf or anythin', an' draps it top 
 er the water, hit burn like you seen it." Then he added 
 with a chuckle, " They wasn't lookin' fer no sech 
 vi-g'rous noise. Hit skeered 'em." 
 
 "Ananias," she said, "was that really Mr. Marc 
 Sutton? Have you ever seen him? " 
 
 "Who? Mr. Marks? Sure I has seen him. I 
 seen him las' week, a-pyrootin' roun' on tother bayou 
 with Miss Modesta. Sure I has seen him. Yas'm, 
 that were him." 
 
 So Mark Sutton had been out in this parish, so 
 near, and yet had made no effort to see her who was his 
 queen! Looking back, as the road wound toward the
 
 THE GRINDING 143 
 
 bayou, she saw the red light of the gas flames still 
 gleaming between the trees. And as she looked, the 
 world came crowding upon her once more; with the 
 keen, pressing anxieties of her present life. 
 
 "Oh," she thought, "if only Tom Ogers would 
 come! "
 
 XVII 
 
 AS the season progressed and the need of money for 
 cultivating the crop grew more pressing, the 
 thoughts of all centered more and more on the coming 
 of Tom Ogers. If only he could see Esperance for 
 himself, they said, he would surely advance the neces- 
 sary amount. But week after week passed and no 
 answer came to Ronald's letters. The strain of ex- 
 pectancy was so acute that there was no longer a 
 pretence of concealing it. On mail day, Fergus and 
 Ronald came to the house early, and Catherine flitted 
 back and forth, to and from the gate, nervously watch- 
 ing for Pidgeon. 
 
 May came and still no word from Tom Ogers. One 
 evening when Catherine was watching at the gate, Miss 
 Victorine approached from up the bayou, riding in 
 her rickety jumper, bowing and smiling and waving a 
 long stalk tipped with a cluster of flowers. The back 
 of the vehicle was bristling with vegetables which pro- 
 truded from under the seat. 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Victorine," said Catherine, 
 going out to the roadside to shake hands with the 
 old lady, " did you pass Pidgeon on the road? " 
 
 " No," Miss Victorine acknowledged with regret. 
 " Hi didn't went that way. Hi cross the other bridge 
 
 144
 
 THE GRINDING 145 
 
 an' then I went back in the wood, back of the Ole 
 Buryin' Groun' to buy some chicken of M'sieur Pois- 
 son. He tole my Placide he have plenty Rhode Red 
 Islan's." 
 
 " Oh, has he? " Catherine exclaimed with interest. 
 " Marcelline says I ought to try to get some for my 
 chicken yard." 
 
 "They ain't Rhode Red Islan's," said Miss Vic- 
 torine; " he mek a mistake when he call them that." 
 
 " What are they? " 
 
 "Chicken; jes' nothin' but chicken." 
 
 " I don't think he's honest," said Catherine. " He 
 promised to bring us some young chickens and turkeys 
 and you ought to have seen them." 
 
 " I did. He try to sell them to me. He is hones', 
 if you will, Mees Catrine, but they is different kind of 
 hones'. They is hones' what you can buy from in 
 the dark, an' they is hones' what oblige you to carry a 
 lantern." 
 
 " I call that dishonest," Catherine declared with em- 
 phasis. 
 
 " Yes,'' Miss Victorine agreed regretfully; " yes, but 
 when a family is very poor, but very, very poor an' 
 passablement large sixteen children " 
 
 " Sixteen! " Catherine ejaculated. " But that is hor- 
 rible." 
 
 " Large family is the fashion on the bayou," Miss 
 Victorine said with her cheery smile. " On Bayou 
 Blanc, near the Gulf, is the family Jabart with twenty- 
 three children. An' one day a peddler pass by they
 
 146 THE GRINDING 
 
 don't often went so far an' he persuade the father 
 to buy spectacle for all his family him, his ole lady, 
 an' twenty-three children. The peddler tell him, ef 
 they didn't need them spectacle right now, they might 
 before he pass by again. An' every Sunday an' every 
 feast day, when they don't have to work in the fieP, 
 they wears them spectacle; all, even the little one! 
 Twenty-five pair of spectacle roun' that table. I has 
 seen them; me. They is far-off cousin to the family 
 Poisson. An M'sieur Poisson don't know no better 
 or if he do, he think he will be forgive because he 
 is so poor an' 'ave so many children." 
 
 " That doesn't excuse him," Catherine insisted with 
 the stern implacability of youth. 
 
 Miss Victorine looked across the fields. " Per'aps, 
 Mees Catrine," she suggested gently, " it is not best to 
 judge. Way off yonder in the country where they 
 don't never see nobody but the peddler an' he jes' 
 come to cheat them they ain't got no way of 
 knowin' the world like we has. An' they is so poor! 
 I reckon the family Jabart went hongry for days on 
 top of days, to pay for them spectacle. An' Pierre 
 Poisson what has money, an' what live in the village 
 an' know better, he don't help his paw an' his maw 
 none." 
 
 Catherine stood looking wonderingly up at the kindly 
 old face; trying to adjust her point of view to this new 
 standard which did not regard Esperance as on the 
 outermost edge of the world, and considered the vil- 
 lage of Bergerac as a center of enlightenment.
 
 THE GRINDING 147 
 
 " But Zelinka help," Miss Victorine continued; " him 
 an' his wife, Ottinsia Lirette. They is good people. 
 An' Madame Poisson are not lazy. Ah no! She get 
 up an' work in her garden before day, an' she feed 
 her chicken, an' milk her cow, an' hoe her fiel'. My 
 occasion of going yonder are not often, but I always 
 buy vegetable. To go to-day was a pleasure. The 
 road yonder are beautiful but beautiful! " 
 
 "I'd like to see it," Catherine exclaimed with an 
 impulse of interest in this strange, new world of which 
 she was now a part. 
 
 Miss Victorine flushed with pleasure. " Might I 
 tek the liberty? " she began and hesitated. 
 
 " To take me? I should be delighted to go." 
 
 Miss Victorine smiled all over her wrinkled, aquiline 
 face. " And it meks a beautiful time now on the 
 bayou," she said. " An' the canes! Never, never has 
 I seen the canes grow like that! But of a height! It 
 is to admire! " 
 
 " Is the cane better than usual? " Catherine asked, 
 looking across the level fields that stretched to the 
 woodland bordering Bayou Blanc. " We are so un- 
 accustomed to planting, we feared the crop might be a 
 failure." 
 
 " A failure! " Miss Victorine ejaculated in astonish- 
 ment. " But how could that be? " In the late after- 
 noon sunlight a gang of laborers was finishing the day's 
 work under the supervision of a large, loose-jointed 
 figure on horseback. " A failure! " she repeated men- 
 tally, " and with my Placide overseeing." Then she
 
 148 THE GRINDING 
 
 reminded herself that everything was new to these city 
 people, and that they must gradually learn Placide's 
 value as they must learn the value of the various kinds 
 of soil and of the different implements. 
 
 " We have the secret hostility of Mr. Blaise to con- 
 tend against," Catherine exclaimed impetuously, little 
 suspecting the turn Miss Victorine's thoughts had 
 taken. " He tries to cheat us in every way. He 
 cheated us on our mules, he takes away our laborers, 
 we have to be on our guard at every point." 
 
 Miss Victorine looked tenderly down on the lonely, 
 motherless girl, so pretty, so imprudent, and wondered 
 if it would be safe to give her a word of advice. " You 
 think him dengerous? " she asked. " Then it is bes' to 
 be silent. You know, the one who done the wrong 
 never forgive. No, it is not an advantage to 'ave deal- 
 ing with M'sieur Tobias. But soon all will be frien'ly 
 between Gole Mine and Esperance, hein? An' already 
 he begin to tek interes'. I come from seem' his horse 
 behind the Ole Buryin' Groun', an' I ask myself, 
 ' What is he do at the Ole Buryin' Groun'? Is he pray 
 at the grave of his ancestor? But no! Not M'sieur 
 Tobias. He is not devote/ Then," she continued, 
 raising her forefinger impressively, " I figure to myself 
 it is the gas pocket he visit; an' he tie his horse to the 
 graveyard fence so she can mek a good supper while 
 he study the pocket. But, Mees Catrine, it is not bes' 
 to talk about M'sieur Tobias in this parish. He hear 
 what we thinks in the dark with the door shut. Yes, 
 he do. But in the long, long grindin', Mees Catrine,
 
 THE GRINDING 149 
 
 the head weigh more than the ears an' Esperance 
 have got the head, while Gole Mine possess the ears. 
 Still, caution, ch&re Mamselle. Let it be a secret that 
 you fear heem an' the only way to keep a secret 
 are to say nothin' otherwise " 
 
 Whatever additional advice she was about to give, 
 was interrupted at this point by a sound of shouting on 
 the other side of the bayou, and Pere Ignace dashed 
 into view, half standing in his buggy and sawing at 
 the lines while he filled the air with objurgations. 
 
 "That Cauchemar! " Miss Victorine exclaimed. 
 " One day she will kill Pere Ignace, an' then I hope 
 she will be satisfy." 
 
 " I wouldn't keep such a creature," Catherine de- 
 clared. "Oh! O-h! O-h-h! " This last was a 
 shriek from both, for Pere Ignace having triumphantly 
 reached the point opposite and perceiving the two ladies 
 watching him, attempted to raise his hat with the whip 
 still clenched in his hand. The all-observant Cauche- 
 mar, catching sight of the whip and mistaking the 
 demonstration, rose suddenly upright on her hind feet 
 and pawed the air. 
 
 " She'll smash the buggy! " cried Catherine. 
 
 " She will teep heem in the bay-you! " shrieked Miss 
 Victorine. 
 
 " Oh! O-h-h-h! " they both screamed as the animal 
 whirled and tried to make a dash for home. There 
 was a hailstorm of blows, a torrent of vociferations, 
 and bouncing at a breakneck speed, the buggy went 
 rocking away and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
 
 ISO THE GRINDING 
 
 " Man Dieu! " Miss Victorine sighed in relief. 
 " Before my h-eyes I seen him dead. My hair come 
 straight on my head. I " 
 
 From behind a clump of coffee-weeds at the side of 
 the road where Cauchemar had executed her most 
 spirited antics, a small pig now slunk into sight with 
 a conscious-smitten air. 
 
 " Mon Dieu! " Miss Victorine repeated. " An' now 
 it are Tobias who aim to walk on the top of the road. 
 I mus' chase heem, or he is los'," and forgetting in 
 her excitement even to say her customary " Au revoir," 
 she whirled away, bouncing over the rough road and 
 lashing her pony with the blossoming weed. 
 
 " You and Miss Victorine have been having an ex- 
 citing conversation/' said Fergus, slipping his hand 
 through Catherine's arm. " Ah here comes Pidgeon 
 at last! " as the small, round figure came in sight, 
 perched like a monkey so far back on the mule's 
 haunches that he seemed in danger of slipping down 
 its tail. He was beguiling the tedium of the trip by 
 playing ball with the package of mail; leaning far over, 
 now this way, now that, to catch it first in one hand, 
 then in the other. Suddenly perceiving the two figures 
 he became as demure as a mute at a funeral and, 
 sliding down to the ground, stood cap in hand while 
 Fergus explained to him the need of care in handling 
 the letters. 
 
 Ronald, standing on the gallery, watched Catherine 
 as she approached, her hand on Fergus' arm, her head 
 bent as she examined an address he was showing her.
 
 THE GRINDING 151 
 
 One of her chief beauties, he reflected, was her perfect 
 grace. So dainty, he thought, so exquisite, such a 
 flowerlike girl, but with such a cruel heart! It was 
 his calamity that, in spite of this knowledge, he con- 
 tinued to love her. He marveled at his own weakness. 
 
 " Nothing yet from Tom Ogers? " he asked, coming 
 down the steps to meet them. 
 
 " Nothing," said Fergus, " but here's a letter from 
 New Bedford. From Emily Allin, I judge. That will 
 be a pleasure." 
 
 " Yes," said Ronald, indifferently, " it's from Emily," 
 and walked away reading it. 
 
 He might have stopped and shared it with her, Cath- 
 erine thought. She and Emily were classmates at 
 Dobbs' Ferry, and it would have been interesting to 
 hear of their old friends. Then it occurred to her 
 that a letter to Ronald might not be so interesting as 
 if it had been written to her. 
 
 " Have you the Society Notes, Fergus? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes," he said, handing her the sheet. " I beg 
 your pardon." 
 
 " I like to see what our old friends are doing," she 
 explained. 
 
 " Of course," he agreed, and went on reading the 
 editorial page. 
 
 Presently glancing up, she said, "Marc Sutton is 
 at Gold Mine. They're giving a week-end house 
 party, and," after another pause, she added in a hard 
 tone, " I don't see why those people want to pretend 
 any friendship for us. I don't see why that Blaise
 
 152 THE GRINDING 
 
 girl called on me." It was the first time she had men- 
 tioned the incident, and she colored as she spoke of it 
 now, knowing that Fergus must disapprove of her rude- 
 ness to Modesta. " You say Mr. Blaise seems more 
 friendly than he did formerly; but, Fergus, I'm sure 
 he's just as dangerous as a tiger. I told you about 
 seeing him at the gas pocket, and Miss Victorine men- 
 tioned seeing him there again this evening. She said 
 it very cautiously, but I'm sure she meant to put us 
 on our guard. He means mischief. You may depend 
 upon it; he means mischief."
 
 XVIII 
 
 C EATED as they were, they did not see the figure 
 ^ that dismounted at the gate and approached them, 
 moving as noiselessly as a cat, walking in the violets 
 that bordered the path, still further to muffle his foot- 
 steps. When Catherine said, "I'm sure he means mis- 
 chief," a soft voice with something indefinably char- 
 acteristic in its intonation, replied, " But he's harm- 
 less." 
 
 Her nerves all in a quiver, Catherine sprang to her 
 feet. " Marc Sutton! " she cried. 
 
 " Yes," said the visitor coming up the steps and 
 taking a hand of each, " at last I had a chance to 
 come. And I beg your pardon for overhearing your 
 last words. I ought to have realized you couldn't see 
 me, and spoken sooner." 
 
 Fergus now noticed that his horse was tied outside 
 and, seated as they were, he had quite naturally ap- 
 proached unperceived. 
 
 Still holding Catherine's hand, Marc said, in his soft, 
 caressing voice, " What have you been doing to make 
 yourself lovelier than ever? I didn't believe that pos- 
 sible when you were my queen." 
 
 " Why, Marc! " Ronald's voice spoke from the hall 
 door, " when did you come? " 
 
 153
 
 154 THE GRINDING 
 
 " To Esperance? This moment. I'm over at Gold 
 Mine for the week-end." Then, to Fergus, " I thought 
 I could attend to that matter more satisfactorily in 
 person than I have been able to by letter." 
 
 " Can't you stay here to-night? " Catherine asked. 
 " We'll send Pidgeon over to Gold Mine to tell them 
 you've been taken prisoner. I haven't seen any one 
 from New Orleans since I left there so you know 
 how starved for news I must be." 
 
 " I wish I could stay," he answered with apparent 
 sincerity, " but I must be back this evening; I'll stay 
 to supper though if you'll let me." 
 
 When they were gathered about the table, he told 
 them the recent gossip of the city; of how grand Belle 
 Snively's wedding was " the most brilliant affair " 
 he was going to say " for several seasons," but, re- 
 membering that that reflected on Catherine's bal 
 poudre of only one year ago, he changed the wording 
 of his sentence, and said, " the most brilliant since you 
 left." 
 
 " Did she look pretty? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " Pretty? " he looked at her and laughed. " You 
 ask? And when did she look pretty? She was 
 gorgeously dressed. They say it was her grand- 
 mother's wedding gown. I never knew she had a 
 grandmother did you? But this was her wedding 
 gown ' which she wore at the President's inaugural 
 ball,' mind you. It was a mass of lace I don't know 
 what kind. You'll have to ask May Burbank. I saw 
 her up in the gallery, looking with all her eyes. Some
 
 THE GRINDING 155 
 
 contrast to her own wedding. She was married in a 
 traveling dress. Don't you go and make such a mis- 
 take, Catherine. A girl has a chance to wear a veil 
 and orange blossoms just once in her life; and then to 
 go and get married in a traveling dress! But the 
 greatest joke is but you mustn't tell I told you; 
 say some one else did By the way, where did you 
 first meet Belle Snively? " 
 
 " Belle Snively? " Catherine queried, astonished. 
 " I met her I don't remember where I met her first. 
 Oh, yes, I met her at that kermess we danced to raise 
 money for the Charity Hospital. Don't you remem- 
 ber? She was dressed as a Polish peasant Polish 
 or Russian. Which was it? " 
 
 " Russian," said Marc. 
 
 " She was just as cunning as she could be in her 
 furs," Catherine said. 
 
 " And fairly broiling with the heat," Marc added. 
 
 " But so pretty and fascinating," Catherine insisted. 
 
 " Oh, come now," Marc protested. " Fascinating, 
 if you will, but not pretty. She never had a ghost of 
 a claim to be pretty." 
 
 " Yes, she did," Catherine insisted. " Don't you re- 
 member her long braid of jet-black hair, reaching al- 
 most to her ankles? " 
 
 " Certainly I do, and I know where she rented it." 
 
 " Oh, Marc, I don't believe it." 
 
 " And that was the evening she and Angelina Home 
 created such a furore dancing together," Ronald re- 
 membered.
 
 156 THE GRINDING 
 
 " She and Angelina have quarreled. They quar- 
 reled the day of the wedding too late to drop An- 
 gelina out of the wedding procession. And Belle was 
 furious at having her," Marc went on. 
 
 " What was it about? " Catherine asked. " They 
 were so intimate." 
 
 " Angelina accused her of something or other. By 
 the way, Angelina has been robbed. She lost her dia- 
 mond ear-rings. Those great head-lights she used to 
 wear." 
 
 " Since the wedding? " Ronald asked. 
 
 " Before. And Modesta lost a pearl ring the last 
 time Belle was out here." 
 
 " You don't mean to insinuate " Catherine ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Heaven forbid! " Marc interrupted. " I don't in- 
 sinuate anything. I was merely on the point of stat- 
 ing a disconnected fact." 
 
 " And what was it? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, except that Modesta lost it; but Belle 
 smoothed it over by accusing a little maid that had 
 come recently, and later they found the ring." 
 
 " Isn't it possible the maid had stolen it and put it 
 back? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " Yes, it's possible," Marc replied with a soft laugh. 
 " Wasn't the third form of supposition in Greek ' Sup- 
 position with bare possibility,' Fergus? I think the 
 maid's having stolen it is the third form of supposi- 
 tion. Anyhow, the child wanted to leave and the priest 
 was called in. I don't know why it all made such an
 
 THE GRINDING 157 
 
 uproar and if Belle took the ring mind, I say if 
 she took it, I'm sure she didn't foresee the complica- 
 tions that would arise from her accusing the servant." 
 
 " It wasn't one of our Esperance negroes, was it? " 
 Fergus asked. " I'm trying to become acquainted with 
 their characteristics so I can know whom to trust." 
 
 " ' Trust '? " Marc repeated and laughed. " Well, 
 set your mind at rest. It was a white girl they've 
 taken out of charity. She comes from somewhere on 
 this bayou, but not near here." 
 
 " And did Angelina recover her ear-rings? " Cath- 
 erine asked. 
 
 " Yes, she hired a detective and they were found; no 
 one knows just where. It was hushed up, but it looked 
 awkward for Belle. The city's humming with it, and 
 everybody's remembering things, now Belle's gone. 
 It's screamingly funny to hear the girls talk. May'll 
 write you all about it. By the way, Fergus, did the 
 Smithsonian Institution buy your coin collection? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What became of it? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 There was a moment's silence in which all remem- 
 bered that Belle was with Catherine during the break- 
 ing up of the home. 
 
 " It must have been accidentally carted away with 
 the furniture," Fergus observed. " The collection was 
 so heavy no one person could have carried it off." 
 
 " Oh, I wasn't thinking Belle had stolen it," Marc 
 protested with a laugh. " As you say, no one person
 
 158 THE GRINDING 
 
 could have carried it off. Besides, I'm slow to suspect 
 people. I don't believe I could ever convict a man on 
 circumstantial evidence. His guilt might seem un- 
 questionable; then, years later, you find he is innocent. 
 I knew of a man who was hanged for a murder he never 
 committed, and twenty years later, the real criminal 
 confessed on his death bed. Now you say that Mr. 
 Blaise means mischief but on what do you base your 
 assertion? " 
 
 " I saw him prowling around our gas pocket," Cath- 
 erine replied. 
 
 " Is it fenced in? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, then, why couldn't he stop and look at it 
 without trespassing? What harm was there in it? 
 I'm not defending him; I'm asking for information." 
 
 Catherine listened with that strange feeling of hav- 
 ing heard all this before that curious counterfeit of 
 memory which doubtless gave rise to the theory of 
 reincarnation; and when Marc began talking of busi- 
 ness it seemed as if she knew what was coming. He 
 explained the plan by which Tobias Blaise was willing 
 to pay a certain sum for the gas pocket, and another 
 sum if he found gas. 
 
 " If? " said Ronald; " he knows it's there." 
 
 " Yes," Marc acknowledged, " he knows it's there." 
 
 " And you saw how it burned," Catherine 
 added. * 
 
 As Marc raised his eyes to her face, she remembered 
 the impression their intense blackness sometimes pro-
 
 THE GRINDING 159 
 
 duced upon her as if, looking at her, he did not see her. 
 " Yes," he acknowledged again, " I have seen it burn. 
 But in this matter, we must talk practically and not 
 theoretically. You know it's always a risk, boring in 
 the earth for anything. The gas is there but can he 
 harness it? And is it in paying quantities? And can 
 he pipe it to his sugarhouse cheaply enough to use it 
 for fuel? It seems to me this is a great chance for 
 you to realize on non-productive property without tak- 
 ing any risk. You will excuse my speaking so frankly. 
 If you had the money to bore, of course, that would be 
 a different matter." 
 
 " Perhaps," Catherine began impulsively, when Ron- 
 ald's eyes flashed a warning at her. 
 
 Marc saw the look and read its meaning. " They 
 have a plan for raising the money," he thought. 
 Then, aloud, " I think you must know that I'm not 
 acting in Blaise's interest in this matter. I've been 
 talking gas not hot air " with a humorous glance 
 at Catherine. " I'm not trying to deceive him any 
 more than I am you I really have no interest in the 
 matter outside my friendship for you, and my duty as 
 your lawyer. I thought, considering the doubtful posi- 
 tion of that gas pocket so near the boundary line you 
 can't be quite sure which side it's on it would be a 
 mighty lucky thing for you to get rid of it without 
 further controversy." 
 
 " If it is on his side of the line it already belongs 
 to him," Fergus answered quietly, " and we should not 
 consent to his paying us for what was not ours."
 
 160 THE GRINDING 
 
 " Certainly, if it were proved that it was not yours. 
 I know you too well to suspect you'd accept money 
 for' what was not yours. But you can't be sure of 
 that without all the expense of surveying, looking up 
 papers, and so on. The records have not been well 
 kept in this parish. There is one thing proves your 
 ownership to me." He glanced at Fergus with that 
 furtive, half-laughing expression habitual with him. 
 
 " And what is that? " his three hearers asked in a 
 breath. 
 
 " The fact that Blaise is willing to pay for it with- 
 out haggling." 
 
 " Marc," said Catherine, " why did you and he exam- 
 ine it before speaking to Fergus? You know that was 
 a queer way to treat old friends." 
 
 Marc's face took on a pale, salmon tinge as he re- 
 plied: "Not at all. We happened to be riding past 
 and Blaise said, ' Don't you want to see a natural 
 wonder? ' That was all there was to it. I didn't even 
 know at that time that it belonged to you. And mind, 
 I'm not urging any of you to sell. I'm only saying, 
 unless you can bore, and unless you have money to 
 fight his claim (if he should decide to make one), it 
 seems to me a waste to let natural resources lie idle. 
 And money's awfully tight just now." 
 
 After supper he expressed much regret that he must 
 hurry back to Gold Mine, adding, " I promised to come 
 when Modesta was in Belle's party. I couldn't get 
 out of it and she's a nice little thing," he added as if 
 recalled to something he had forgotten. Ronald's eyes
 
 THE GRINDING 161 
 
 rested on him with a curious expression, but he said 
 nothing. 
 
 Ananias was waiting at the foot of the steps with 
 the horse, which loomed tall and ghostly in the half 
 light from the lantern hanging from the saddle bow. 
 Marc mounted stiffly and cautiously. He was not at 
 home on horseback and held the bridle in a nervous 
 grasp, leaning forward a little so that, unconsciously 
 to himself, his pale, sallow face with its closely trimmed 
 black beard and the high forehead with a black peak 
 in the center looked like a mask from which the sur- 
 face blackness of his eyes glittered like jewels. 
 
 Hat in hand, he smiled up at Catherine. " Can't we 
 all go fishing together, one of these days? " he asked. 
 " You know, all work and no play is bad for everybody. 
 We'll get that handsome Cajan boy, Jacques (he pro- 
 nounced it Jakes) Lirette, to pilot us. They say he 
 knows the coast by heart." 
 
 Catherine flushed scarlet, the name had come so un- 
 expectedly. How did he know anything of Jacques 
 Lirette, she wondered with alarm. 
 
 " Think over the matter about the gas pocket, 
 Fergus," Marc continued as if he had not noticed Cath- 
 erine's embarrassment. " You'll be with us, tomorrow, 
 I suppose, Ronald? " Then, with a pleasant good- 
 night, and the promise to come soon for a fishing trip, 
 he rode away. 
 
 The lantern swung and flickered and the three on 
 the gallery watched it in silence. Down the long 
 sweep of the driveway to the gate, past the clump
 
 162 THE GRINDING 
 
 of shrubbery outside the fence, now hidden by thick 
 foliage, now twinkling clearly through an opening; 
 growing smaller and more distant until the hollow sound 
 of hoofs on the wooden bridge, unnaturally loud in the 
 silence of the night, told that he was crossing the 
 bayou. 
 
 " He's dangerous," exclaimed Ronald, as the hoof 
 beats died away. " Blaise wants to be friendly with 
 us for several reasons; and it's to our interest to meet 
 him half way. But that crook is trying to make trou- 
 ble. I don't see why we haven't always suspected that 
 fellow. I never noticed that retreating forehead of 
 his before with the hair growing down into that 
 sharp peak in the center. He's an absolute Mephis- 
 topheles." 
 
 " How uncharitable you are! " Catherine exclaimed. 
 But, at the same time she felt frightened at Marc Sut- 
 ton's words. What had he meant to imply, she won- 
 dered. 
 
 " I suppose you think he has a winning counte- 
 nance," Ronald retorted. 
 
 " I think he's homely," she acknowledged, " but I 
 never did choose my friends for their beauty." Then, 
 in her own mind, she wondered again how he happened 
 to speak of Jacques; and a fear assailed her that he 
 would couple their names together in some way if she 
 quarreled with him. It was cowardly of her not to 
 speak her fear to those two who had proved their 
 love and trustworthiness by a lifetime of devotion, but 
 she reflected that Ronald would be tempted to say, " I
 
 THE GRINDING 163 
 
 told you so," if she acknowledged her dread. Instead, 
 she said, " I can see how it may easily have happened." 
 
 " You didn't notice his expression? " Ronald in- 
 quired. He was still looking toward the bridge, and 
 the dim light from the hall showed the haughty poise 
 of his head and the nervous frown on his half-averted 
 face. " Do you think," he continued in the same tone, 
 " that any one ever looked as freakish as that if there 
 was nothing wrong with him? " 
 
 " Fergus," she protested, " is it reasonable to turn 
 against an old friend just because he looks queer by 
 lantern light? " 
 
 " I think Cathie is right," Fergus interposed. " Per- 
 haps his standards are not exactly like ours, but the 
 great danger of living such isolated lives is that one 
 falls into the habit of distrusting people. We exag- 
 gerate trifles and think they have a deep meaning." 
 
 " As I looked at him," Ronald continued musingly, 
 as if speaking to himself, " I could see him with shaven 
 head and the convict stripes around his neck. His 
 face was made for that uniform." 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed of yourself, talking that 
 way," she declared. " I know why you're so severe 
 toward him " and she walked away. 
 
 " He makes me sick," Ronald exclaimed as Cather- 
 ine left them. " He thinks he's so wonderfully deep 
 making eyes at the girls, and setting them all by the 
 ears. Slandering every girl he knows. And here's 
 Cathie, fooled by a few soft words. Girls can't see 
 through a pane of glass."
 
 164 THE GRINDING 
 
 Fergus musing abstractedly, seemed not to hear him. 
 
 " I'll wager anything," Ronald went on, " he has 
 Esperance at his fingers' ends and knows it better than 
 we do." 
 
 " Why do you think he would give Blaise the prefer- 
 ence over us? " Fergus asked. 
 
 " Blaise holds cards and spades," Ronald exclaimed. 
 " Don't you see? Blaise has the money to bore right 
 away. And he has a daughter Marc might marry. If 
 we hadn't lost out, he'd have tried to marry Catherine. 
 Good heavens, Fergus! " He broke off. " Can't you 
 induce her to have a little common sense and not lis- 
 ten to every adventurer and Cajan fisherman that 
 comes along? Marc will cajole her into signing away 
 the plantation, if you don't watch her. Jove! " he 
 ejaculated, walking away. In a moment he returned. 
 " If Tom conies," he said, " he'll advance the money, 
 and with a little money, we'll be on our feet in no 
 time. But without money we're so helpless! " 
 
 Fergus laid his hand on Ronald's shoulder. " Go 
 to bed," he said. " Worrying doesn't help us. Things 
 may look brighter in the morning."
 
 XIX 
 
 A few days after Marc Button's visit, bad weather 
 ** set in. Day after day the rain fell and Fergus 
 and Ronald, who heard of floods in other parts of the 
 state, grew more and more silent and anxious. Cath- 
 erine, knowing nothing of the danger of high water and 
 not realizing how her discontent added to the burden 
 the others were bearing, fretted daily because she could 
 not get out of doors and because there was nothing to 
 do within. No one imagined how keenly she missed 
 her books and her piano. In other days, she had 
 played charmingly, with a caressing, sympathetic 
 touch. It was a natural gift and not the result of in- 
 dustry; but she now longed for music with a passion- 
 ate yearning. She had been attracted to Jacques 
 Lirette even more by the music of his voice than by his 
 beauty, and she was tempted to have him bring his 
 guitar and sing for her. Why shouldn't she, she asked 
 herself. What did she care for the petty, bayou gos- 
 sip? But for some reason, she did not do it. 
 
 Going into the kitchen one morning she said, " Mar- 
 celline, what do women do in the country when it 
 rains all the time? I never thought about it before, 
 but I wonder what Noah's wife did, shut up in the ark." 
 
 " I reckon she were right busy," Marcelline replied. 
 
 165
 
 166 THE GRINDING 
 
 "You knows, she had plenty animules to tend. But 
 I reckon she set an' study a heap er times what she 
 were a-goin' to do when the rain let up. She mout 
 er study how she were a-goin' to shoo away all them 
 snake an' chicken hawk an' buzzard when it come time 
 to let out her chicken an' tukkey. An' then she had 
 her cookin' to do, an' you know men folks is right fussy 
 about they eatin' 'specially in rainy weather when 
 they isn't got much to do outside. An' she didn't have 
 no one to help her, lessen her daughters-in-law whirled 
 in an' lent a hand. An' that ain't likely." 
 
 Days passed and still the rain beat against the win- 
 dows and leaked through the roof. Then one morn- 
 ing Catherine awoke to a sky of the deepest azure and 
 the sunlight gilding all the landscape. The field work, 
 hindered by the wet weather, was now resumed with 
 double energy, and even Ananias, so long considered 
 indispensable at the house, was pressed into service in 
 the cane fields. 
 
 Catherine, with renewed interest, went into her rose 
 garden which was a riot of blossoms, filled with the 
 music of the birds and bees. It was good to be alive, 
 she acknowledged half-grudgingly, as she breathed the 
 perfumed air. From the garden she went to the 
 chicken yard where she found Marcelline and Pidgeon 
 transferring a brood of chirping little creatures and 
 their indignant mother to one of the small enclosed 
 spaces built for that purpose. As Catherine ap- 
 proached, she overheard Marcelline say, " Thank God,
 
 THE GRINDING 167 
 
 the levees has held. Mr. Placide sure know how to 
 watch them levees." 
 
 " Are there levees out here, Marcelline? " she asked. 
 
 " Sure they is levees out yeah," the old woman an- 
 swered. " They's fur back, against the swamp. Effen 
 they wasn't, we'd be like Miss Noah you was axin' 
 'bout, I reckon." 
 
 " I didn't know this plantation was subject to over- 
 flow," Catherine said. 
 
 " All this part er the kentry are subjec' to overflow," 
 Marcelline replied, " but they's good levees round Es- 
 pe ranee." Then the conversation turned to various 
 breeds of chickens, and Catherine thought no more of 
 the high water. 
 
 The following day, as she was again cutting roses 
 to carry to the house, she wandered back nearly to the 
 chicken yard. From where she was standing, she could 
 hear Pidgeon's sweet, African voice crooning: 
 
 " When the moon run down in purple stream, 
 
 Purple stream, 
 
 When the sun refuse to shine, 
 When every star shall disappear, 
 King Jesus shall be mine, 
 Shall be mine." 
 
 She stood listening, and as she did so, her eyes ran 
 with unconscious pleasure over the group of build- 
 ings which, as on every plantation, formed a comple- 
 ment to the main house. Largest and most important 
 was the kitchen, connected with the back gallery by a
 
 168 THE GRINDING 
 
 raised walk covered with a scuppernong arbor. 
 Against the side of the kitchen and forming an angle 
 with the two tall cisterns at its rear, was the milk shed 
 where the open churn and a row of milk pans were tilted 
 against the raised step to catch the morning sunlight. 
 Nearer to the garden was the wash house, and back 
 of that the chicken house, and a succession of en- 
 closures which reached nearly to the stables. More 
 remote were the smoke house and corn bin, bordering 
 the pasture; then came the fields and the woods. The 
 buildings and fences were all more or less in a state 
 of dilapidation, but in the bright sunshine they pre- 
 sented an unwonted charm to Catherine's eyes. 
 
 Something cold touched her foot. Starting back, 
 she perceived a long thread of water stealing through 
 the grass like a snake; then another and another. She 
 was in a labyrinth of tiny streams. What could it 
 mean? In a sudden panic, she jumped across the 
 ditch which was rapidly filling, and ran toward the 
 kitchen calling, " Marcelline! " 
 
 Almost before Catherine finished speaking, the old 
 woman understood the situation. Putting her hands 
 distractedly to her head, she called to Pidgeon. " You 
 run to the fieP an' tell Mr. Fergus the levee has broke," 
 she commanded breathlessly as he came out of the 
 chicken house. " An come back quick ez you kin," 
 she added. " An' tell Mr. Fergus we needs Unc' Nias." 
 With swift steps she went from enclosure to enclosure, 
 gathering hens and chickens into her apron and car- 
 rying them up to the loft.
 
 THE GRINDING 169 
 
 " Why are you doing that? " Catherine asked in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " To save them from drowndin'," Marcelline replied 
 without pausing in her work; " we mout be all over- 
 flowed by night." 
 
 " Can I help? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " Yes, Ma'am, you kin help," Marcelline replied. 
 " You kin empty the feed bin. We has to carry all 
 the feed upstairs." Then, lifting her voice and round- 
 ing her hand at the side of her mouth to form a speak- 
 ing trumpet, she called, " Chukey, whar is you? " 
 But no Chukey appeared. At the first alarm, she had 
 discreetly gone home to attend to her own affairs. 
 
 Catherine looked helplessly around for a pan, then 
 finding a bucket, filled it to overflowing and toiled up 
 the stairs with her heavy load. 
 
 " You kin empty it in the box in the cornder," Mar- 
 celline directed, instinctively taking command. 
 
 Again and again Catherine filled the bucket, and 
 dragged it up the stairs until, with trembling limbs, 
 she sank down on the lowest step unable again to lift 
 her load. 
 
 " You better go to the house," Marcelline suggested. 
 " You mout have to take all you clo'es outen the ar- 
 moires. We don't know how high the water are goin' 
 to rise." 
 
 " You think we'll have to live upstairs? " Catherine 
 asked. 
 
 " We mout. We doesn't know how bad the break 
 are; nor where 'bouts in the levees. It might be jes'
 
 ,170 THE GRINDING 
 
 a little break what they kin stop right away, an' it 
 mout be a reg'lar washout." 
 
 " What will happen if it's a washout? " 
 
 But Marcelline was again out of sight and Catherine 
 could hear her dragging some heavy object across the 
 floor. She crossed the yard, where little pools of 
 water were already forming in the long grass, and a 
 bevy of ducks was delightedly quacking. She was 
 timid about being alone, and so instead of going into 
 the empty house and beginning to pack her clothes as 
 Marcelline had suggested, she waited on the back gal- 
 lery until the old woman returned. 
 
 " What will become of us," Catherine repeated, " if 
 there is a washout? " 
 
 " The Lawd only knows," Marcelline replied. " All 
 I knows is this much: effen He pint the way, we is 
 boun' to go. We kin rare an' charge all we likes, but 
 we's boun' to keep in the road. An' effen He say fur us 
 to go thoo the Red Sea, we mout as well haul off an' 
 wade right in. An effen He say 'Swim! ' we's boun' 
 to swim whether we kin or not." 
 
 There was something displeasingly hortatory in this 
 reply, and for the moment Catherine asked no more 
 questions but followed the old woman into the bed 
 room where she began emptying armoires and dresser 
 drawers. Presently, motioning toward the white velvet 
 box which still stood under the bed, she observed, 
 " We mout tote that upstairs, but it are mighty hefty, 
 an' soak' with the dampness. I reckon it will bust ef 
 we teches it."
 
 THE GRINDING 171 
 
 " It can't be very heavy," Catherine replied, " but 
 there's no use carrying it upstairs," and she walked out 
 to the front gallery. Here a strange sight met her eyes. 
 Across the bayou, where the fields of Esperance met 
 those of Gold Mine, between the ridges of feathery 
 cane, there were long, black ribbons of water. 
 
 Presently Marcelline, her arms full of parcels, 
 looked out of the door. "That are black water," 
 she observed; "hit are backin' up from the 
 swamp." 
 
 " It can't be very serious," said Catherine. 
 " They'd be doing something if it were. There isn't a 
 soul in sight." 
 
 " I reckon they is doin' all they kin," Marcelline as- 
 sured her. "Hark! " as the faint sound of a bell 
 reached them from a distance. " That are to Gole 
 Mine," she exclaimed; and a moment later the bell of 
 Esperance took up the cry of alarm with its sharp, 
 brazen clang. 
 
 And now Ananias and Pidgeon appeared, splashing 
 through the water. As soon as they were within speak- 
 ing distance, Catherine, consumed with impatience, 
 called, " Tell me, Ananias! What is it? " 
 
 " It are a break," he answered, mopping his head 
 with his red bandana handkerchief. " It have broke 
 bofe sides to wonst. The one over yonder to Gole 
 Mine are worser'n ourn. The water are risin' mighty 
 brisk in Bayou Blanc, an' Mr. Tobias are a-bawlin' fer 
 help. He kin outbawl a panther; him. Mr. RonaP 
 have went over to Gole Mine an' Mr. Fergus an' Mr.
 
 172 THE GRINDING 
 
 Placide has tooken all our ban's fum Esperance an' has 
 went to our swamp." 
 
 " Of course," thought Catherine, " Ronald is help- 
 ing at Gold Mine. His interests are all there. We can 
 drown for anything he cares." She stood watching 
 the rising water after Ananias and Pidgeon had splashed 
 away toward the rear of the house, and not knowing 
 the importance of stopping the break at Gold Mine, 
 (that until it was stopped Esperance would not be 
 safe), she thought bitterly of Ronald. 
 
 Down the bayou road came Jacques Lirette, riding 
 like the wind. Seeing her, he dashed in at the gate 
 and stopped his panting pony at the foot of the steps. 
 She came part way down and stood on a level with him. 
 " Is the water rising at Bergerac? " she asked. 
 
 " I didn' went that far," he replied. " I was over 
 to Poisson's, an' the water haven't riz there. It's jes' 
 here to Esperance and over yonder to Gole Mine, an' 
 down the bayou, I reckon." 
 
 " Is there danger that we shall drown? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " No, Mees Catrine," he answered. " No one to es- 
 perance, neither to Gole Mine. Down to the Settle- 
 ment? Perhaps." His face was of a marble white- 
 ness, but it was not the pallor of fear. He wore an ex- 
 pression of courage and manliness at variance with his 
 usual boyish beauty. She noted this change, but, at 
 the same moment, her sub-conscious mind took in the 
 luster of the dark eyes and the sweetness of the lips 
 that seemed made for laughter.
 
 THE GRINDING 173 
 
 " I mus' go help my people," he said, " but I thought 
 you might be skeered " 
 
 " I am," she acknowledged, " and I'm lonely. But 
 I always am." 
 
 He looked at her in perplexity. Why should a great 
 lady, the owner of a plantation with all the duties and 
 occupations that that entailed, be lonely? Yet, mani- 
 festly, she was longing for companionship. The two 
 young faces were similar in coloring and, at the mo- 
 ment, bore an intangible resemblance, although his 
 beauty was of the solitude of the bayou; hers, of gen- 
 erations of culture and contact with the world. Yet 
 each asked an unspoken question: hers was a passion- 
 ate seeking for companionship; his, an entreaty. " Do 
 not make a plaything of my heart," his seemed to say. 
 
 " Are you really in danger of drowning at the Settle- 
 ment? " she asked. 
 
 " It is possible," he replied. 
 
 " Oh, don't go! " she ejaculated. " Stay where you 
 will be safe." 
 
 His startled look rebuked her. What had she meant, 
 it asked plainly. " I mus' go help my people," he 
 repeated then, bending toward her he extended his 
 hand. She laid hers in it. His eyes questioned her 
 but after an instant he released it, saying, " I'm more 
 'n sure Esperance will be save'." 
 
 She watched him riding away perhaps to his 
 death and she flushed at the construction he might 
 put upon her words. But she defended herself against 
 her own accusations. Surely, she .argued, he must
 
 174 THE GRINDING 
 
 have known it was only because she wished to save him 
 from danger that she had spoken so. It was not a 
 special anxiety, more than she would have felt for any- 
 one else. But his instantaneous recognition of her in- 
 terest warned her of danger. She had acted rashly, 
 she knew. She would never have allowed his father 
 to take her hand then why had she let Jacques? 
 She refused to answer the question. 
 
 The lapping of the water against the steps recalled 
 her to the threatening danger, and suddenly she real- 
 ized that it was growing dark. Where were Fergus 
 and Ronald, she wondered with a sharp contraction of 
 the heart. She could hear the servants moving from 
 room to room and as she went into the house, Mar- 
 celline met her in the hall, her arms full of bundles. 
 The old woman looked searchingly at her, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 " Do you think it's necessary to move everything? " 
 Catherine asked. " We're not really in danger, are 
 we? " 
 
 " We has to be ready, Miss Catrine," Marcelline re- 
 plied. " The water moutn't come into the house, an' 
 then agin, it mout. It are risin'. They hasn't stop' 
 the breaks yit. An now, Miss Catrine, effen you is 
 willin', Unc' Nias'll go over to the quarters an' save 
 the things fum our cabins." 
 
 Until that moment, it had not occurred to Catherine 
 that their poor little possessions were in danger while 
 they were saving hers. Remorsefully she exclaimed, 
 "Why, Marcelline, of course! You can all go."
 
 THE GRINDING 175 
 
 " No, Ma'am," Marcelline answered calmly, " we 
 ain't er gwine ter do like Chukey have did. I is 
 gwine ter stay, an' so are Pidgeon. He kin keep on 
 pilin' them things in the upstairs hall." With quiet 
 efficiency, she moved about, lighting the lamps, giving 
 a touch here and a touch there, and making the bleak 
 rooms as habitable as possible. " An' now we mus' git 
 dinner ready," she finally said, " 'case them gentlemens 
 is gwine be hongry when they gits back. I reckon 
 they's never wukked as much in they hull lives as they 
 has this day." 
 
 The water was rippling against the back steps and 
 the sides of the raised walk that led from the back 
 gallery to the kitchen, but the sky was clear and the 
 stars shone with piercing brightness. Catherine, 
 standing in the dining-room door shuddered as the 
 night wind came whispering through the trees. She 
 was afraid to stay alone, except for Pidgeon who was 
 groping around in the semi-darkness, stumbling over 
 obstructions and making strange noises as he dragged 
 things about. After hesitating a moment, she followed 
 Marcelline to the kitchen where, seated on a three- 
 legged stool before the fire, she watched her while she 
 moved about the great, old-fashioned kitchen, handling 
 various weird-looking utensils. Catherine thought of 
 a prophetess at her incantations. But there was noth- 
 ing witch-like in Marcelline's appearance. She was a 
 tall, stately negress with a calm, gentle expression of 
 countenance. A restful person who gave one that in- 
 definable impression of power, of order and comfort
 
 176 THE GRINDING 
 
 which seemed the special gift of the well-trained planta- 
 tion servant. 
 
 After a long silence, Catherine said, " Did you ever 
 see people have as hard times as we have? " 
 
 " Harder! A heap harder! " the old woman replied 
 emphatically. " Onct, in Lafourche, they was sech 
 high water, hit stood fifteen feet deep over the talles' 
 cane. They sont out relief boats fer the poor trash like 
 them people down to the Settlement." She paused and 
 looked at her young mistress. " Them pore critters 
 doesn't never have no comfort like you has it. They 
 best times is wusser'n you wust times. An' they 
 doesn't know how ter take keer on theyselves, no 
 times." 
 
 Catherine winced. Was there any special meaning 
 in Marcelline's words? Was she warning her not to 
 cross over into a life of which she was ignorant? She 
 reddened in the firelight and pushed her stool back 
 into the shadow. 
 
 " But our Madam were quality," Marcelline went 
 on. " She were quality, an' she were fum the kentry, 
 an' she knowed how to take keer on herself, 'thout no 
 relief boat. She fish outen the winder; an' the Mar- 
 ster, he tu'n all the live stock loose an' let them save 
 theyselves. An' all the niggers went away 'case they 
 had to go to git grub. An' the Marster, he tuk an' 
 pull the boards fum the cabins in the quarters, an' he 
 knock down the kitchen chimbley, an' he lay them 
 bricks roun' the aidges er the rooms, an' he lay them
 
 THE GRINDING 177 
 
 boards on ter the bricks fer to make floors top er the 
 water, an' he histed the furnitures " 
 
 " How long did it last? " Catherine interrupted. 
 
 " Six weeks er less," the old woman answered ab- 
 sently, bending to shovel fresh coals from the front 
 of the fireplace and heap the glowing mass on top of 
 the iron Dutch oven in which the meat was roasting, 
 " hit mout er ben more, er " 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Marcelline! " Catherine wailed, uncon- 
 sciously using, for the first time, the endearing title 
 familiar to every southern-bred child, " it might hap- 
 pen to us. Every bad thing that can happen, happens 
 to us. Oh, I wish to heaven Fergus and Ronald would 
 come! Why don't they come! " 
 
 Marcelline stood upright, majestic in her tone and 
 manner as she looked down on her young mistress 
 and said gently: " You is yong, Miss Catrine, an' it 
 take a long time to learn patience. My maw were 
 sol' away fum her ole man an' her chillen, up yonder 
 in Fuginniah, but she use' to say to us pickaninnies 
 what was bo'n after she come yeah 'case me an' 
 my sisters an' my twin brother " 
 
 " You had a twin brother? " Catherine interrupted, 
 nervously impatient of this prolixity. 
 
 " Yas'm, I were a twin, an' we-alls was bo'n down 
 yeah, nigh to Malabar an' my maw use' to say 
 to we-alls: ' Patience! Patience, chilluns. Effen you 
 doesn't have patience, you has to have impatience, an' 
 that are wuss.' "
 
 178 THE GRINDING 
 
 Pidgeon's voice, hallooing from the back gallery, now 
 made itself heard. There was no mistaking the agi- 
 tation in his tones: "I didn't went to do it, Miss 
 Catrine. I scacely teched it, an' it went an' busted 
 of itself." 
 
 " What you hollerin' that-a-way fer? " Marcelline 
 demanded sternly from the kitchen door. 
 
 " Come quick, Miss Marcelline," he wailed. " The 
 box in under the baid have busted, an' the things is 
 runnin' around everywheres." 
 
 " What in the world is the matter? " Catherine de- 
 manded, following Marcelline into the house. Led 
 by the sound of Pidgeon's passionate reiteration of, 
 " I didn't went to do it," she made her way to the bed- 
 room where, at the foot of the bed, she beheld the 
 remains of the white velvet box crushed into splinters, 
 and half hidden under a mass of copper coins. 
 
 "The coin collection! " she cried, dropping on her 
 knees and burying her hands in the metal. What 
 might this not mean to them? The Smithsonian Insti- 
 tution had at one time wished to buy it. Perhaps it 
 would redeem them from their bondage. 
 
 When, at midnight, Fergus came in with the good 
 news that the crevasse in the swamp levee had been 
 stopped, Catherine met him with the almost unbe- 
 lievable statement that his coin collection was found.
 
 XX 
 
 A S Catherine looked back on that first summer in 
 ^ ^ the country, it seemed to have been nothing but 
 one long, continuous rain, which soaked the ground 
 and kept her a solitary prisoner in the great, empty, 
 echoing house; wandering drearily from room to room 
 and looking out of streaming windows at a landscape 
 where not a living creature was moving. Day after 
 day and all day long, Fergus and Ronald were absent, 
 coming home late, with boots and clothing soaked 
 and splashed with mud. When she asked what they 
 had been doing, they usually answered that they were 
 watching the levees -to prevent another crevasse. 
 There was no use trying to make comfortable a house 
 where buckets and tubs stood in every room to catch 
 the water that dripped through the broken roof, and 
 where the cracked walls looked leprous in their damp- 
 ness with streams of moisture trickling downward. 
 Her shoes mildewed in the armoire; her clothing in 
 fact, everything she touched seemed blue with 
 mould. When she once tried to sew, in despair of any 
 other occupation, her rusted needle broke in her hand. 
 Finally she reached the limit of her endurance when, 
 opening a bureau drawer, she found a snake coiled 
 on her clothing. 
 
 179
 
 180 THE GRINDING 
 
 Marcelline came running at her shrieks. " Is you 
 hurt, Miss Catrine? " she cried. 
 
 Catherine, cowering back against the wall, pointed 
 with shaking finger. "A snake, Marcelline!" she 
 gasped. 
 
 " Oh, yes, honey," Marcelline said, trying to com- 
 fort her, " sometimes they does creep into hidin' places 
 like that, when they's wet weather." 
 
 " They might get into my bed," Catherine cried, 
 horror-struck. 
 
 " I never year tell er they gettin' into folkses beds," 
 Marcelline assured her; opening the window and 
 adroitly emptying the contents of the drawer on to the 
 ground. " I'll leave you clo'es layin' a spell," she said, 
 " the rain'll do 'em good." 
 
 " I don't want ever, ever to wear those things again 
 after a snake has lain on them," she declared. 
 
 " 'Twant nothin' but a chicken snake," Marcelline 
 said soothingly; " 'Twant no pison snake." 
 
 " It might have bitten me! " she cried. 
 
 " I reckon it would, effen you'd a teched it. But it 
 wouldn't a pisoned you no more'n a hawg, er a 
 geese. Anything what bites mout pison you a little. 
 'Tain't good to be bited by animules; ner by nothin'." 
 
 " It would have killed me," Catherine cried shud- 
 deringly. " I'd have died if a snake had bitten me 
 any kind of a snake and a great serpent like that." 
 
 At supper she burst into a flood of lamentations at 
 having to live in a place where they were subject to 
 such frightful experiences. " Who would ever have
 
 THE GRINDING 181 
 
 believed such things would happen to us? " she cried. 
 " Can't we give it up? It's too terrible out here." 
 
 " What should you advise us to do? " Ronald asked. 
 He was wondering what her underlying thought really 
 was. How could she fail to know that this was a life 
 and death struggle? That she and Fergus must not 
 give up the fight? He Ronald could desert them 
 if he chose; but they were as fatally, inevitably bound 
 as if this were the raft to which they must cling. So 
 he was serious in asking the question which she thought 
 sarcastic. 
 
 " Is it worth all this struggle, Fergus? " she asked. 
 " Couldn't we begin boring for oil or gas or whatever 
 is there, and then, when Mr. Ogers comes, get the 
 money to finish and then go back to the city? " 
 
 " No, dear," Fergus answered wearily. " The very 
 life of the people out here depends on the success of 
 the planters. But even if we cared nothing for them, 
 the existence of gas or oil (in paying quantities) is 
 so doubtful and the problem of boring in this sandy 
 soil is so difficult, it would take a great deal more money 
 than we could possibly command. At present, it looks 
 as if we should have good prices for our sugar. There 
 is a scarcity in other parts of the world, and further, 
 the government needs the tariff for revenue, so I 
 think" 
 
 " But Mr. Ogers is so rich," she interrupted. " And 
 he was such a friend of Ronald's. I know he'll be 
 interested when he sees the gas pocket. And think of 
 the fortunes made in other places."
 
 182 THE GRINDING 
 
 "He isn't coming," Ronald said as she paused in 
 her appeal. " He has changed his mind." 
 
 Her white face grew visibly whiter. " So that has 
 failed us too/' she said in a scarcely audible voice. 
 
 Looking at her with a passionate pity, Ronald would 
 have given anything to take back his words. Why 
 had he spoken so impulsively! " I mean," he began, 
 " we can't rely on outside help. What we have, we 
 must get for ourselves " 
 
 " I see," she replied, looking down at her plate. " I 
 understand." 
 
 " We're not going to starve," he went on, feeling that 
 she thought him unsympathetic and that she blamed 
 him, perhaps, for this fresh disappointment. " I'm 
 sorry Ogers changed his mind, but you know he's in 
 such demand everywhere that one can never count on 
 him. It takes some strong inducement to lure him 
 away from his habitual haunts." 
 
 " You thought he was coming, didn't you? " she 
 asked still looking down. 
 
 " Yes, he's fond of fishing and I thought he might 
 enjoy a trip to Barataria Bay." He wished he could 
 justify himself in her eyes. It hurt and shocked him 
 to have her feel that he was wounding her wantonly. 
 For a moment, he wished she knew what a sacrifice 
 he was making for her sake and Fergus's in staying 
 in the country. Then he put the thought from him. 
 
 In the days that followed, she fell into a fathomless 
 despair that neither Fergus nor Ronald fully realized. 
 They were in the midst of activities that took every
 
 THE GRINDING 183 
 
 ounce of strength; Ronald was buoyed up by the hope 
 of helping Fergus on to his feet, and of getting the 
 plantation into a really prosperous condition. 
 
 Fergus had the all-absorbing, entrancing recreation 
 of cataloguing his coins anew. It was immaterial to 
 him that the gold and silver pieces had all been picked 
 out and nothing but copper remained. The pecuniary 
 value of the collection was of minor importance; that 
 he could no longer hope to realize a large amount from 
 its sale was, perhaps, an unacknowledged relief, as he 
 need not feel it his duty to part with it, but could in- 
 dulge himself in the pleasure of sorting and tabulating 
 it with a clear conscience. 
 
 Catherine alone, without occupation, was listlessly 
 watching the endless succession of days and nights, 
 hoping for nothing better than a bare existence, and a 
 prolongation of life. 
 
 It is true, there were occasional intervals of clear 
 weather when the sun shone hot, the wet earth steamed, 
 and clouds of insects filled the air with their humming; 
 when her garden blossomed riotously, the birds sang 
 their thanksgiving that the rain was past, and Cath- 
 erine ventured out into the light of day; but these 
 intervals were so rare that she remembered the season, 
 ever afterward, as one of uninterrupted imprisonment. 
 
 No one but so skilled a planter as Placide Chauvin 
 could have wrested success from that unpropitious sea- 
 son. But he knew just where and how to save the 
 laborers and the mules, and how to place them to the 
 greatest advantage; and when, at last, with early au-
 
 184 THE GRINDING 
 
 tumn, the clouds rolled away and there was contin- 
 uous clear weather, he could show a good stand of 
 cane as the result of the long-continued battle. Every 
 one but Catherine felt an immeasurable sense of relief; 
 she, alone, remained indifferently aloof, not consider- 
 ing the reward sufficient to repay one for the effort. 
 The mere prolongation of the struggle, as she con- 
 sidered it, seemed to her a misfortune rather than a 
 blessing. 
 
 When, at last, the grinding was fairly under way, 
 she used sometimes to stand on her gallery and watch 
 the cutters in the neighboring field. The broad knives, 
 wielded by skilful hands, flashed in the sunlight as 
 they stripped the leaves from the stalk, now on this 
 side, now on that. With one motion, they swept off 
 the plumy top; with another, they cut the stalk a 
 few inches above the ground and tossed it on to the 
 ever-growing heaps that marked their progress. The 
 carts drawn by mules, went creeping along, loaded with 
 stalks to be emptied in the cane shed. From the 
 smoke-stacks of the sugar house a cloud of steam 
 floated into the deep blue sky, and when the breeze 
 came from that direction, it brought a faint perfume 
 and the musical, deep-toned humming of the sap boil- 
 ing in the great kettles. 
 
 It was especially at night that the cheerful activity 
 was apparent and one evening, lingering after Ronald 
 had gone, Fergus asked her if she wouldn't enjoy going 
 over and watching the grinding. 
 
 " It is really picturesque, you know," he urged, anx-
 
 THE GRINDING 185 
 
 ious to rouse her from her silence and melancholy; 
 " come and look on for a while." 
 
 Listlessly she acquiesced, wrapping herself in a 
 shawl and tying a faded scarf about her head. 
 
 " Wrap yourself up warmly," he said. " It's cold, 
 you know perfect sugar weather." 
 
 " I'm warm," she answered laconically. 
 
 As they crossed the bridge and approachea the sugar 
 house, the lights sparkled frostily and the air was heavy 
 with the sweetness of the sugary sap oozing from the 
 pile of bagasse (as the crushed refuse of the cane is 
 called), which lay in a heap at one side of the build- 
 ing. 
 
 " You know, Cathie," he explained, " we make what 
 is called open kettle sugar. It's the old, wasteful 
 method, but perhaps another year we may be able to 
 improve our mill somewhat. The utmost we hope for 
 this year is to have a little margin left after we have 
 paid George Burbank the money he lent us. He 
 mustn't suffer for his generosity." 
 
 " Yes," she replied, in the words which had become 
 almost stereotyped with her, " I know; I believe I 
 understand the situation." 
 
 " There are some advantages too," he added, smil- 
 ing affectionately at her. " It's only from the open 
 kettle sugar we can get the strop de batterie, you know, 
 and the cuite. And this kind of sugar makes the only 
 perfect pralines. Have Marcelline make you some, 
 and have her drop them on corn shucks in the old 
 way."
 
 186 THE GRINDING 
 
 She smiled faintly, thinking how strange it was that 
 he could imagine she would be diverted like a child 
 with pralines; yet, because she understood his motive, 
 she wished to seem appreciative. 
 
 As they entered the rickety old building with its 
 whitewashed walls, and beams and rafters dripping 
 moisture, they were enveloped in the warm, honeyed 
 atmosphere. Through the steam, she saw figures mov- 
 ing. Everywhere was motion ; great wheels and bands 
 and arms of machinery, thumping and jarring until the 
 old walls trembled. In the distance she saw the row 
 of sugar kettles, and beside them, the men who were 
 tending the boiling sap. Stripped to the waist, they 
 would have looked like bronze statues but for the 
 swaying motion with which they wielded their long 
 paddles, skimming, skimming, skimming the kettles in 
 time to a song they were singing. 
 
 As Fergus led her along, she saw the furnaces where 
 fires were roaring, and as she looked, one of the fire- 
 men opened the door and the flames leaped out toward 
 him, showing his dark figure in high relief against the 
 fiery background. 
 
 The cold air, blowing in at an open window, tossed 
 the wreaths of steam upward into the roof, and as she 
 stood looking out into the night, an automobile horn 
 sounded nearby, and a moment later the great car 
 from Gold Mine swept around the corner of the 
 building. 
 
 She did not know that this visit was as complete a 
 surprise to Ronald as it was to her, and when she saw
 
 THE GRINDING 187 
 
 him go out to meet the Blaises, her heart hardened 
 with a totally unreasonable anger. He brought them 
 into the building welcoming them cordially and show- 
 ing them around as if this had been a previous arrange- 
 ment. Catherine, wishing to escape notice, shrank 
 back into the shadows. She had an impulse to take the 
 worn scarf from her head, then, with scorn, she re- 
 frained from doing so, thinking it more appropriate 
 to the place than the Blaises' costly furs and rich cos- 
 tumes. 
 
 " Don't you think we can slip away, Fergus? " she 
 whispered. 
 
 " No," he answered in a low tone, " they see us," 
 and he stepped forward, courteously greeting and mak- 
 ing them welcome. 
 
 Catherine followed, but with a freezing hauteur that 
 made both Fergus and Ronald sorry for their guests. 
 
 Mrs. Blaise, her diamond ear-rings flashing in the 
 lamp light, smiled nervously, showing a gold tooth as 
 she did so. Modesta, exquisite in a tailored gown 
 the very last expression of fashion, exclaimed in a 
 thin, high-pitched, nasal voice, over " this cunning little 
 sugar house " the while she scrutinized Catherine's 
 shabby garments. Mr. Blaise alone was perfectly self- 
 possessed in spite of his soiled clothing and rusty boots. 
 He had come to see the sugar house and he didn't care 
 how haughty Catherine chose to be, especially as he 
 had very definite plans as to how he would eventually 
 subdue her pride. His pale eyes, set close together, 
 were as alert as those of a lynx, darting everywhere
 
 188 THE GRINDING 
 
 and comprehending what he saw far better than either 
 Fergus or Ronald. 
 
 "You know, Miss Maine," Mrs. Blaise said after 
 the first greeting, " Modesta and myself wanted so 
 much to see this queer old way of making sugar." 
 
 "Oh, Mama! " Modesta interrupted, "you know 
 yourself it was Dad made you and I come. I said I 
 was afraid that " 
 
 " Yes, that's so," Mrs. Blaise agreed, " he kep' 
 sayin' to Modesta and I ' Why don't you-all go over 
 and see Maine's sugar house? There ain't no more 
 open kettle sugar houses in this parish.' ' 
 
 " Is it different from others? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " Different! " Mrs. Blaise exclaimed. " Gracious, 
 yes ! You must come over to Gold Mine and see ours." 
 
 " Thank you," Fergus interposed hastily, foresee- 
 ing a rebuff from Catherine, " we shall take pleasure 
 in coming. I am interested to see the difference. As 
 you know, we have everything to learn." His manner 
 was so frankly kind it formed the most striking con- 
 trast to Catherine's. 
 
 Ananias approached with a dipper of warm sap. 
 " Will you taste it, Miss Catrine? " he asked. 
 
 She offered it to Mrs. Blaise then to Modesta say- 
 ing, " I suppose it is no novelty to you. Are you fond 
 of it? " 
 
 "Heavens, no! " Modesta replied with an affected 
 shudder. " I never tasted it; but you know I've been 
 out here so little. Away at school so long, and then 
 in the city, I don't know anything about the "
 
 THE GRINDING 189 
 
 " Why, Destie," her mother began, but was silenced 
 by a glance from the daughter's keen, gray eyes. 
 
 Fergus, meantime, at Mr. Blaise's request, was show- 
 ing him about, and asking him questions. " I am anx- 
 ious to learn," he explained, and Mr. Blaise, peering, 
 stooping, fingering, tasting, replied, " I reckon so." 
 
 The others, following along the narrow paths be- 
 tween the machinery, listened to the explanations of 
 Ronald who was wishing sincerely that either Cather- 
 ine or the Blaises had stayed at home. 
 
 " I simply haven't any head for these sort of things," 
 Modesta observed, watching Catherine out of the cor- 
 ner of her eyes. It was one of the triumphs of her life 
 that she should be here talking to Catherine Maine 
 whose head was tied up in an old scarf and her shoul- 
 ders wrapped in a shawl bought from the peddler's 
 cart. Catherine herself, was fully alive to the situa- 
 tion, and, consequently, all the more icy in manner. 
 
 " Dad is too funny," Modesta tittered as she caught 
 sight of her father crawling from some dark recess 
 which he had been exploring. " He's so crazy about 
 planting and about the improvements between the old 
 way of making sugar and the new. He wants to teach 
 me, but I can't bother about all those sort of things." 
 She smiled archly at Ronald, her light, sparkling eyes 
 brilliant in the lamp light. 
 
 " Probably it isn't necessary," he observed, " but it's 
 wise to prepare " 
 
 " Oh, I know what you're going to say," she inter- 
 rupted, "but I haven't time to think about such
 
 190 THE GRINDING 
 
 things." Then, turning to Catherine, " I suppose 
 you're a regular planter, Miss Maine. I expect you 
 know just what all those awful looking machines are 
 for." 
 
 " No," said Catherine, " it is the first time I have 
 been here." 
 
 " Miss Maine," said Mr. Blaise, " this is mighty in- 
 teresting. I'm glad Destie coaxed us to come over 
 this evening. It's been a bad season, Miss Maine, and 
 they tell me you're discouraged sometimes and feel 
 homesick. I don't blame you, Miss Maine. But your 
 brother tells me he counts on fighting it through. 
 Hope he can. Us planters have got to stand by each 
 other. With them politicians up yonder in Washing- 
 ton, trying to down the tariff; and with high water and 
 low prices, if I was a city man, I wouldn't take up 
 planting. No, sir! I'd stick to the city. But I don't 
 blame you for wanting to make Esperance pay. But 
 you ain't been out here long enough to know what a 
 fight it is. First there was the bounty, and we all goes 
 ahead and makes improvements on the strength of that, 
 and we runs into debt, and when they takes off the 
 bounty and puts on a low tariff there we are. And 
 one day it's a promise of big prices, and then comes 
 some politician that wants to get ahead and knows 
 free trade is popular, and he says, ' Let them sugar 
 planters wiggle out the best way they can. No use 
 boosting a pauper industry. Give the poor man a free 
 breakfas' table,' and then " 
 
 " Oh, Dad," Modesta interrupted, manifestly
 
 THE GRINDING 191 
 
 ashamed of her father, " Miss Maine don't care for 
 all that politics." Then, to Catherine, " I don't hear 
 another thing from morning to night. Dad's so inter- 
 ested. When Marc's here, I almost go crazy with 
 their talk about free trade and tariff and all those kind 
 of things. Marc says that all we need is to stand to- 
 gether the planters I mean and send a smart man 
 to Washington to look after our interests. I'm sure 
 they're going to elect him senator; don't you think 
 so?" 
 
 " I don't know," Catherine answered indifferently. 
 " I'm not nearly so well informed as you, Miss Blaise. 
 These things are new to me." 
 
 " Oh, but you know all about them a thousand 
 times more than I do," Modesta insisted, " because it's 
 really Ronald that has told me nearly everything I 
 know." 
 
 " Marc " and " Ronald " Catherine commented in- 
 wardly and felt the shaft Modesta had aimed at her in 
 parading her intimacy. 
 
 " We're bound to elect him," said Mr. Blaise. " If 
 us planters don't send him to Washington, we ain't got 
 a chance to get on our feet," and he spat impressively. 
 
 Catherine, Fergus and Ronald stood watching the 
 lights of the automobile as it went gliding through the 
 night on its way to Gold Mine. 
 
 " That was kindly meant," Fergus said. " You'll go 
 with me to see their sugar house, won't you Cathie? " 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish it," she replied, " but I don't 
 see why you think that was kindly meant. Didn't
 
 192 THE GRINDING 
 
 you notice how that man pried into every nook and 
 corner? And he's a planter, born and bred. He isn't 
 like us " 
 
 " I don't think he meant any harm, Catherine," Ron- 
 ald expostulated. " He's an ardent planter, and " 
 
 " And you're an ardent advocate," she replied. 
 " And if you wish to play into his hands there can be 
 only one explanation of your blindness." 
 
 Ronald, who had been nettled by her conduct to- 
 ward their guests during the whole evening, boiled over 
 at her words. " The incredible folly of insulting our 
 most influential neighbors! " he exclaimed and walked 
 away. 
 
 " Don't ask me to go, Fergus," she cried while Ron- 
 ald was still within hearing. " It's bad enough that 
 such people are in our parish. I won't know them. 
 People that say ' ain't ' and murder the king's English 
 at every breath. I'd rather talk with Ananias who 
 makes no preten " 
 
 " Or with Jacques Lirette," Ronald said over his 
 shoulder as he turned to go into the sugar house. 
 
 For a moment she was speechless with anger, then, 
 feeling sure that Ronald was still within hearing, she 
 repeated in a shaking voice, " I won't know them. It 
 may be to Ronald's interest to know them. It isn't to 
 mine." She spoke thoughtlessly, not realizing the 
 poisonous wound she was inflicting, but Ronald, who 
 had heard every word, believed that she was delib- 
 erately insulting; and Fergus, the least imaginative of
 
 THE GRINDING 193 
 
 the three, who shrank from controversy as from a phy- 
 sical hurt, determined not to reopen the subject. If 
 she had made up her mind not to know them, he would 
 not insist. 
 
 At last the season drew toward its close. All the 
 cheerful noise and bustle about the sugar house, the 
 sparkling lights at night, the hum of the boiling sap in 
 the great kettles, the singing of the workers in the cane 
 shed, the long lines of carts bringing their loads of cane 
 from the fields, and the joyous stir of the rolling season 
 would soon be ended, and then would come the long 
 months of stagnation and silence for Catherine. On 
 the day before Christmas, she stood on the side gallery 
 looking at the brown fields so recently covered with 
 sugar cane. At her right, Chukey's husband, Abime- 
 lech, with two or three others, was tending the long, 
 low fires that ran along the furrows, now smoldering 
 where there was little fuel, now flaring into bright- 
 ness where they met a mound of the withered cane 
 husks. A veil of smoke fluttered along the path of 
 flame, and through it she saw the solemn gray of the 
 moss-shrouded forest, brightened, here and there, by a 
 vivid green tree flaunting its scarlet berries. Above 
 the forest, an eagle was flying and she watched it until 
 it disappeared in the distance. Near at hand she heard 
 the kildeers calling in silvery tones. They ran swiftly 
 by her, with a motion suggestive of their voices; keen 
 and rapid, half bold, half timid. The air was so still 
 that the barking of a dog in the quarters, the lowing
 
 194 THE GRINDING 
 
 of a calf wandering in the woods back of the stable, 
 the flaf, flaf, flaf of a motor boat far up the bayou, 
 reached her with strange distinctness. 
 
 And now another sound broke upon her ear: a sound 
 of voices of men and women singing in unison, and 
 in the distance, she saw a crowd approaching. As they 
 came nearer, following the road that crossed the field, 
 Abimelech and his fellows left their work and joined 
 the others who, according to immemorial custom, were 
 bringing in the last load. On their shoulders, they 
 carried Placide Chauvin, whom they regarded as the 
 true master of Esperance. 
 
 Silently, she watched the wild, fantastic procession, 
 amazed and half frightened that such contrasts should 
 have come into her life.
 
 XXI 
 
 * I "HE transition of the seasons in the south is not 
 A clearly denned. They melt from one into the 
 other without marked change, and so it was a surprise 
 to Catherine when she discovered the white wisteria 
 which covered the side gallery, carpeting the ground 
 with its petals. The fruit trees awoke from their 
 slumber and decked themselves with flowers; the air 
 was redolent with the perfume of orange blossoms, and 
 the ditch banks were covered with pink and white 
 primroses. Spring had come. The sun shone warm 
 and ever warmer, the birds sang more and more tri- 
 umphantly, and then, before Catherine realized it, sum- 
 mer was there. 
 
 She was sitting on the shady gallery one morning 
 when Fergus joined her. " Just think," he said, " this 
 is June. And see how the cane is growing." Seating 
 himself beside her, he took from his pocket a long, 
 narrow envelope of a delicate rose color and, forestall- 
 ing her probable objections, said, " I know you don't 
 like the people of Gold Mine, but I think I shall accept 
 this. I think it would be wise. And my going won't 
 annoy you, will it Cathie? " 
 
 " Why, no," she answered, holding out her hand for 
 the invitation, " I don't want to be thrown with them, 
 
 195
 
 196 THE GRINDING 
 
 but if, for business reasons it seems best for you to 
 go, of course, you must do what is necessary." 
 
 " And shall I accept for us both? " he asked, looking 
 wistfully at her. She knew he wished she would ac- 
 cept personally and be gracious toward those people 
 who were so eager to be intimate with her, but the 
 utmost she could force herself to say was, " Certainly. 
 Accept for us both, and then you won't feel hurt if 
 I don't go, shall you? " 
 
 " I think it would be well to go if you can make 
 up your mind to do it," he answered. 
 
 " Ronald has been talking to him about the way I 
 treat them," she thought, but did not utter her sus- 
 picions. Instead, she opened the perfumed missive 
 and read: 
 
 MR. AND MRS. TOBIAS BLAISE 
 
 Miss BLAISE 
 
 request the pleasure of your company at 
 a dance Friday, June the fourteenth at 
 eight of the clock 
 
 R.S.V.P. 
 
 " Accept it if you like," she said and handed it back 
 without other comment. 
 
 The fourteenth of June was ushered in by a tremen- 
 dous uproar on the other side of the bayou. The dogs 
 of war seemed to have broken loose. Miss Delicia, the 
 reserved and haughty Miss Delicia, the Mrs. Grundy 
 of the bayou, walked out to her gate with a gun on
 
 THE GRINDING 197 
 
 her shoulder, aimed at some invisible object in the 
 air, and fired. 
 
 Miss Victorine, from her gate, fired an answer. From 
 up and down the bayou came distant reports and in 
 every direction puffs of white smoke dotted the land- 
 scape. 
 
 " What on earth is the matter? " Catherine asked, 
 turning from the window as Marcelline entered with 
 the morning coffee. Early as it was, Catherine was 
 fully dressed, and Marcelline perceived by her pallor 
 that she was greatly alarmed by these warlike demon- 
 strations. " What is the matter? " she repeated, tak- 
 ing the cup of black coffee with a trembling hand. 
 " Miss Delicia and Miss Victorine seem to be trying to 
 kill each other." 
 
 " They is jus' scarin' away the devil," Marcelline 
 answered reassuringly. 
 
 A fresh volley burst from a lugger as it passed the 
 gate of Esperance. 
 
 " Mercy! " Catherine ejaculated, " has a feud broken 
 out? Are people angry at us about anything? " 
 
 "No, Ma'am," Marcelline assured her soothingly; 
 " hit's jes' like I tells you; they's scarin' the devil." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' scaring the devil '? " Cath- 
 erine asked tremulously as thunderous reports came 
 from somewhere in the quarters. " I wish Mr. Fergus 
 and Mr. Ronald wouldn't go across the bayou to-day 
 but I know they will." 
 
 " In cose they will, Miss Catrine," said Marcelline. 
 " 'Twouldn't be fittin' fer the Marster to stay in on
 
 198 THE GRINDING 
 
 the Fete-Dieu." (Corpus Christi Day.) " Eve'ybody 
 scare the devil on that day. I reckon Miss Aggie 
 Blaise are a-firin' to beat the band. She wouldn't let 
 this day go by fer nothin' 'thout scarin' the devil. 
 They couldn't scare him las' year 'case it were rainin', 
 so they has to make up this year." 
 
 " That will spoil her reception to-night," Catherine 
 said, secretly thinking what a relief it would be not to 
 feel that she ought to attend that function. 
 
 " No, Ma'am," Marcelline repeated, " that ain't goin' 
 to spile nothin'. Everybody round yeah scare away 
 the devil; an' I reckon it'll all be over by to-night, 
 they's firm' so brisk. They powder'll all be gone." 
 
 Bang, bang, from across the bayou, and bang, bang, 
 from behind the stable. The dimple in Marcelline's 
 cheek revealed itself in a discreet smile of amusement 
 as Catherine, setting down her cup and exclaiming, " I 
 don't like that at all," left the room. 
 
 As she approached the chicken yard, the squealing 
 of pigs and bellowing of cattle assured her that the 
 animals didn't like it either. Ananias, who was feed- 
 ing the chickens, looked at her as she entered the yard, 
 and there was something in his expression that at- 
 tracted her attention. She regarded him searchingly. 
 Certainly, she thought, he looked guilty, but why, she 
 could not discover until, following his self-conscious 
 glances, she discovered some chickens in a little enclos- 
 ure apart from the others. 
 
 " Where did they come from? " she demanded pick- 
 ing up one of the downy balls.
 
 THE GRINDING 199 
 
 He laughed in a deprecating falsetto and made no 
 reply. 
 
 " Aren't they Rhode Island Reds? " she asked. 
 
 " They suttinly is," he replied, scratching his head 
 and looking beyond her. Turning, she discovered 
 Fergus watching her with a gratified smile. 
 
 " Are they what you wanted? " he asked. 
 
 " Wanted ! " she exclaimed, " I've simply longed for 
 some ever since I knew there were such things in the 
 world. Where did they come from? " 
 
 " I learned they could be had from Bergerac, and 
 the peddler brought them this morning." He stood 
 beside her, smiling and stroking the chirping atom with 
 the tip of one finger. 
 
 There came a piercing toot, toot, from the bayou, 
 followed by a fresh outbreak of firing, and turning 
 they saw an unfamiliar sight: a gasoline launch before 
 the gate of Esperance. An instant later a young man 
 came up the bank and, at the same moment, Ronald 
 dashed out of the house and down the path to meet 
 him. There could be no doubt of it, this was the long- 
 hoped-for, long-delayed Tom Ogers. 
 
 With an exclamation of pleasure, Fergus went for- 
 ward and Catherine, handing the chicken to Ananias, 
 followed. In the short distance between the gate of 
 the chicken yard and the group at the front steps, she 
 saw that the stranger was of middle height, stout, blond, 
 slightly bald, with white teeth and a pleasant smile. 
 Faultlessly dressed, and with an air of perfect ease, he 
 was, unmistakably, a man of the world. " Our sort,"
 
 200 THE GRINDING 
 
 she thought, and her heart beat quick with a new in- 
 terest and pleasure. They turned toward her as she 
 approached, and he never forgot the impression she 
 made upon him; her slender form, her small head 
 haughtily poised, her dark hair disordered by the breeze 
 and framing the pale oval of her aristocratic young 
 face. 
 
 " How good of you," she said, extending her slender 
 hand in welcome, " how good of you to come way out 
 here into the wilderness to see us." 
 
 " What a pleasure I am giving myself! " he replied. 
 How exquisitely he was groomed, and what a contrast 
 his clothes were to the shabby, threadbare garments of 
 Fergus and Ronald! 
 
 A man came up the path carrying a trunk on his 
 shoulder and followed by a dark, aquiline gentleman 
 whom Catherine recognized after a moment's bewilder- 
 ment as the valet of their guest. " You see," said Mr. 
 Ogers, " I have taken you at your word and am here, 
 bag and baggage." 
 
 " You couldn't please us better," Fergus assured him 
 in his quiet, pleasant manner. " We all camp out 
 after a fashion, you know, but as far as space is con- 
 cerned, there's plenty of it, and we can put you up as 
 long as you can stay." 
 
 In a little flurry of excitement, Catherine went to 
 the kitchen to order an omelet. " We must try to find 
 something nice for him," she explained, knitting her 
 brows thoughtfully and adding, " I don't know how 
 we'll manage."
 
 THE GRINDING 201 
 
 As he entered the dining-room a half hour later, she 
 felt sure, although his eyes did not wander, that he 
 took in all the details of cracked walls, curtainless 
 windows, bare floor; and she felt a homesick longing 
 for the dainty breakfast room of other days, while that 
 unworthy sense of humiliation over merely material 
 things that we all experience at times, crept over her. 
 
 " I fear we have kept you waiting," he said as he 
 seated himself. " Ronald and I had so much to talk 
 over; of things past, present and things to come." 
 
 She noticed that he left his plate almost untouched, 
 but he sipped his coffee with the air of a connoisseur, 
 observing, " Southern cooks make the best coffee in 
 the world. Even the Turkish doesn't equal it, to my 
 mind, and the French is far inferior. My man has 
 learned to make both in the course of our travels, and 
 he must learn this." Then, speaking to Ronald, " Isn't 
 it five years since I saw you? " 
 
 "Just about, I think," Ronald replied. "Let me 
 see; this is the fourteenth of June. It was on the 
 fourth of July, five years ago, that we met by accident 
 at the Caje de la Paix. You remember, don't you? " 
 
 " Yes, I was thinking it was five years. You've 
 changed a good deal in looks since then." He offered 
 his gold cigarette case to Fergus and then to Ronald, 
 with a smiling, " Will you permit us? " to Catherine, 
 and adding, " Or will you join us? " 
 
 " Thank you," she said, " I don't smoke although 
 I ought to. Women in the country have so few enjoy- 
 ments, they ought to snatch at every possible diversion.
 
 202 THE GRINDING 
 
 I believe I'll acquire the habit of smoking a corn cob 
 pipe." 
 
 " Don't," he said. " I'm sorry women have taken to 
 smoking as they do. Their lips were not made to hold 
 cigarettes. You used not to smoke, Ronald. That's 
 another change." 
 
 " I don't smoke a great deal," Ronald protested. 
 " How have I changed otherwise? " 
 
 Mr. Ogers' eyes ran over his figure before he an- 
 swered, " You're older, for one thing." 
 
 "Naturally," Ronald replied. "The clock hasn't 
 stood still during these years. I suppose I have aged 
 more than I realize." 
 
 " I dare say," Mr. Ogers agreed, " and shall you feel 
 hurt if I say you have lost a little of the fatal gift? " 
 
 Catherine glanced from one to the other. The sun- 
 light was touching Ronald's crisp, thick, blond hair and 
 lighting up his sunburned face which showed a blush in 
 its healthy glow, contrasting strangely with the grayish 
 pallor of the other man. His keen, dark gray eyes, 
 full of vivid interest, were fixed questioningly on the 
 weary, lusterless ones of their guest, and the firm, 
 strong mouth had a certain grimness in strange opposi- 
 tion to the smiling, sensual lips of the other. 
 
 "You have matured surprisingly," said Mr. Ogers, 
 again glancing (perhaps with envy) at the firmly knit 
 figure, tall and strong and so well fitted to bear the 
 burdens of life; whereas his own shoulders had taken 
 on a certain softness and lack of contour. 
 
 Catherine felt a rush of pride in Ronald's size and
 
 THE GRINDING 203 
 
 strength. He looked years younger than his former 
 school mate. 
 
 " You know," said Mr. Ogers, turning to Catherine 
 and totally unsuspicious of the contrast she was draw- 
 ing, " when he came to Worcester, with his curly blond 
 hair and pink cheeks, we mistook him for a wax doll. 
 We decided to shave off his halo and I volunteered to 
 act as barber. I'll never forget it," (turning to Ron- 
 ald). " I can see you yet, standing gripping the back 
 of your chair till the ends of your fingers were white, 
 your whole figure keyed up to spring, as I headed the 
 procession that went into your room." 
 
 " I was frightened to death," Ronald acknowledged. 
 
 "You know," Mr. Ogers said to the others, "he 
 was large and strong even then, and I didn't like the 
 look of him at all. I'd have backed out if I could, 
 but the others were pushing me forward so there was 
 nothing for it but to carry out the program, and I 
 said, ' Good evening my son; what is your name? ' 
 Before the words were fairly out of my mouth, he said, 
 * Good evening, father, my name is Nebuchadnezzar,' 
 and he whirled that chair around and struck me I 
 have that scar yet Ronald," he broke off with a 
 laugh. " Queer, isn't it, how boys love to fight? " 
 
 " Mr. Ogers," Catherine began. 
 
 He stopped her with a gesture of his plump, care- 
 fully-manicured hand. " Surely," he said, " you are 
 not going to call me ' Mr. Ogers.' I am ' Tom,' and 
 you will permit me to call you ' Catherine,' won't you? 
 You have always been Catherine to me, ever since
 
 204 THE GRINDING 
 
 Ronald used to show me your letters and tell me of 
 your cunning, little-girl ways. What were you about 
 to say when I interrupted you? " 
 
 " I was going to tell you of a reception that is to take 
 place to-night on a neighboring plantation. I think it 
 might amuse you to attend." 
 
 " Certainly," he replied, taking out his handkerchief 
 and wiping the perspiration from his face. " It would 
 amuse me immensely. Ronald was speaking of it and 
 said it would be permissible for me to go without a 
 personal invitation. What is the name of the girl? 
 Piety? " 
 
 " Modesta," Ronald corrected. 
 
 "Oh, yes; Modesta! Modesta! " Mr. Ogers repeated. 
 " I must say it over and over to myself, or I shall 
 surely call her Piety. When I get a wrong impression 
 I find I can't get rid of it. I knew it was some moral 
 quality she represented, and I keep thinking it's some- 
 thing religious. It's always interesting to see the 
 natives in their own environment," Tom continued after 
 a brief pause, " and I understand this Piety there! " 
 with a laugh, " I said it again ! I'm doomed to call her 
 the wrong virtue; Modesty I meant. I hear she is 
 quite a country belle." 
 
 "Oh, decidedly so!" Catherine exclaimed with 
 heightened color and a teasing glance at Ronald. " You 
 must certainly see her." 
 
 " I wouldn't miss it for anything," Tom replied, 
 smiling at her and thinking to himself, " She really is 
 charmingly pretty. Her beauty grows on one."
 
 THE GRINDING 205 
 
 " But I haven't anything to wear," she said with a 
 little, tragic gesture; " I shall disgrace you all." 
 
 " You have your queen dress, haven't you? " Fergus 
 asked, with masculine ignorance of women's clothes. 
 
 Catherine broke into a laugh as sweet and ringing 
 as a child's. " How amazed every one would be if I 
 should appear in that," she exclaimed. "Why, Fer- 
 gus dear, it's made to wear with a mantle and it's cov- 
 ered with lace and jewels. I should outshine Miss 
 Piety herself," and she smiled mischievously at Ron- 
 ald. 
 
 " She's jealous," Tom inwardly commented. Aloud, 
 he said, " You'll put it on for me to see, won't you? " 
 
 " Some day," she replied, " but not to-day. Oh, 
 how scandalized every one would be at me! " and she 
 raised her slender hands in dramatic horror. 
 
 " Exquisite hands," he reflected. " She's vain of 
 them, but she has a right to be," and the smiling look 
 he gave her conveyed an unspoken compliment. " She 
 really is beautiful," he thought. "Glorious eyes! 
 I'm glad I came." 
 
 Ronald read the expression on Tom's face, and see- 
 ing the animation and pleasure on hers, thought, " The 
 game has begun."
 
 XXII 
 
 A T last Catherine was at Gold Mine. As Modesta 
 -* * talked with her, interlarding her conversation 
 with many references to Catherine's former friends in 
 the city, mentioning them as her own intimates, her 
 sparkling eyes were running over the evening gown of 
 her guest. Undoubtedly, Modesta was pretty, with 
 her lily white complexion and ash blond hair, her bril- 
 liant eyes like aqua marine, and deep dimples that 
 never rested ; a plebeian prettiness perhaps, a prettiness 
 that was assisted by all the arts but an undeniable 
 prettiness that her guest was forced to acknowledge to 
 herself. And Catherine was sufficiently human to feel 
 in the depths of her soul that she herself was not look- 
 ing her best. In taking the gown from the cedar chest 
 that afternoon, she realized its unfitness and quailing 
 at the thought of impending humiliation, had been 
 tempted at the last moment to refuse to come. But, 
 influenced by complex motives, she went without pro- 
 test. In the first place, she had a curiosity to see 
 Ronald with Modesta; to see just how intimate they 
 were. Then she thought it might be amusing to see 
 those people in their own home; and perhaps there was 
 the unacknowledged triumph of showing Modesta that, 
 
 206
 
 THE GRINDING 207 
 
 though Ronald might be burning incense at her shrine, 
 there was some one else, a very rich man, an accom- 
 plished man of the world, who was not one of Modesta's 
 friends. 
 
 And now she was standing in the glare of the acety- 
 lene gas under Modesta's appraising eyes. Outwardly, 
 she gave no sign of her inward disturbance, but moved 
 on with an air of haughty unconcern after presenting 
 Mr. Ogers, and listening to his and Ronald's conversa- 
 tion with their hostess. 
 
 The rooms were filled with masses of pink roses 
 withering in the gas light; there was a deafening up- 
 roar of music from the orchestra secreted under the 
 stairs; there was an inextricable tangle of ladies strug- 
 gling about among the plants which obtruded them- 
 selves in every possible place, brushing the low ceil- 
 ings and seeming to bring down waves of heat like cob- 
 webs. There were ladies fat and ladies lean, ladies 
 old and ladies young, all shrieking to make themselves 
 heard; and like derelicts in a stormy sea, crimson-faced 
 men in black broadcloth, mopping their steaming coun- 
 tenances and trying to appear happy. 
 
 Catherine glanced back at the receiving ladies stand- 
 ing like a row of stuffed birds, and wondered how long 
 it would be before all collapsed in a faint. A group 
 of young girls in the dining-room were chattering, 
 laughing, and nibbling at the dainties. At one side, 
 loaded with silver, stood a huge, carved sideboard. 
 
 She remembered a broken chair at Esperance that 
 matched it.
 
 208 THE GRINDING 
 
 " We shall die of heat prostration," Tom exclaimed, 
 threading his way through the mass of dowagers stand- 
 ing plate in hand, eating pates and salads, cakes and 
 ices. Catherine regarded them with horror. Such hot 
 weather, and eating so much! He drew her toward an 
 opening into what proved to be a conservatory. It 
 had been robbed of the greater part of its plants, but 
 there were still enough left to give it an air of seclu- 
 sion. The lights from the dining-room mingling with 
 the moonlight accentuated the shadows of the large- 
 leaved palms and formed deep grottoes of shade. It 
 was the first time she had been in a conservatory since 
 she lost her own, and a wave of homesickness swept 
 over her. 
 
 " There," he said, as he placed a bench by an open 
 window, " that's a little better, but it's suffocating even 
 here. Why do you suppose they elect to entertain in 
 such weather? " 
 
 " I can't imagine," she replied. " It must have been 
 from some sense of duty. No one could consider it a 
 pleasure." She smiled, remembering how he had as- 
 sured Modesta of his great joy in being there. 
 
 " Why are you smiling? " he asked. 
 
 " I was thinking," she said, " how one guest after 
 another perjured himself to the hostess." 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " but wouldn't it be awful if we 
 spoke the truth? Just think if I had said, ' Miss 
 Piety, this is worse than the Black Hole of Calcutta. 
 Nothing on earth could have induced me to come ex- 
 cept ' "
 
 THE GRINDING 209 
 
 " Except that you had heard how pretty and charm- 
 ing she was and what a belle." 
 
 " No, I'd have said, if I were speaking the truth, you 
 know May I tell you what I'd have said? Why I 
 didn't want to stay at Esperance when you were com- 
 ing to Gold Mine? " He looked smilingly at her, not- 
 ing her lovely color, and there was a subtle flattery in 
 his expression. 
 
 She looked demurely at him. " I heard you tell her 
 how anxious you were to meet her," she said, " and I 
 always believe what people say. But I'm sorry for 
 all those men in black broadcloth. They are going to 
 die of apoplexy. The mortality will be something 
 frightful." 
 
 " Which one shall you regret most? " he asked. 
 
 " Fergus and Ronald," she replied. 
 
 " I'm not counting them," he said. " Who comes 
 next? " 
 
 " Next! " she ejaculated. " There isn't any ' next.' 
 You don't imagine do you, that I know the people out 
 here? That I make companions of them? " 
 
 " Oh," he replied, " I beg your pardon. I didn't 
 realize that there were no desirable ones at all. It 
 must be very lonely for you." 
 
 " Lonely! " she repeated, all her pent-up discontent 
 and rebellion audible in her tone. " It is unutterable. 
 Beyond all description." The change from her usual 
 tone was so sudden and complete that he scarcely 
 knew how to meet it, and for a moment was silent. 
 
 " It must be awful," he said after a brief pause.
 
 210 THE GRINDING 
 
 " I didn't realize how stranded you were." His tone 
 was exquisitely soothing and sympathetic, but inwardly 
 he was thinking: " So that is the role assigned to me; 
 to rescue this Ariadne! " and he studied her with an 
 appraising eye. " Not so bad, either," he thought. " I 
 might go far and do worse. And it's time I settled 
 down and had a permanent establishment." 
 
 Some one passed through the conservatory behind 
 them, where the palms hid them from view. " No, 
 Marc," said Modesta's thin, nasal voice (with its 
 habitual accompanying laugh), " I don't love Ronald. 
 I like him and I'm sorry for him, but I don't love him. 
 And I'd die before I'd marry a man I didn't love." 
 
 Tom peeped through the leaves at the retreating 
 figures. " Why," he exclaimed, " isn't that Marc Sut- 
 ton, whom I met at the St. Francis club the other 
 day? " 
 
 But Catherine did not hear him. With flashing 
 eyes and burning cheeks she had listened to Modesta's 
 words. "That insufferable girl! " she exclaimed. 
 
 Tom turned and looked at her. " You are ac- 
 quainted with Sutton? " he asked; then, not waiting 
 for an answer, " Oh, of course, you must be." 
 
 " I was his queen." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Tom, " I remember now. A friend 
 of mine was there and was crazy about you. Said 
 he never saw a prettier profile. But he didn't say half 
 enough, I see." His smile, as he looked at her, was in 
 itself a compliment. " It's a proof of Sutton's dis- 
 crimination, to choose you," he added after a pause;
 
 THE GRINDING 211 
 
 " otherwise I shouldn't have supposed he had any." 
 
 " Not at all," she replied. " Rex doesn't choose his 
 queen. The organization " 
 
 The entrance of Pere Ignace interrupted her. He 
 saw the two by the window and was moving discreetly 
 away when Catherine spoke: " Good evening, Pere 
 Ignace," she said. " Won't you join us? " 
 
 " Ah, Mees Catrine," he replied, coming and stand- 
 ing beside them. " You have found a spot of cool- 
 ness? No? " 
 
 Tom, rising in acknowledgment of his introduction, 
 stood in an attitude of polite boredom, hoping the 
 priest would move on, and a trifle tantalized by her 
 caprice. 
 
 " We mus' apologize for the 'otness of the weather," 
 said Pere Ignace. " It is the habit of our climate at 
 this season." 
 
 " Those who come at this season must expect the 
 heat," Tom observed. " And there are compensations 
 in your beautiful country." 
 
 Pere Ignace agreed. "Yes," he said, "there are 
 many compensation. And as for the 'otness, it is 
 necessary for the sugar planter. When he sleep under 
 blanket, the cane do not grow." 
 
 " And I suppose the guests here to-night are nearly 
 all planters," Tom remarked with a nice adjustment 
 of courtesy and weariness which Catherine perceived. 
 
 " They are, with one exception; Mr. Sutton, Mod- 
 esta's 'ouse guest." 
 
 " And you and Mr. Ogers," Catherine reminded him.
 
 212 THE GRINDING 
 
 "Ah, yes, I forget; but we have take the precau- 
 tion to flee. I remembered myself of Shadrac, Mes- 
 hac, and Abednego, and I say to myself, ' I might not 
 'ave their luck.' ' He refused Catherine's invitation 
 to sit down, explaining that he was in search of the 
 side gallery, " Where," he added, " I am assure ' by 
 our host there is the coolness of the Nors Pole." 
 
 " Then," she declared, rising, " we will go with you. 
 We, too, seek that coolness." 
 
 Tom followed in silence. He was too experienced 
 to be blind to the coquetry which made her wish not 
 to seem unduly eager for his attentions. Yet, although 
 he acknowledged to himself that it was clever of her, 
 he was sufficiently piqued to wonder whether it could 
 be she really was indifferent to his company. It was 
 crude of her to fly into a temper and show her jealousy 
 before a stranger, he thought, and now she's going to 
 show she isn't such a little Miss Innocence after all. 
 He wondered how old she was. She looked about 
 eighteen but must, certainly, be older. 
 
 The side gallery proved to be a cooler place than 
 the conservatory and, seated in rocking chairs and 
 fanned by a soft breeze, they were able to listen com- 
 fortably to the distant music and the rhythmic sound 
 of dancing feet. The moon shining through the trees 
 transformed into fairy banners the long festoons of 
 moss where myriads of fireflies were drifting about with 
 their golden lanterns. 
 
 " It's lovely here, isn't it? " Catherine said to Tom. 
 " Isn't the moss picturesque? "
 
 THE GRINDING 213 
 
 By this time his amiability had worn to a thin 
 edge and he gave his whole attention to the cigarette 
 he was lighting. The prospect of a trio for the whole 
 evening did not appeal to him, and he pretended not 
 to know she was addressing him until she repeated 
 her observation. Then, tossing away the match, 
 he glanced disparagingly about him. " Forgive me 
 if I don't fully agree with you," he replied. 
 " I know you Southerners particularly pride your- 
 selves on your moss-draped trees, but, to my 
 eyes, they look unsanitary. Like rags hung out 
 to dry." 
 
 " Oh, how can you say so! " she exclaimed with in- 
 ward amusement at his ill-temper. " Look at those 
 festoons and garlands." 
 
 But he was quite as perverse and coquettish as she, 
 so he replied that he was sorry not to share her enthu- 
 siasm. " It seems to me it would be so much more 
 attractive," he said, " if all this debris were cleared 
 away those lower branches and that moss and if 
 they danced on the lawn instead of cooped up in that 
 furnace." 
 
 "And got their feet wet with dew, and perhaps 
 stepped on a snake? " she suggested with apparent 
 innocence. 
 
 " A dance," said Pere Ignace, interrupting the argu- 
 ment, " is nothing for me. If Modesta had give a 
 barbecue but a barbecue is not fashion." 
 
 "That would require a fire," interjected Tom. 
 " That doesn't appeal to me at all in this weather,"
 
 214 THE GRINDING 
 
 " I never attended a barbecue," said Catherine de- 
 murely, concealing her glee. 
 
 " Never to see a barbecue! " Pere Ignace said dream- 
 ily. " You 'ave miss 'alf the joy of life. Or a feesh 
 fry? You 'ave attend a feesh fry, hein? " 
 
 " No, strange to say, I never have." 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu! But it is a disadvantage to be 
 of the city." 
 
 " You are very fond of fish? " she asked. 
 
 " By good fortune, yes. And crahb if I would 
 permit myself, I could eat crahb like Nore Pinel." 
 
 " How did he eat crab? " 
 
 " He place a wash-pot full of water on the fire. You 
 h'observe, it is full. Your attention wander a little; 
 when you behold again, it is empty. Like that, I could 
 eat crahb." 
 
 " Pere Ignace," she said, leaning toward him, " I 
 have wondered whether there really ever was a Nore 
 Pinel. I keep hearing about him: how he planted, 
 how he fished, how he built a church, and now, how 
 he cooked." She smiled bewitchingly as she spoke, 
 and Tom, smoking in silence and studying her face in 
 the moonlight thought, decidedly, this was the right 
 girl for his establishment. Properly dressed, and in 
 the setting he should give her, she would do him 
 credit. And he'd know how to control her, he thought, 
 with a tightening of the lips and a hardening of all the 
 lines in his face. She'd play no ill-tempered pranks 
 when she was his wife!
 
 THE GRINDING 215 
 
 " I think Nore Pinel are a tradition," Pere Ignace's 
 voice broke in upon his revery. 
 
 " Like the liggeroos? " Catherine suggested. 
 
 "Yes, like many things we half believe. But I 
 have many ancient record of this parish. If ever he 
 exist, I can find heem. Yes, Mees Catrine, we will 
 hunt out that Nore Pinel." 
 
 A scream of laughter from the dining-room made 
 the three turn and look. A black haired youth was 
 executing some sort of pas seul to the great delight of 
 the giggling tea girls who were crowding around. 
 Through the wide doorway beyond, a swirl of dancers 
 could be seen sweeping in a circle like a merry-go- 
 round and, most agile among them, Catherine beheld 
 Miss Delicia. Morgiana in her palmiest days could 
 never have approached her curveting and prancing. 
 With crimson countenance and hair done in peaks like 
 horns, she raged around, balancing and curtesying in 
 front of Tobias Blaise, who with pallid face and glassy 
 eyes solemnly pirouetted through his part of the figure. 
 A head and a half taller than her partner, she hovered 
 and swooped and dived around him like a bird of prey. 
 
 Tom, catching sight of her performance, broke into 
 a fit of laughter heartier than any since his school 
 days. " It's broad farce," he exclaimed, wiping his 
 eyes and holding his aching side. 
 
 " The hotness in there is like the regions infernal," 
 Pere Ignace observed, restraining his own laughter by 
 a great effort.
 
 216 THE GRINDING 
 
 " I had no idea I should see anything so funny," 
 Tom said, gasping for breath and breaking out into 
 brief, uncontrollable shrieks. " Who is that old kan- 
 geroo? " as Miss Delicia again came leaping past their 
 field of vision. 
 
 " She is my seester, M'sieur O-gers," Pere Ignace 
 replied. 
 
 A figure in maid's cap and apron now paused before 
 the window. The moonlight shining full upon her re- 
 vealed her expression of fathomless weariness and sor- 
 row. Where had Catherine seen her before? That 
 wan, ascetic face was as familiar to her as if she had 
 known it all her life. And suddenly her impulse to 
 laugh was gone in the presence of this embodied trag- 
 edy. 
 
 " Who is that girl, Pere Ignace? " she asked. 
 
 " Felicie Trosclair." 
 
 "Felicie Trosclair!" she repeated. "Mr. Ovide 
 Trosclair's daughter? " 
 
 " His niece." 
 
 " I didn't know he had a brother." 
 
 Pere Ignace hesitated, then said quietly, " He never 
 have a brother. He have a seester; Mees Hortense."
 
 XXIII 
 
 HERE was open exultation in the conversation of 
 the family gathered, the following morning, 
 around the breakfast table at Gold Mine. 
 
 " I could have died laughin' when Miss Maine come 
 in," said Mrs. Blaise. " Where do you reckon she 
 ever got that rig? " 
 
 Modesta, exquisitely white and dainty in her elab- 
 orate negligee, looked uneasy. She was always uneasy 
 when her parents were at ease. Like many another 
 father and mother who had had no advantages them- 
 selves, they had given their only child all in their 
 power of luxury and accomplishments, and were reap- 
 ing the usual harvest of ingratitude. So, when her 
 mother sneeringly commented on Catherine's appear- 
 ance, Modesta, wishing to show her familiarity with 
 such matters, answered with calm superiority, " She 
 must have bought it when she was in Paris. That was 
 a Drecoll, or Paquin gown." 
 
 " She come out of curiosity," Mrs. Blaise asserted. 
 " She ain't set foot inside this house till now." 
 
 Mr. Blaise, sallow-faced, with the features of a 
 razor-back hog, laughed a snarling laugh and glanced 
 about the room with his pale, furtive eyes. " I reckon 
 she was satisfied all right," he said. " I guess she 
 
 217
 
 218 THE GRINDING 
 
 ain't been to many parties where they spent more for 
 grub and music. They won't come to a cent less than 
 a thousand dollars and I reckon even the Maines 
 would call that some party." 
 
 " Don't call it a ' party/ Dad," Modesta remon- 
 strated. " It was a reception." 
 
 " Well, I guess them was party dresses you and 
 your maw wore last night," he chuckled, " and them's 
 party bills I'll be getting next month." 
 
 " Yes, that dress was a two-year-old," Mrs. Blaise 
 ruminated, following out her train of thought. 
 
 " I guess so," chuckled Mr. Blaise, " and she ain't 
 goin' to have many more, or I miss my guess. I've got 
 them Maines right where I want them. So stuck up 
 they were too grand to walk on this earth. Huhn! 
 She couldn't come here till we give a party." 
 
 " Oh, Dad! " Modesta interrupted, not wishing Marc 
 to think they had been slighted, " she has tried to be 
 cordial, but you know she hasn't any way of getting 
 around." 
 
 "Sure! " chimed in Mrs. Blaise, warned by her 
 daughter's expression, " she said no, it was him 
 I mean Mr. Fergus Maine. What was it he said, 
 Destie? " 
 
 " He said she had become a recluse," Modesta ex- 
 plained. 
 
 " But she was just as cordial to Destie and I," Mrs. 
 Blaise began. 
 
 " Yes, she's a ' recluse ' all right," Mr. Blaise inter- 
 rupted sneeringly. " And him, too; he's another.
 
 THE GRINDING 219 
 
 When he was president of the St. Francis Club, he 
 wanted to be a ' recluse ' too. When my name come up 
 for membership, he said he didn't want ' mere money ' 
 in the club. Huhn! He thought it ought to preserve 
 * higher standards.' Education was what they wanted 
 and social position. Huhn! Education don't teach a 
 man business sense, it seems. It don't teach him to 
 hold on to his money, ner it don't teach him to make 
 the crop. And it's just as sure as that," (taking a 
 rose from the center of the table and crushing it with 
 frightful vindictiveness), "he's gone up unless he can 
 get some one to advance to him. And," he added with 
 a snarling laugh, " he'll find out if I ain't good enough 
 for the St. Francis Club, I ain't good enough to help 
 him. You'll see! He'll be crawlin' round my feet the 
 first of next January and you know what I'll say? 
 I'll say that! " and he spat upon the floor with a pois- 
 onous malice horrible to behold. 
 
 Rage is a terrifying thing, and Marc was frightened. 
 Like most secretive natures, he could not acknowledge 
 a fault unless absolutely forced to do so. He remem- 
 bered the meeting at which Boggs, an obscure member, 
 presented Blaise's name. Fergus Maine was absent 
 and he, Marc Sutton, the Vice-President, occupied the 
 chair. It was a merry meeting at which Boggs was 
 silenced and put to shame while the members indulged 
 themselves in witticisms concerning the unknown 
 Blaise. There was disorder, a thing that never oc- 
 curred when Fergus was presiding. Ever since his in- 
 troduction at Gold Mine, Marc had lived in fear of
 
 220 THE GRINDING 
 
 hearing that meeting mentioned, and now he expe- 
 rienced a great relief at discovering that Boggs had 
 never told all the circumstances, and that Fergus re- 
 ceived the blame. 
 
 " He called me a ' money-lender,' " said Tobias, 
 (Marc remembered that some one had applied that op- 
 probrious epithet to him). " But he'll find out I ain't 
 so fierce on money-lendin' as he hopes. Huhn! " 
 
 " Isn't Mr. Ogers very wealthy? " Modesta asked. 
 " He'll lend them the money, if " 
 
 " Yes, ' if,' " her father interrupted. " But it's just 
 that little ' if ' that's goin' to upset their bucket of 
 cuite. She ain't the first pretty girl what's set her cap 
 for him, or I miss my guess an' she ain't goin' to 
 land him, neither," he prophesied. 
 
 At Esperance, the day dragged wearily to its end. 
 Tom, it transpired, was in the habit of sleeping until 
 noon, when his man, Alphonse, tiptoed into the room 
 and awoke him. Then there was the carrying of in- 
 numerable buckets of hot water for his bath a great 
 hardship to Alphonse, who complained bitterly of the 
 distance from the out-door kitchen. Then there were 
 the difficulties of breakfast which must be prepared 
 under Alphonse's own eye. Then there was a dispute 
 to be settled between Alphonse who threatened to leave 
 his master's service if " the niggers " were not forced to 
 be more respectful to him, and Marcelline who per- 
 sisted in repeating that he " Wa'n't nothin' but a ser- 
 vant hisself ; an' he neenter put on no quality airs. " 
 Then, when Tom finally emerged like Phoebus Apollo,
 
 THE GRINDING 221 
 
 perfumed, manicured, resplendent in his white suit, he 
 was so obviously bored for lack of something to do 
 that Catherine devoted herself to the task of amusing 
 a blase man, who perhaps already regretted that he 
 was stranded in the country. In his mood, she saw a 
 dim reflection of what she herself had been and, armed 
 with the knowledge, she set about entertaining him. 
 It was not strange that a rich man, accustomed to the 
 flatteries of sycophants, should have misunderstood 
 her motives. Furthermore, in the depths of his com- 
 mercial heart, he believed that everything was to be 
 had for money, and he only hoped she would not de- 
 prive him of the zest of pursuit by pursuing him. 
 
 It was evening before Catherine was able to have 
 the interview with Marcelline she desired. But now, 
 in the great shadowy kitchen, lighted only by a candle 
 in a tin candlestick hung on the wall, she sank wearily 
 down on a wooden stool, saying " What can we have 
 tomorrow? I can't think of anything more, I'm so 
 tired. Plan some Creole dishes: sagamitU and gril- 
 lards, and jambalaya and corn pone with strop de bat- 
 terie. Something he's not accustomed to, and that will 
 seem new and interesting to him." 
 
 In the dim candle light her face showed like a cameo 
 against the cavernous background of shade. The old 
 woman noted its pallor and said gently, " You is learn' 
 a heap, sence you come to the kentry. You didn't so 
 much ez know the names er them things when you 
 corned, but M'sieur Alphonse say his boss want brilers 
 fer his breakfus '. He seen them Rhode Red Islan's,
 
 222 THE GRINDING 
 
 an' he tole his boss, an' he say his boss ain't custome' 
 to no po'k-an'-cabbage mess like we gun him yestiddy, 
 an' neither he ain't, neither. He have always reside, 
 he say, with quality. An' I tole him he couldn' find no 
 higher quality than he have right here to Esperance, 
 but he wa'n't a-residin' with them, neither. He was 
 jes' plain servant like we-alls. An' I tole him he mout 
 be white er he mout be blue, but he out-niggered the 
 blackes' cane fiel' hand on the bayou. An' he say his 
 boss are richer an' han'somer than Mr. Fergus or 
 either Mr. Ronal'; an' I say, 'Him, han'some! with 
 his figger lumpin' out to every pint er the compass ' 
 an' just then you corned in." 
 
 " Marcelline," said Catherine, " you must be patient 
 and polite to company, don't you know? Now tell 
 me something; who is Felicie Trosclair? Tell me 
 about her." 
 
 " Ain't you never hear tell about her? " Marcelline 
 asked in such surprise that she forgot her grievances 
 against Alphonse. 
 
 "No; tell me." 
 
 " Hit war this-away," Marcelline began solemnly. 
 In the dim light of the candle, the tall form with its 
 white apron and gay head handkerchief took on some- 
 thing wildly picturesque. She seemed like a sibyl as 
 she began in her deep, mellow voice: " She war born 
 onlucky, an' her maw war onlucky before her. Miss 
 Hortense' paw die before she war born, an' fum the 
 fust minute she see the light er day, she war a hard- 
 times, bad-luck baby. But purty! Miss Catrine,
 
 THE GRINDING 223 
 
 she war as purty as what you is. An' when she went 
 to them furrin' parts, she favored them angels what the 
 hymn-chunes tells about. Then, Miss Catrine, when 
 she come a-strayin' back with a baby in her arms, an' 
 her eyes so wild an' pitiful, she wa'n't purty no more, 
 Miss Catrine; she jes' favor' some poor little animule 
 what war half beat to death. She war so solemn, with 
 her great, big eyes an' her poor little baby had that 
 same look, like she've see sech awful trouble she 
 couldn't smile no more. An' quiet? An' easy? An' 
 scared? She war jest as still as a poor little bird 
 what's ben caught in a trap an' don't dast to move. 
 Mr. Ovide' wife rare an' charge an' say she cain't live 
 with no sech truck. Mr. Ovide say he don't keer; he 
 wa'n't goin' to turn them out like two stray dogs. But 
 he war out in the fiel's most er the time, an' they listen 
 to a heap of hard words, them two, 'case the young 
 Madam warn't quality, an' this give her a chanst to 
 hole her haid high." 
 
 " Why did Mr. Ovide let his niece go to work at 
 Gold Mine? " Catherine asked. 
 
 "Who? Miss Hortense' li'le gal? Wukkin'? 
 What dat you say? Is you sure? She mout lend a 
 hand but not wukkin' like a servant, were she? " 
 
 " She had on a maid's cap and apron." 
 
 " Oh," Marcelline groaned, leaning against the table 
 as if unable to support her own weight, " pore li'le 
 Missy! The Trosclairs was the proudes' people on 
 the top side er the yearth, time er the ole Madame; 
 an' Miss Hortense were the very apple of her heart.
 
 224 THE GRINDING 
 
 Miss Aggie Blaise' paw were stableman to Malabar 
 an' she growed up in the quarters an' now Miss 
 Hortense' li'le gal are a-wukkin fer them folks! Is you 
 sure, honey? " 
 
 " I'm sure," said Catherine. " I saw her." 
 " Oh, Lord! Lord! " Marcelline exclaimed in a kind 
 of wailing chant, the while she rocked her body from 
 side to side, " times is sure change' when Malabar wuk 
 fer Gole Mine."
 
 XXIV 
 
 T17HEN Tom arrived, it was with the intention of 
 * * staying two or three days at longest; but a week 
 passed by and still he lingered, although his valet, 
 unable to endure the discomforts of the country, had 
 left within forty-eight hours. Tom had definitely 
 made up his mind to marry Catherine, but, to his sur- 
 prise, he found her more elusive than he could have 
 imagined. All gentleness and grace one moment, the 
 next, she was as aloof as a wild creature of the woods. 
 Constantly baffled by her changing moods, his visit 
 which, for a moment, seemed to threaten him with 
 ennui, had taken on the excitement of the chase. He 
 thought out a plan of action: he would give her humor 
 for humor and show that he could be quite as perverse 
 and capricious as she. 
 
 Catherine, for her part, realized the hazardous game 
 she was playing, but having as fully made up her mind 
 as he had his, she skirted as near the precipice as she 
 dared. She knew she must not go too near too much 
 depended on his good-will but neither could she 
 deny herself the pleasure of tantalizing this man of 
 the world who was so sure of himself. And so she 
 danced ahead like a will-o'-the wisp, always just be- 
 yond his reach. 
 
 Fergus and Ronald, walking along the dusty road 
 
 225
 
 226 THE GRINDING 
 
 toward the sugar house one day, were discussing the 
 situation: "He's been here an entire week," Ronald 
 said. " Now that he's decided to take the pound of 
 flesh and advance barely enough money to make the 
 crop, I wish he'd go! He was so eager to get hold of 
 those mortgage notes, his mouth watered. Didn't you 
 notice? He didn't seem like that at Worcester." 
 
 " No, because you were on an equality then. It's 
 the difference between poverty and wealth. The rich 
 don't realize their selfishness, Ronald. It's a very ex- 
 ceptional nature that can put itself in the place of the 
 other man. They have no experience to guide them. 
 They don't walk when they're tired " 
 
 " Or eat dry salt shoulder," Ronald interjected. 
 "Did you notice the charming grace with which he 
 helped himself to all the white meat of the chicken, 
 and left the neck and gizzard for us? " 
 
 Fergus took out his handkerchief and flicked the 
 dust from his shoes. Always a fastidious man, he had 
 grown painfully conscious of his appearance; of his 
 ill-cut hair, his shiny coat, and his linen that was be- 
 ginning to fray at the edges. 
 
 Ronald watched him dusting his shabby, carefully 
 polished shoes. " If there were anything spectacular 
 about poverty," he said, " it wouldn't be so hard to 
 bear. There is dignity in suffering for one's country 
 or one's faith; but to be merely poor and shabby, 
 trudging around in the mud and dust, eating coarse 
 food and drinking water without ice in it there's 
 nothing ennobling about that."
 
 THE GRINDING 227 
 
 " I don't agree with you," Fergus replied, straight- 
 ening himself and replacing his handkerchief in his 
 pocket, " I believe there is something ennobling in 
 enduring the hardships of the march. We have an 
 example before our eyes of how enervating constant 
 self-indulgence is, both to body and mind." 
 
 " Poverty is so degrading," Ronald persisted. " You 
 coarsen with your coarse surroundings; or at least you 
 seem to coarsen. And very soon men like Tom Ogers 
 accept the situation for you and begin advising you 
 and telling you how the refined, cultured, rich peo- 
 ple of the world behave. I don't mind so much for 
 myself, but it is dreadful to see you and Catherine in 
 so degrading a position." 
 
 " Humiliating, you mean, not ' degrading,' " Fergus 
 corrected. " No outside circumstance can degrade 
 us in the true sense of the word, any more than a poor 
 garment can impoverish the soul. People don't mean 
 to humiliate the poor they simply don't understand 
 them. I can see how blind I myself was. In that 
 phrase, ' The poor ye have always with you,' I thought 
 of poverty vaguely as a sad dispensation, indirectly 
 meant as a benefit for the rich in calling out their finer 
 qualities. Now that I am one of the ever-present 
 poor, I think I have a clearer understanding." 
 
 " Well," Ronald observed after a pause, " it's time 
 for Tom to go home to his much-lamented valet, and 
 shower bath, and pdte-de-foie-gras." 
 
 "You know why he doesn't go," Fergus said quietly. 
 
 " Yes, I know," Ronald acknowledged with a slight
 
 228 THE GRINDING 
 
 laugh, " and it didn't require a prophet to foresee what 
 would happen when he came. But what a dance she's 
 leading him! And in such hot weather. I don't 
 blame him for looking tragic. I suppose he would 
 say with Sisyphus : ' Mine at worst is everlasting 
 hope.' " 
 
 Fergus was silent for a moment. " I have thought," 
 he finally said, " that perhaps it is our duty to open 
 her eyes to some of his characteristics." 
 
 " My dear Fergus," Ronald ejaculated. " Cather- 
 ine's eyes are the clearest and widest-open in the world. 
 She sees him as he is. Depend upon it. Besides, 
 I doubt if advice from us would have any effect other 
 than to hasten the marriage. You don't imagine she 
 would listen to me, do you? " 
 
 " Perhaps not," Fergus acknowledged with a sigh. 
 " You irritate each other a little, don't you? " 
 
 " No, not ' a little,' but very much indeed," Ronald 
 replied. " She misunderstands everything I say or 
 do and perhaps I misunderstand her." 
 
 " You used to love each other so dearly," Fergus 
 said sadly. 
 
 Ronald flushed and looked away. "I'm not at all 
 sure she ever loved me," he replied. Then, after a 
 pause, " You remember that verse in Fridthiof's Saga: 
 ' Trust not to one night's ice, To spring day snow, To 
 serpent's slumber, Or to maiden's vow; For heart of 
 woman turneth like a wheel, And 'neath the snowy 
 breast doth falsehood dwell.' ' 
 
 " Fridthiof was harsh," Fergus commented. " I
 
 THE GRINDING 229 
 
 don't like to think such things of our little Catherine. 
 The privations we suffer make us nervous, I suppose. 
 And she's young and without resources. No wonder 
 if she longs to escape." 
 
 In the garden of Esperance, Ananias and Pidgeon 
 were hoeing grass and, seeing Tom and Catherine walk- 
 ing along the bayou's bank toward the bridge, they 
 paused in their work and watched them. 
 
 " He shore look fine in them white clo'es," Pidgeon 
 observed. 
 
 " Chukey gwine quit, lessen the Madam get some- 
 one to help with the pressin,' " said Ananias. " She 
 say she cain't press all them things by herself." 
 
 " He shore have got a plenty," Pidgeon agreed. 
 " An' he make me count his hankercher, an' his collar, 
 an' his sock, an' he holler at me effen I makes a mis- 
 take. I wisht to goodness the Madam didn't make me 
 wait on him when Mr. Alphonse quit. Mr. Nias," 
 Pidgeon leaned on his hoe and spoke impressively, " he 
 are that stingy, he regrudge everybody else the air 
 they breathes. Sence the revelation er Jonah, they 
 ain't nuver ben nobody so stingy like what he are. He 
 ain't nuver give me nothin' ceppin yestiddy. He tore 
 the buttinghole er his collar when he war a buttenin' it, 
 an' he say, ' Here, Stoopid, effen you was wuth you 
 salt, you'd a-knewn how to butting it for me,' and with 
 that, he fling it at me an' he say, ' You kin have it.' 
 An' when he seen me a-lookin' at it, he get mad an' tell 
 me not to look a gifted horse in the mouth. An' he 
 say niggers is ongrateful anyway you fixes 'em, an'
 
 230 THE GRINDING 
 
 they'd ruther steal than have things gave 'em. Mr. 
 Nias, I nigh about bust, I was that mad. An' you 
 know how big his neck are? That ole collar would a 
 made a belt fur Miss Marcelline." 
 
 " An' you nuver sass him? " Ananias inquired with 
 deep interest. 
 
 " Yassir, I did. Jest once. An' I trust to the Lord 
 he don't tell our Madam, but Moses neither Job 
 couldn't a had patience with him. You knows, Mr. 
 Nias, the Madam say as how I warn't to wake him 
 twell the kitchen clock alarm? Well, I waits twell 
 she alarms. Then I goes, soft an' easy, to wake him. 
 You know that there bedroom door squawk when you 
 opens it? " 
 
 " Yes. I promus the Madam to grease the hinges, 
 but I forgot." 
 
 " Well, he were sleepin' so proud I hears him clean 
 out to the kitchen but any how I goes, like the Madam 
 tell me; an' when I opens that door, she squawk like 
 she always do. I didn't go to do it, Mr. Nias, but the 
 slower you opens that door, the louder she squawk, an' 
 he mos' jump outer his skin, he wake so suddint. An' 
 with that, he holler at me, ' What you sneakin' in that- 
 a-way fur? I ben awake a hour waitin' fur you.' 
 But you know that were a hardened lie, Mr. Nias, 
 'case I hearn him a-sleepin'. An' he say, ' You is fixin 
 to steal suthin whiles I sleeps, but you doesn't catch 
 me so easy.' An' with that, I ups an' tells him I didn't 
 want none er them big balloon clo'es er hisn, an' be- 
 sides, I axes my own boss fer what I wants, an' no-
 
 THE GRINDING 231 
 
 body else; an' when I axes my boss, he don't show me 
 the back er his hand, neither." 
 
 " Pidgeon," said Ananias impressively, " we is some- 
 times under compellerations to wuk fer street angels 
 and house devils. I seen him a-squinchin' up them 
 little yaller eyes er hisn, a-grinnin' at Miss Catrine, an' 
 I says to myself, ' I trus' the Lord don't let her marry 
 him, 'case you kin marry ez rich ez cream an' yet be to 
 the last er misery.' ' 
 
 "An' he talk so mild an' soft an' easy to her," 
 Pidgeon continued, " an' behine her back, he kin out- 
 cuss Cain and Abel. Did you hear him the day Miss 
 Chukey were a-wool-gatherin' an' crease his pants down 
 the side, instead er in front? " 
 
 " I suttinly did," Ananias replied. " He war mad- 
 dog mad at her, an' he say, l How you reckon I is gwine 
 ter look effen I puts on them things? " I layed off to 
 tell him how he look to me, but then I study how our 
 Madam say she pintedly forbid her servants to sass 
 him." He sighed, spat upon his hands and resumed 
 his hoeing. 
 
 Meantime the object of these criticisms was not so 
 happy as his observers imagined. Having risen that 
 day with the determination to have a final, explicit 
 talk with Catherine, in which he would give her plainly 
 to understand that she was endangering her chances 
 with him, he learned to his annoyance, that she had 
 gone driving early that morning and would not return 
 until dinner. There was nothing to do but wait, and 
 while he did so, he reviewed his discomforts of the past
 
 232 THE GRINDING 
 
 week. Calling to Marcelline, he demanded if there 
 were no books in the house for him to read while he 
 had nothing else to do. 
 
 She answered politely but with suppressed hostility 
 that there was a Bible in Mr. Fergus's room, but she 
 didn't suppose he would care to read that. 
 
 " Holy smoke! " he ejaculated. " Is that the most 
 recent literature this place affords? " 
 
 " There are the Epee from Bergerac." 
 
 "The A pay! What's that?" 
 
 " The paper from Bergerac." 
 
 "Well, bring that." But the meager news did not 
 entertain him many minutes, and he went out on to 
 the gallery where he walked back and forth, fanning 
 himself and impatiently watching for Catherine's re- 
 turn. What was his surprise to find her in the dining 
 room when dinner was announced, looking cool and 
 crisp in her white dress and much astonished to learn 
 where he had been waiting for her. 
 
 " Why," she exclaimed sympathetically, " it was 
 sunny there. If you'd gone on to the shady side gal- 
 lery you'd have seen me when I came through the cane 
 field. It's lovely there. As you look across the top 
 of the cane it seems all rippling like little waves. 
 Later, when it's tall, it seems like a solid wall of green." 
 
 After dinner, she went to the kitchen to give some 
 order to Marcelline, and he next discovered her walk- 
 ing on the bayou bank. When she heard him panting 
 after her, she turned with the most innocent, sympa-
 
 THE GRINDING 233 
 
 thetic expression and said, " Oh, how out of breath you 
 are! " 
 
 It was disagreeable to think of the spectacle he pre- 
 sented with the perspiration streaming down his crim- 
 son face, and in spite of himself, his voice took on a 
 sharp edge as he demanded, " Why didn't you tell me 
 you were going right out again? " Then, without 
 waiting for an answer, "And what was the need of 
 your taking that drive alone this morning? You know 
 I'd have gone with you." 
 
 " Oh, would you? " She seemed surprised. " I 
 didn't go alone. Miss Victorine was with me; but I'm 
 sorry we didn't take you if you'd have enjoyed it." 
 
 He ignored the implication that he would have en- 
 joyed going with Miss Victorine as an addition to the 
 company, and asked, " Where did you go? " 
 
 " To get some fresh vegetables. I heard that 
 Madame Jabart had some lovely mirlitons. I was sure 
 you would like them." ' 
 
 " Why didn't you have some one wake me? You 
 might at least have given me the chance to say whether 
 I wished to go or not." 
 
 " I did think of it," she acknowledged, noting with 
 inward amusement the aggrieved and accusing tone of 
 his voice. " I had Pidgeon listen at your door, but 
 when he told me how soundly you were sleeping, I 
 wouldn't let him disturb you for anything." 
 
 His flushed face grew a deeper mahogany color. 
 It was not pleasant to think of Pidgeon's reporting
 
 234 THE GRINDING 
 
 that he was snoring his head off. " Well," he per- 
 sisted fretfully, " what was the need of your starting 
 right out again now? Couldn't you stay a little while 
 with me? " 
 
 " I am with you, am I not? " she asked with tantal- 
 izing sweetness. She, too, was suffering from the hot 
 weather and the mosquitos, and her most ardent wish 
 at that moment was that he would go home. His 
 business with Fergus having been completed to her 
 satisfaction, she was ready to speed the parting guest. 
 
 Looking moodily away from her he caught sight of 
 Fergus and Ronald walking toward the sugar house. 
 At that moment, Fergus made a gesture of the hand 
 habitual with him when talking earnestly, and Tom 
 laughed. " He's giving Ronald some good advice," 
 he said. " For a man that has lived in the world, he's 
 a good deal of a city missionary, isn't he? " 
 
 The brilliancy of her inquiring glance should have 
 warned him, but the possibility of her refusing him 
 had not entered the range of his imagination, and he 
 went on unguardedly. " You and Ronald do take a 
 lot of preaching. I don't see why you stand it." 
 
 " Stand it! " she repeated; " if it weren't for Fergus, 
 I'd simply die of loneliness out here. He's my only 
 comfort. He's an angel, Fergus is." 
 
 " I dare say," Tom replied in a slighting tone, " but 
 I suppose I haven't met enough angels to acquire a 
 taste for their company. They seem to me rather in- 
 sipid, socially." 
 
 " Of course," she agreed with ominous quiet, " I
 
 THE GRINDING 235 
 
 shouldn't expect you to understand a man like Fer- 
 gus." 
 
 He gave a short laugh. " Oh, there's nothing very 
 complex about a nature like his," he retorted, losing 
 control of his temper and prudence. " He's in just the 
 right environment here where he'll not be tempted to 
 try to manipulate the Stock Market. It takes some- 
 thing more than mere angelic goodness to pull off 
 such a sketch as he tried with the Metropolitan Bank." 
 
 Her eyes blazed, but she made no reply. 
 
 " And as for Ronald," he went on, " I suppose you 
 think he's another angel, and perhaps he is. Any way, 
 he doesn't show much initiative as far as mundane 
 affairs go. Frankly, all Ronald's friends are disap- 
 pointed in him. We used to prophecy that he'd set 
 the Hudson river on fire and here he is, a clerk on a 
 plantation way down here at the jumping off place." 
 
 For a moment, Catherine remained silent. Truth 
 to tell, she too had felt disappointed in Ronald. That 
 he should fail of his appointment, and then be so lack- 
 ing in resourcefulness as to sink contentedly into this 
 minor position on a remote sugar plantation, was not 
 what she had imagined for him. But it was one thing 
 to have this secret thought, and another to hear it put 
 into words. Her cheek reddened as Tom talked, and 
 she asked with elaborate politeness, " Have you any 
 further criticisms to make on our family? May I in- 
 quire in what way / am displeasing? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " you may and I will tell you 
 that there is a limit to my patience "
 
 236 THE GRINDING 
 
 " And to mine," she flashed back. " And the limit 
 is exactly the point you have reached. Talk about us 
 all you like behind our backs, but please reserve your 
 criticisms until you are at a distance." 
 
 "Well! " he exclaimed; and so astonished was he 
 that he did not say another word, but threw himself 
 moodily upon the bench under the China tree at Miss 
 Victorine's gate while Catherine walked rapidly up 
 the path between the rose bushes.
 
 XXV 
 
 1VTISS VICTORINE, watching through the crack of 
 *** the door while Tom and Catherine crossed the 
 bridge and turned toward her front gate, naturally 
 concluded that they were coming to call upon her, and 
 was disappointed when he threw himself upon the 
 bench. Then, with renewed pleasure, she watched 
 Catherine coming up the walk, until, at the psycholog- 
 ical moment, when her foot touched the step, the little 
 old lady opened wide the door and welcomed her in. 
 With much ceremony she escorted her guest into the 
 parlor and offered her one of the three glasses of orange 
 flower water which she had hastily brought and ar- 
 ranged upon the center table the moment she per- 
 ceived the direction the two were taking. 
 
 Catherine was still quivering with agitation from 
 her conversation with Tom from listening to his 
 insinuations and slurs upon Fergus and criticisms of 
 Ronald but forcing herself to an outward appear- 
 ance of calm, she responded cordially to Miss Vic- 
 torine's greeting. 
 
 " The water are not cold," the old lady apologized 
 regretfully. " M'sieur Bergeron 'ave not brought the 
 hice, it is now many day." 
 
 " No," said Catherine, " we haven't had ice, either, 
 
 237
 
 238 THE GRINDING 
 
 for some time. I suppose it melts in coming so far 
 in the cart." 
 
 " I suppose," Miss Victorine agreed; " but soon the 
 Mail Boat will come as far as Esperance, an' then we 
 will 'ave nice, hein? " 
 
 After explaining her errand that she wished to 
 buy some broilers Catherine raised her gliss and 
 said, " May I drink this to your health? " 
 
 " But no! I beg! " the little old lady cried out in 
 evident alarm, " it bring disaster to drink 'ealth in 
 water. I might lose all my chicken," and she entered 
 upon a long account of the intricacies and dangers of 
 chicken-raising, and of her battles with minks and 
 snakes. " Yes, Mees Catrine," she concluded, " I 
 has went out in the chicken 'ouse when the night made 
 so black I could not see two finger before my nose." 
 She illustrated by holding two fingers close to her nose, 
 and, unconsciously, looking cross-eyed at them. 
 " And what are the result? " she demanded and nodded 
 smilingly at Catherine as a prolonged uproar in the 
 rear of the house announced that a hen had laid an 
 
 egg. 
 
 In a tree that shaded the side window a mocking- 
 bird was singing in liquid cadences, and now a human 
 voice joined in the melody; clear, and sweet and plain- 
 tive. Miss Victorine listened for a moment, then 
 called, " It is thou, Felicie? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Victorine," the girlish voice answered, 
 and in the open door that connected the parlor with 
 the dining-room, appeared Felicie Trosclair.
 
 THE GRINDING 239 
 
 In a great rush of affection, Catherine's heart went 
 out to the chi'd of Hortense Trosclair, as the girl, 
 her black straw hat pushed back from her face, set 
 down the basket she was carrying and timidly ac- 
 knowledged her introduction to " Mees Maine." 
 
 " Come," said Miss Victorine, " sit thee down and 
 drink a glass of orange flower syrup; see, it wait for 
 thee." 
 
 Catherine asked Felicie if she had walked all the dis- 
 tance from Gold Mine, but the old lady answered for 
 her that Felicie never walked, " They wouldn' trus' 
 her to walk all that long ways when it meks hot like 
 to-day." Then, as a deep pallor succeeded the flush 
 on the young face, she asked anxiously, " Thou didst 
 not walk, hein? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Victorine, I walked." 
 
 " But the otomobile pass', it is not two minute." 
 
 " They will take me back with them." 
 
 " I 'ope so! " Miss Victorine exclaimed indignantly. 
 "With all that basket of egg? Euhnl Tiens! 
 Tranquilize thyself, two minute. Thou hast finish? 
 Set they glass upon the table and rest they head upon 
 my knees like when thou wast a little chile. There," 
 as the girl obeyed. " That is well. You will permit 
 us two minute delay, Mees Catrine? " 
 
 " With pleasure," said Catherine, and, remember- 
 ing Tom, she gave a fleeting glance out of the window. 
 He was drowsily fanning himself. Slowly and ever 
 more slowly, like the pendulum of a clock that is run- 
 ning down, his hand moved. It stopped, and the white
 
 240 THE GRINDING 
 
 panama hat, slipping from the loose fingers, rolled 
 upon the ground. 
 
 Meantime Felicie, on a low stool, was sleeping with 
 her head on Miss Victorine's knees. " When I marry 
 M'sieur Chauvin," the old lady said in a hushed voice, 
 smoothing the child's dark hair with a toil-hardened, 
 but gentle hand, " I live to Bonne Poignee, where he 
 was overseer for M'sieur Evariste Ledoux. It is nex' 
 to Malabar, an' my occasion for going there was very 
 often. Mees Hortense, the mother of this chile, was 
 young then a little girl of a sweetness an' good- 
 ness, it was to marvel. This pore chile," the keen eyes 
 were moist as she spoke, "was not yet born; it go 
 without saying." 
 
 " How old is she? " Catherine asked softly so as not 
 to disturb her sleep. 
 
 " She 'ave fourteen year; but you would not give 
 her so much, hein? " 
 
 "Why, no!" Catherine exclaimed in surprise. 
 " Are you sure? " 
 
 " Very sure, for her birth was a calamity never to 
 be forgot. An' when her mother die, I would have 
 take her but there was many obstacle. I regret 
 now but what will you? We all 'ave many regret. 
 We do not see the end from the beginning. It seem 
 best at Gole Mine where Mees Aggie Blaise Madam 
 Blaise would remember past kindness, it appear to 
 me. She will repay it to this chile. She will give her 
 the advantage her mother so much desire for her. 
 She will travel; she will see the world. With me, she
 
 THE GRINDING 241 
 
 grow up Cajan," Miss Victorine glanced deprecatingly 
 at Catherine. "She will not even speak American 
 like she ought. Until to-day I believe all this. To- 
 day I am undeceive' and I regret. But what will 
 you? " A tear ran down her long, sharp nose and 
 dropped on Felicie's cheek. The child drowsily patted 
 Miss Victorine's knee and smiled in her sleep. 
 
 " She has no fever? " Catherine asked, laying her 
 hand on the child's forehead. 
 
 At the touch, Felicie opened her eyes, and after a 
 moment of bewilderment, asked in an anxious tone, 
 " Have I slept long, Miss Victorine? They will be 
 back and I must be ready. May I have six dozen 
 eggs? " 
 
 " As many as thou wilt, dear heart," Miss Victorine 
 replied, rising and leading the way through her im- 
 maculate kitchen. With the basket on her arm she 
 rustled ahead in her starched petticoats, and disap- 
 peared into the hen-house; first explaining that, if 
 they wished, they might look over the fence into the 
 enclosure where she kept her broilers, and select those 
 " Mees Catrine " desired for Esperance. 
 
 As Miss Victorine delayed her coming, Felicie stood 
 gazing at a cloud drifting over the tree tops. Cath- 
 erine, beside her, looked up too. " A cloud! " she ejac- 
 ulated. " I hope more are coming." 
 
 " How beautiful it is, streaming up that way into 
 the sky. Don't you love the clouds, Miss Maine? " 
 Felicie said timidly. 
 
 " Yes, I do love them," Catherine replied. " Have
 
 242 THE GRINDING 
 
 you noticed what beautiful sunsets we have been hav- 
 ing? " 
 
 " I am busy at that hour," Felicie answered: " But 
 haven't you noticed the lovely sunrises? " 
 
 " I'm busy at that hour sleeping," Catherine ac- 
 knowledged. " But I'll have Marcelline wake me to 
 see it to-morrow morning and I'll think about you. 
 Will you be sure to think of me? " 
 
 " Indeed I will," Felicie declared; " to-morrow morn- 
 ing and every morning." 
 
 " I can't promise to be up at that hour every morn- 
 ing, I'm too lazy," Catherine confessed, " but I'll think 
 of you at sunset." 
 
 " I'll be glad to know someone is thinking about 
 me," Felicie said shyly, " It will be company for me." 
 She flushed as if fearing she had said too much. " Do 
 you see the face on that side? " she asked still looking 
 up. " Isn't it wonderful? Oh, look at that long lock 
 of hair streaming back! It's changing now. It has 
 horns! It's a goat. Look at its beard." 
 
 " That ain't right, Felicie," Miss Victorine remon- 
 strated, backing out of the hen-house with her heavy 
 basket of eggs. " I'm scared it are a sin to try to see 
 them things in the clouds; heads with horns, an' 
 things like that. Dost thou say thy little prayer thy 
 mother taught thee? " 
 
 " No, Miss Victorine," Felicie confessed as she went 
 forward to help carry the basket, " I try to, but I 
 always go to sleep before it is done." 
 
 "Alas, pore chile," Miss Victorine exclaimed pity-
 
 THE GRINDING 243 
 
 ingly, " thou art too tired. Say thy little prayer in 
 the mornin', an' I will ask Pere Ignace to dispense 
 thee with repeating it at night. No better yet I 
 will say two prayer at night; one for thee and one for 
 me. Then thou canst sleep in peace." 
 
 As they were setting the basket in the shade of the 
 pecan tree by the side gate, from far away, they heard 
 the honk, honk of an automobile. The girl stood as 
 if transfixed, the brightness fading from her face as 
 she watched the spot of scarlet coming nearer and 
 nearer, growing more and more distinct as it flashed 
 between the trees on the bayou road. The three 
 waited in silence. Nearer it came and nearer until 
 they discerned Modesta, all in white with her face 
 swathed in a shimmering veil, and beside her, Marc 
 Sutton. 
 
 There are supreme moments that stand out like high 
 lights in our lives, and this was one for Modesta 
 Blaise, as she sat in her own car beside the future sen- 
 ator, while Catherine Maine, the ex-queen of the Car- 
 nival, stood by the dusty roadside. Ignoring Felicie, 
 and with a careless nod to Miss Victorine, Modesta 
 greeted Catherine with effusion, and Marc, descending 
 from the car, shook hands with her. He spoke of the 
 heat, of the long-continued drought, hoping that Esper- 
 ance was not suffering and regretting that his many 
 engagements had made it impossible to get over to 
 see her again. Then, as Catherine made a move to 
 help Felicie lift the basket, he stepped forward with a 
 polite, " Permit me,"
 
 244 THE GRINDING 
 
 Modesta looked on with an expression of curiosity, 
 wondering that the haughty Catherine Maine should 
 put herself on an equality with a servant, and unable 
 to comprehend the pride that scorned to deny a poor 
 relation. In the parishes, kinship extends to the re- 
 motest cousins; would Miss Maine own this connection 
 to Marc Sutton? 
 
 " Good-by, Felicie," Catherine said, taking the 
 child's hand, " don't forget your promise." Then, 
 turning to Marc, " You know, we found relatives out 
 here in the country the Trosclairs of Malabar. 
 This little girl is my cousin." And, with infinite 
 grace, she bent and kissed her. 
 
 Modesta's heart leaped within her. This repaid 
 her for all the slights, real and imaginery. Now, now 
 was her hour of triumph; and she rode on, her head 
 erect, her heart swelling with that fierce rapture of 
 revenge that is sometimes mistaken for joy. 
 
 Catherine said good-by to Miss Victorine (the more 
 courteously that Modesta had shown her such scant 
 consideration), and promising to send Pidgeon for the 
 broilers, walked on in deep thought, pondering the 
 world-old problem of good and evil. Why were there 
 such differences in life, she wondered. Such cruel dif- 
 ferences! Why was that defenceless little creature 
 so crushed! And why was she herself so poor that 
 she could not help the child! What a pitiful, degraded 
 thing human nature was ! Marc with his silly, society 
 lies. But there were exceptions; Miss Victorine, pure 
 in heart and self -forgetful. Good as gold in spite of
 
 THE GRINDING 245 
 
 her queer superstitions and her ignorance. And Fer- 
 gus, high-minded and self-sacrificing. And Ronald 
 yes, Ronald 
 
 At this moment, a horseman overtook her and swing- 
 ing lightly down from the saddle, spoke to her. He 
 was glowing with color, with life, with a repressed 
 excitement at seeing her. He said he had found a 
 wonderful, blossoming vine in the woods. Might he 
 bring it to her? His voice was eager and she, know- 
 ing that he was making an excuse to stop, looked up 
 at him with complex emotions. Dimly she recognized 
 the danger of condescending to this boy who must 
 never cross the gulf that lay between them. What 
 would he do if he understood his true position? The 
 thought of Lochinvar flashed through her mind. 
 Would this elfish being, if he knew the truth, sweep 
 her away, carry her off like that wild highlander? 
 The thought gave her an unacknowledged thrill, and, 
 drawn on by the dangerous fascination of her own 
 power, and by an unwillingness to commit an appar- 
 ent unkindness, she deferred explanation and com- 
 mitted the real cruelty of leaving him in error. Una- 
 ware that her own face reflected something of his 
 expression, she said, "Will you? I should be de- 
 lighted," and extended her hand in token that she 
 wished him to go. 
 
 With unconcealed emotion, he took it and raised it 
 to his lips, then, mounting, galloped away without a 
 word, leaving her half afraid of the spirit she had 
 evoked.
 
 246 THE GRINDING 
 
 They had talked together for five minutes, but in 
 those five minutes, Ronald saw them from the win- 
 dow of the sugar-house near-by, and Tom, watching 
 them between half-closed lids, sat up and uttered an 
 ejaculatory oath.
 
 XXVI 
 
 "1T7HEN Tom left, it was with protestations of 
 * * friendship on his lips. He made a list of books 
 that Fergus especially missed in the treatise on Numis- 
 matics which he was trying to finish from memory. 
 
 " You can't do it without books of reference," Tom 
 repeated more than once. " Macauley's and Glad- 
 stone's memories combined would have been inadequate 
 to such a task. But I'll send you Poole's Catalogue 
 of Ptolemaic Coins, and I'll poke up the American 
 Numismatic and Archeological Society that's the 
 right name, isn't it? " referring to the memorandum he 
 held. 
 
 He was as smiling and chatty as on the morning of 
 his arrival, and as he drove away to take the train at 
 Bergerac, Fergus said, " That man has a good heart. 
 His faults are on the surface." As the vehicle disap- 
 peared around the bend of the road, he added, " Ron- 
 ald doesn't trust him, but I fear we are growing sus- 
 picious in our natures living so much alone. I was 
 sorry Ronald insisted on accompanying him to Ber- 
 gerac." 
 
 " Yes," Catherine agreed, " I think it was a work of 
 
 supererogation . ' ' 
 
 "Not that, Cathie," Fergus corrected her. "He 
 
 247
 
 248 THE GRINDING 
 
 has done us an inestimable service. He has saved us, 
 in fact. I believe, in spite of his satiric manner, he's 
 a good friend." 
 
 " Hardly that, I think," she replied. In her own 
 mind, she thought, " He can't hurt us. He's signed 
 the papers." But she felt secretly dissatisfied with 
 herself that she should have waited until Esperance 
 was safe, and then to have shown so plainly that he 
 wearied her. 
 
 Marcelline, with a letter in her hand, knocked on 
 the frame of the open door. " Miss Catrine," she said, 
 " Unc' Timothy Brim have came up the bayou this 
 mornin' an' lef this letter fer you. He say, he mout 
 be goin' to the oyscher reef, one er these days, an' he 
 were boun' to give this to you 'fore he went. He say 
 he ben layin' off to bring it too long to talk about, an' 
 I were to put it right in you hand an' not let nobody 
 else tech it." 
 
 Wonderingly, Catherine took the letter and, opening 
 it, read: 
 
 " This is to be given you after my death, so I write 
 without any excuse except my great need. In the 
 belief that you have not heard my true story, I will 
 repeat it for the last time. 
 
 " I was married, fifteen years ago, on the fourth 
 of November, in the Church of St. Pancras, London, 
 to your cousin, Ralph Fessenden. My godmother, 
 with whom I had been living, had died suddenly, leav- 
 ing me quite alone. There was no one to object to
 
 THE GRINDING 249 
 
 our marriage, but, as it proved, we were unwise not 
 to notify our relatives. We were so happy we forgot 
 the rest of the world. The following year our daugh- 
 ter was born near the village of Grindelwald. It would 
 have been easy to verify these statements had any one 
 cared to do so. 
 
 " I am sure he loved me as I loved him, and shall 
 to the end of eternity. But he is dead. I don't know 
 where. He left me one morning to walk to the village. 
 I have never seen him since. I need not tell you 
 what people said when I came back to Malabar. The 
 world is a cruel place, and soon I must leave my poor 
 little one in it, alone. You have such a winning voice, 
 such a lovely face, and you claimed kinship with me. 
 You did not know my story, and you are so young I 
 dared not accept your friendship lest you break my 
 heart later by withdrawing it. 
 
 " Mrs. Blaise has offered to take my daughter as her 
 own. She has wealth and can provide for my little one. 
 But if her home should not prove a refuge, if they 
 should grow tired of her there are a thousand things 
 might happen if there is need, I beg you to protect 
 her. From the grave I shall thank and bless you. 
 " HORTENSE TROSCLAIR FESSENDEN." 
 
 For a moment she felt dazed, as if a voice had spoken 
 from the tomb. Then in sudden excitement she cried, 
 " Ralph Fessenden was Felicie's father! " Scarcely 
 able to contain herself, she ran out to the front gallery 
 to impart the wonderful news to Fergus. He had al-
 
 250 THE GRINDING 
 
 ready gone to the sugar house, so, feeling the impera- 
 tive need of some one in whom to confide, she went 
 in search of Marcelline. But Marcelline had gone out 
 to the cow lot, whither Catherine feared to follow. So, 
 as a last resort, she put on her hat and started for Miss 
 Victorine's. 
 
 She found the old lady in her garden inspecting a 
 row of flourishing okra plants, and, without the usual 
 (and expected) compliments on the garden and poultry 
 yard, burst impetuously into her story. 
 
 " And I wish you would take me right over to Gold 
 Mine," she concluded. " I'm not going to let that 
 child stay there another moment. I'm going to bring 
 her to Esperance. I don't think they treat her well." 
 
 " As for that," Miss Victorine agreed, " that are very 
 true. You know," she spoke guardedly, lowering her 
 voice so that Uncle Peter who was weeding nearby 
 might not hear, " when that Mees Snive' were here, 
 they accuse little Felicie but let us not speak of it." 
 
 " I know," Catherine replied. She was impatient 
 to be off and wondered at the slowness of a person 
 who was usually so nervously quick to act. " Can't 
 Uncle Peter harness the horse? " 
 
 " Mees Catrine," said the old lady, coming close and 
 speaking very cautiously, " Felicie are no longer there. 
 She are gone." 
 
 " Gone! " Catherine ejaculated. " Where? " 
 
 Miss Victorine made a warning motion. " Yes, 
 Mees Catrine. She are safe. Pere Ignace know 
 where, He. are satisfy. He caution me to be satisfy
 
 THE GRINDING 251 
 
 also, and he say there are many thing to be arrange' 
 before her refuge are reveal'. If Pere Ignace are sat- 
 isfy, we may repose our mind, hein? " 
 
 " Yes," Catherine agreed, " I suppose so." 
 
 " Certes! If he, who baptize' her and her mother, 
 and who love them, are satisfy, should not we? " 
 
 " I suppose so," Catherine repeated, speaking slowly 
 and in a disappointed tone. They were standing in 
 the shade of the pecan tree at the side gate, and she 
 looked across at the priest's house. " I wonder if he 
 would tell me," she said. 
 
 " Pere Ignace? Non! Not if the president of the 
 United State' ask. Not if he promise an' vow an' 
 swear! Non!" 
 
 " I suppose there's no use," Catherine said. 
 
 " I assure you, no," said Miss Victorine. " But, 
 Mees Catrine, all things come with patience. As we 
 know she are safe, we can wait, hein? " 
 
 " I suppose so," Catherine acknowledged regretfully 
 and turned homeward.
 
 XXVII 
 
 A UTUMN had come, and once more the grinding 
 ** was at hand. A year and a half had passed since 
 Catherine and Fergus took that long drive into exile. 
 Since that day, the bleak, cold rains of March had 
 twice come and gone; the early spring with its tender 
 green and roseate foliage, its fleecy clouds and first, 
 tentative bird notes; the splendid pageantry of the 
 advancing season with its pomp of oleander and jessa- 
 mine, of crepe myrtle and pomegranate. Then the 
 summers, when the cane fields seemed to swell upward 
 like a rising tide of verdure; when the air was full of 
 the voices of birds; the flute-like note of the thrush, 
 the rapid warble of the oriole, the melodious song of 
 the mocking-bird; the plaintive, silvery tremolo of the 
 owl, lamenting in the perfumed dusk. The succession 
 of long, hot days, drenched with the vivid gold of the 
 sunlight; the nights, resplendent with moonlight, with 
 starlight, and with the fairy-like glitter of fire-flies 
 dripping downward through the air like globules of 
 molten gold; all were past, and now again autumn was 
 here. The sunlight growing more remote, still shone 
 warmly on the fast-browning vegetation which sent out 
 a pungent odor as if bruised. Tiny butterflies like bits 
 of black velvet fluttered about the golden-rod, the 
 yellow coffee-weed, and the tall, feathery grasses like 
 
 252
 
 THE GRINDING 253 
 
 burnished copper which covered the bayou's bank. 
 The soft haze of the St. Martin's summer mellowed the 
 distant woods, which showed green and gray and 
 golden-brown against the silvery sky. 
 
 The sugar house which had lain dormant through 
 the long months of summer, now awoke to a feverish 
 activity. There was a sound of hammering and saw- 
 ing, and of many voices talking, and singing. 
 
 In overhauling the machinery, a break was discov- 
 ered which, Placide Chauvin said, must be repaired 
 before the grinding began. They must send to the 
 city at once for a skilled mechanic and, to Catherine's 
 surprise, Fergus asked her if she would be willing to 
 carry a letter to Bergerac to mail, adding, " It must 
 be sent by special delivery. Should you be willing to 
 attend to it for me? " 
 
 " Willing! " she cried; " I'd love to." 
 
 " And will you bring me some money from the bank? 
 I've made out the check in your name." 
 
 " Oh, Fergus ! " she exclaimed. " This seems like 
 living; to be doing something! " 
 
 And so it came about that on a lovely morning in 
 October she was on her way to Bergerac. As the mules 
 plodded drowsily along, roused now and then by a 
 perfunctory " Giddap! " from Pidgeon, she looked 
 about her at the fields, the woods, the bayou. She had 
 never seen this road but once, and then through a veil 
 of winter rain and despairing tears. Now the warm > 
 autumn breeze was blowing softly, and a kingfisher 
 flying ahead paused; then, as they drew near, flew on
 
 254 THE GRINDING 
 
 and waited. Miles and miles, along the windings of 
 the bayou, in the softened sunlight, past a clump of 
 woodland, around another bend, and Bergerac lay be- 
 fore them. 
 
 The town was an irregular sprinkling of houses and 
 of wide gardens rilled with large-leaved, semi-tropical 
 plants, between which the red-tiled roofs gleamed pic- 
 turesquely. Lying as it did in the angle formed by the 
 bayou and canal, it cast a rainbow reflection on the 
 brown waters. Here and there a plastered house of pale 
 green or blue or pink shining through the foliage of en- 
 circling trees, gave an added touch of gayety to the 
 scene. Oleanders and crepe myrtles, gigantic " elephant 
 ears "; and banana plants ragged and stately like im- 
 poverished grandees, leaned over the fences into grass 
 grown lanes bordered with Cherokee roses and the deep 
 purple rose which here grows wild. In these lanes 
 the humming birds flashed from blossom to blossom, 
 the bees gathered their honey droningly, and the tiny 
 green lizards darted about in the sun. The bayou and 
 canal were filled with fishing craft of every shade; 
 green, blue, red, yellow, with vast sails of white or 
 crimson, and with glistening cargoes of silvery fish, of 
 coral colored shrimp, of oysters in their bluish shells, 
 of vegetables and fruits in every hue. It was a glow- 
 ing riot of color. 
 
 As Catherine's rattling surrey crossed the bridge and 
 drew up before the little frame building, placarded 
 L'Hotel de I'Univers, the row of men seated on the 
 front gallery removed their feet from the railing, sat
 
 THE GRINDING 2SS 
 
 up straight, and looked with interest at the newcomers. 
 Pidgeon they recognized and so were able to guess at 
 Catherine's identity. A corpulent, bald-headed man 
 rose to his feet and, introducing himself as Monsieur 
 Duval, the proprietor of the hotel, assisted " Mees 
 Maine " in descending from the vehicle, escorted her 
 to the best room in the house, urged her to make her- 
 self comfortable, then returned to the gallery to ap- 
 pease the curiosity of his friends. All felt the liveliest 
 interest, and wondered why she had come to Ber- 
 gerac. Monsieur Duval hazarded the suggestion that 
 she might have occasion to go to the bank, and a long- 
 drawn "A-h-h-h! " spoke volumes of comprehension 
 on the part of his hearers; for, although Catherine 
 knew little about Bergerac, Bergerac knew much about 
 Catherine as, indeed, it did about every one on the 
 bayou. And although the fate of the universe might 
 not be settled on the little gallery of the Hotel de 
 I'Univers, the character, fortune, and probable future 
 of every planter for many miles around were there 
 fully discussed and decided upon. So it was not sur- 
 prising to them to hear that " Mees Maine " was prob- 
 ably going to the bank. Of course, M'sieur Maine 
 and M'sieur RonaP were too busy with preparations 
 for the grinding; and it was very, very important that 
 some one should see M'sieur Arcimon, the banker, be- 
 fore the grinding began. 
 
 When Catherine went into the great, square dining- 
 room, where strings of snowy garlic and scarlet peppers 
 hung from the rafters, and where her feet crunched the
 
 256 THE GRINDING 
 
 glittering, white sand with which the floor was 
 sprinkled, she could still hear the men talking on the 
 gallery. 
 
 " Mees Maine 'ave bring a letter from the boss to 
 send to the city for a machinist to come an' fix them 
 crusher," some one announced. 
 
 She wondered how they knew it, not realizing that 
 the address on the letter, which they carefully exam- 
 ined after she had placed it in the hotel letter box, be- 
 trayed the nature of its contents. She wondered how 
 they were so intimately acquainted with her affairs, 
 and she had an impulse to laugh when some one gravely 
 announced, " I always did crave to see a queen. I cut 
 out her picture from the Abeille de la Nouvelle Or- 
 leans, las' year, time she were queen of the Carnival. 
 I sure am glad to see a queen." 
 
 " An' me," came in a chorus from the others on the 
 gallery. 
 
 A youth with pomatumed hair and showy watch 
 chain walked jauntily past the window and paused to 
 gossip. 
 
 " Mees Maine 'ave came up the bayou, this morn- 
 in'," some one informed him. 
 
 " So they tells me, over to the bank," he replied, 
 shifting his toothpick to the other corner of his mouth. 
 
 " M'sieur Maine 'ave send to the city for a machin- 
 ist," the first voice continued. 
 
 " He are throwin' away money," the young man an- 
 swered pompously. " Every one say Esperance are 
 mortgage' up to the handle, an' makin' open-kettle
 
 THE GRINDING 257 
 
 sugar like they do, ain't goin' to get them out of debt. 
 Not with sugar sellin' at no such price as they gets 
 now. M'sieur Blaise are the h-only planter what will 
 make money this year." 
 
 "Ah, la! la! " said one of his hearers, "I peetee 
 M'sieur Maine, Pierre; I surely peetee M'sieur 
 Maine! " 
 
 " Tha's M'sieur Maine's own affairs," said Pierre. 
 " He 'ave eat his white bread. He ain't got nothin' 
 but black bread lef, I reckon," and he swaggered away 
 with his hat cocked over one eye. 
 
 Monsieur Duval expectorated impressively and said, 
 " Pierre Poisson figure to himself that he own Gole 
 Mine because Modeste 'ave look at him out of them 
 buttermilk eye of hern; but she ain't goin' to marry 
 Pierre excep' as a las' drawin'. She plan to marry 
 M'sieur Ronal', or M'sieur Maine, or Meester Sutton. 
 Ef they fails her, an' ef she ain't got no hopes in the 
 city, then she might take Pierre not otherwise." 
 
 There was a chorus of affirmatives, for, though they 
 might stand in awe of Catherine's hauteur as belonging 
 to her station, they resented it in Modesta, who, as 
 they said, " are jes' as Cajan as we-alls." 
 
 " Ole man Poisson vow five dollar to St. Anthony 
 fer stoppin' the high water 'fore it reach Zelinka's 
 place," some one announced. 
 
 " Five dollar! " another ejaculated; "he cain't pay 
 that much. Two would 'ave ben enough. 'Tain't no 
 use vowin' more'n you kin pay some folks is so rash 
 with the Saints."
 
 258 THE GRINDING 
 
 There was a difference of opinion on this subject, 
 and M'sieur Duval said, " Miss Delicia vow twelve 
 candle ef her house don' get wash erway, an' now she 
 regret. She say six would Ve ben enough, an' Pere 
 Ignace tell her she 'ave got to keep her vow. Ef she 
 don' keep her vow, nex' time 'twon't do no good to vow 
 twenty-four. She was mad! But he wouldn' let her 
 off." 
 
 There was no mistaking the little red brick bank, a 
 short distance down the street, but when, after dinner, 
 Catherine came out of her room, M'sieur Duval in- 
 sisted on escorting her ceremoniously to the door of 
 the hotel and pointing it out. The occupants of the 
 chairs gazed silently upon the slender, city girl as she 
 walked down the street, where a procession of cows 
 was filing past, chewing open-mouthed, swinging their 
 heads and lazily sweeping away the flies. The chil- 
 dren playing on the shady side of the street paused 
 and stared. 
 
 Check in hand, she approached the window of the 
 paying teller, and glanced about her. A man who had 
 just finished writing, dipped the pen into the ink and 
 offered it to her, saying, with a soft, gentle intonation, 
 " It is of the worst, but better than none." There 
 was a quality in the voice that caught her attention, 
 and as she glanced at him, she was struck by the re- 
 finement of his face. She had an impression he wished 
 to say something more to her, so vivid was the expres- 
 sion of his dark eyes. In signing her own name, she 
 accidentally glanced at his: " fivariste Ledoux."
 
 THE GRINDING 259 
 
 Where had she heard that name before? She could 
 not remember. 
 
 The mules were to be freshly shod, and after resting 
 as usual at the hotel stable, were to return in the even- 
 ing to Esperance; but it was a part of Catherine's out- 
 ing that, after certain necessary purchases in the prim- 
 itive little shops, she was to return to Esperance in 
 the Mail Boat, on this its first trip so far down the 
 bayou. 
 
 The boat proved to be a long, low, covered craft, 
 surrounded by an open deck and divided into two com- 
 partments; one for freight, the other for passengers. 
 In the freight compartment were packages of all sorts 
 and blocks of ice to be delivered at the various plan- 
 tations. Behind the ice at the stern of the boat, there 
 was a young bull that bellowed and strained wrath- 
 fully at its rope, making futile efforts to charge into 
 the compartment reserved for human passengers. 
 
 As Catherine stepped in through the low doorway, 
 a black-eyed girl sprang up from the bench where she 
 was sitting, on the shady side, and insisted on giving 
 up her place. Catherine remembered seeing her at 
 Modesta Blaise's reception. How long ago it seemed! 
 And what changes had taken place since then! In a 
 corner opposite, were a young man and his childish 
 looking wife, with their huge, brown baby which 
 frowned at the company with piercing black eyes. 
 The young girl seated herself beside the family party 
 and divided her time between talking to the baby and 
 glancing curiously at Catherine. In another corner
 
 260 THE GRINDING 
 
 sat a large, clean-looking colored woman of a bright 
 ginger-cake color. The front of the cabin was of 
 glass, and here, on a high stool, sat the Captain of the 
 little craft. 
 
 As the boat was about to start, there was a slight 
 commotion and an old woman in a clean, gray calico 
 dress and black sunbonnet, stepped down the bank, 
 leading a man who carried a heavy cane in his hand. 
 Several of the men who were standing around waiting 
 to see the boat start, took hold of the newcomers, ap- 
 parently with the purpose of helping them, and as the 
 two reached the narrow side deck there were cries (in 
 French) of "Look out! Take care! " Then, as the 
 man moved on and felt his way carefully and with the 
 assistance of others, 'to the front deck, there were ex- 
 clamations of " There! All right! " and other expres- 
 sions of relief. Some one handed the old woman her 
 bag of black oil cloth. She laid it on the floor of the 
 cabin, and when both Catherine and the black-eyed 
 girl offered her their places, she declined with a smile 
 of sunny sweetness. Seating herself on her bag, she 
 took off her sunbonnet and fanned herself with it, 
 gazing meanwhile at her fellow passengers with the 
 frank astonishment of infancy and old age. 
 
 At a sudden outburst of bellowing, Catherine looked 
 anxiously in the direction of the bull, and a lady at her 
 right said, " He enrages himself a little on account of 
 the voyage, but he cannot escape. He is safe pris- 
 oner." 
 
 Her eyes were intensely black and her eyebrows were
 
 THE GRINDING 261 
 
 so dark they looked as if they were penciled; the more 
 so that her hair was gray. As the wind blew in at the 
 open door, it tossed her curls all about her face. She 
 wore an ornate black silk dress which Catherine sus- 
 pected of being the work of Miss Delicia; and her 
 towering hat covered with plumes was evidently a crea- 
 tion of the village milliner. As she brushed back her 
 curls with an impatient gesture, the dimpled, black- 
 eyed girl sprang up exclaiming: " But, Maman, your 
 hair is so gay! " 
 
 " But yes," the lady acknowledged regretfully, " I 
 have always had the very gay hair." 
 
 The girl stroked back her mother's " gay " locks, 
 fastened them with side-combs, and reseated herself 
 beside the baby. 
 
 " But that was a beautiful fete," she said to the 
 company at large, " and to-morrow will be the proces- 
 sion. I desired to stay, but my papa insist upon my 
 return." 
 
 " You have a very mean papa," said the colored 
 woman in a deep, pleasant voice. 
 
 " You know who is my papa? " asked the girl. 
 
 "Yes, I know," the woman answered. "He is 
 M'sieur Leonce LeBreton. My sister live to your 
 place, an' tha's where I'm goin' to visit, right now. 
 You have a very mean papa. I know; me." 
 
 " No," interrupted Madam LeBreton dispassion- 
 ately, "he is not mean; he is stric'. I desire her to 
 stay to the Fete Champetre, but her papa miss her too 
 much. He didn't do that for meanness."
 
 262 THE GRINDING 
 
 The old woman smiled understandingly at Cath- 
 erine, and this attracted the attention of Madam Le- 
 Breton, who said, in French, " Are you not Madam 
 Dulac? " 
 
 " Oui, Madame," the old woman answered. 
 
 Madam LeBreton turned to Catherine and said in 
 an undertone, " She begs." Then, with a manner of 
 perfect equality in which there was no touch of con- 
 descension, she resumed, "You were at the Fete, I 
 think? " 
 
 " Oui, Madame, and," (always speaking in French) 
 " before that, I spent a week in Badeauville." 
 
 " You went there to beg? " Madam LeBreton asked, 
 and again, with perfect dignity and composure, the 
 beggar-woman assented. 
 
 " And where do you stay now? " Madam LeBreton 
 questioned further. 
 
 " At Garlenda." 
 
 " Ah? The place of Madam Sylvain Durand? " 
 
 " Non, Madame," the old woman replied in her 
 calm, gentle voice. " It is the other Garlenda; the 
 plantation of M'sieur Evariste Ledoux." 
 
 The boat had been stopping at the various planta- 
 tions to put off the mail, to leave the ice and various 
 packages, and to permit a constantly varying stream of 
 passengers to come and go. And now the baby and its 
 parents, together with the resentful bull, left the boat. 
 
 At this landing two young girls got on; one, a tall, 
 serious looking blonde in blue, the other a tiny brunette 
 in vivid pink. They entered the cabin very modestly
 
 THE GRINDING 263 
 
 with a murmured, "Bon jour, Mesdames," followed 
 by a surprised, " It is thou, Celimene? " 
 
 ' Thou didst not stay for the procession? " the 
 brunette questioned in astonishment. 
 
 "Alas! Papa send for me! " Celimene answered. 
 " And thou? Why didst thou not stay? " 
 
 The tiny brunette sighed dramatically. "We are 
 desolate to depart," she explained, "but our papa 
 too! " She made a gesture of despair. 
 
 " But Clelie," interposed the blonde, " thou knowest, 
 we asked to visit Noemie, and it is the Mail Boat is in 
 fault to run so far only once a week. For that we 
 must not blame papa. And after, comes the grinding, 
 and it goes without saying we cannot go then." 
 
 Madam LeBreton resumed her questioning of the 
 beggar woman by asking where she was going. 
 
 " I am going to Petit Bocage," Madam Dulac re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Ah? The plantation of M'sieur Telesford Del- 
 fry? " 
 
 "Out, Madame." 
 
 " You go to beg? " 
 
 " Non, Madame, I go to visit my daughter. I have 
 not seen her, it is a year. I would not go now, but 
 that Mam'zelle, M'sieur fivariste's daughter, give me 
 the money." 
 
 " His daughter? " Madam LeBreton began, but was 
 interrupted by the prolonged whistling of the boat as 
 it drew up at Belize Plantation. She rose and fol- 
 lowed by Celimene and by the colored woman, after
 
 264 THE GRINDING 
 
 bidding the remaining passengers a ceremonious 
 " Adieu," left them. 
 
 From Belize Plantation to Petit Bocage, the two 
 sisters whispered together, and Madame Dulac gazed 
 about her. She then rose and with a polite, " Bon Soir, 
 Mesdemoiselles" went out on to the deck and waited 
 for her son. 
 
 There was the same little excitement in getting him 
 ashore as when he came aboard, and when they had 
 reached the road, Madam Dulac, carrying the oil cloth 
 bag on her shoulder, turned and smiled at Catherine. 
 Several children came running from an unpainted cabin 
 at the roadside, and their mother, walking with swift, 
 lithe step, paused to kiss the blind man in passing, 
 then, holding out her arms, clasped the old woman 
 to her breast, stroked back the hair, and stooping, cov- 
 ered the wrinkled face with kisses.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 ' I ''HE following week the grinding began, and im- 
 mediately the slow-going, quiet life of the plan- 
 tation assumed a business-like routine. The days and 
 nights were divided into watches; there was a constant 
 going and coming, an almost feverish anxiety as to the 
 yield, the sucrose, the action of the machinery, the 
 amount of fuel necessary for making the grinding, the 
 relative freshness and brackishness of the bayou water 
 which must be used. There were no regular hours for 
 family meals, as Fergus and Ronald were obliged to 
 take turns with Placide Chauvin in superintending the 
 work, and each became a law unto himself as regarded 
 his daily life. 
 
 Coming in one evening for a bite of supper, Ronald 
 found Catherine in the pantry making sandwiches. 
 For a full minute he stood in the doorway gazing at her 
 before he voiced his astonishment. 
 
 " Of all things ! " he exclaimed. " Catherine Maine 
 making sandwiches. Where did you learn how? " 
 
 " Marcelline taught me," she replied, with manifest 
 pleasure. " Come and have some." 
 
 Dropping into a chair at the end of the table, he 
 helped himself. 
 
 265
 
 266 THE GRINDING 
 
 " Tired? " she asked, glancing at him as she spoke. 
 His athletic form was relaxed in an attitude of weari- 
 ness. The candle light shining on his blond hair 
 showed the ripples that he detested, and the strong, 
 firm mouth grown stern in the past months, but show- 
 ing humor and sweetness in certain lines. 
 
 " It's ridiculous," he answered her question, " but I 
 am tired. You know, I've always been something of 
 a sleepy-head, and as yet I have not quite adjusted 
 myself to these three-hour watches. I don't see how 
 Fergus stands them." 
 
 " He says you insisted on taking the hardest watch. 
 That it's ten times as hard to go to bed right after 
 supper and get up at midnight as it is to sit up late and 
 then sleep in the morning." 
 
 " I suppose it's all a matter of habit," he replied. 
 " Those are good sandwiches, Catherine. Are you 
 making them for your supper? " 
 
 " For our supper, and I'm going to send some over 
 to the sugar house for Fergus." Delighted to find him 
 astonished at her efficiency, she began setting one end 
 of the table, moving back and forth between the ice 
 box, the wire safe, and the table; placing cold meat, a 
 pitcher of creamy milk, and a plate of sandwiches be- 
 fore him. 
 
 He watched her, moving about, and presently asked: 
 " Do you remember that picture in the Louvre of the 
 angels in the kitchen? " 
 
 " No," she replied, pausing knife in hand prepara- 
 tory to cutting more bread. " Who was the artist? "
 
 THE GRINDING 267 
 
 "I don't remember. The picture hangs either 
 among the Primitive Italians, or in the Grande Gal- 
 trie. It's a funny old thing of angels doing kitchen 
 work: sweeping, washing dishes, and all that. You 
 reminded me of it, floating around that way with the 
 pitcher of milk in your hands." 
 
 " I've learned to do a lot of things," she observed 
 with pride; " I'm learning to cook. I can make 
 dripped coffee, and jambalaya, and corn pone, and pain 
 perdu, and lots of things." 
 
 " Have you learned to make corn meal mush and 
 sassafras tea? " he asked. " Those are the stand-bys 
 of the natives out here." 
 
 She looked questioningly at him. What did he mean 
 by his observation in regard to the natives? Did he 
 mean to insinuate that she was going to cast in her 
 lot with them? And as she stood looking at him, he 
 raised his eyes. As if for the first time, he was struck 
 by the clear pallor of her face from which her dark 
 hair swept back in a waving mass. Age would not dim 
 her beauty, he thought. Her hair, when gray, would 
 bring into still greater splendor the dark eyes with 
 their slender brows, and the purity of her clear-cut 
 features. For a moment, the two looked at each other, 
 both thinking of their last interview in the city. Then 
 her eyes fell and she resumed her work. 
 
 " Why didn't you let Chauvin take that hard 
 watch? " she asked. 
 
 " He's an older man than I, and probably not as 
 strong. He's never had the advantage of golf and
 
 268 THE GRINDING 
 
 football and rowing. If there's any merit in system- 
 atic exercise, I ought to be able to carry the heaviest 
 load." 
 
 " Is the sap testing well? " she asked. 
 
 " No. The sucrose doesn't test as it should. The 
 weather's too hot." 
 
 " Then why in the world don't they wait for cooler 
 weather? If they need frost, why don't they wait 
 for it? " 
 
 " They dare not. Sometimes there isn't frost all 
 winter long." 
 
 " Oh, but that's so unusual. It's like carrying a 
 lightning-rod so as not to be hit in a thunder-storm." 
 
 He laughed. " I'm afraid the device would fail," 
 he observed. " But you know the cane is a forced 
 crop here and experience has taught the planters that 
 it's safest not to wait, for fear of a freeze catching 
 them." 
 
 " They're the stupidest lot! " she commented. 
 " Hard-headed as blind mules, all of them." 
 
 " Not all," he corrected her. " Not Placide. I con- 
 fess he doesn't scintillate in conversation, but, for a 
 man who has never seen anything outside of his native 
 parish, he's surprisingly intelligent. Can you imag- 
 ine living to his age without ever being on a railroad, 
 or seeing a street car, or a building more than two 
 stories high? I've half a mind to take him with me 
 after the grinding." 
 
 " Are you going to take a vacation? " she asked 
 with apparent indifference, but in reality with a feeling
 
 THE GRINDING 269 
 
 of apprehension. She shrank from the loneliness of 
 Esperance if he or Fergus should go away even for a 
 short time. 
 
 " Not a vacation in the sense of a rest. I'm going 
 on business." 
 
 She wished he would say more, but he ate his supper 
 in silence as if buried in thought. Why need he be so 
 secretive? Why couldn't he trust her and tell her 
 something of his affairs? Surely he must know she 
 was starving for news; for a change of any sort. But, 
 repressing as best she could her impatience, she merely 
 said, " It will be nice to have a change." 
 
 " That depends on what the change may be." 
 
 " Oh, any change." 
 
 " There are worse places in the world than Esper- 
 ance," he observed. " I don't believe in ' flying from 
 the ills I have to others that I know not of.' ' 
 
 " I never realized how I loved to travel until my 
 chances were all past," she said. 
 
 " I hope your chances will come again," he replied 
 in his deep, pleasant voice. 
 
 " Do you believe it, or just hope it? " 
 
 " I hope and believe it," he answered; " that is, if 
 my trip is successful." 
 
 " It concerns us all, then? " 
 
 " Part of it does. I shouldn't think of going off 
 junketing until there was some relief out here. Then, 
 perhaps " 
 
 " Then we'll all go? " she finished his sentence. 
 
 " Yes, we'll all go if we wish."
 
 270 THE GRINDING 
 
 " We do ' wish,' " she declared. " So why can't 
 we?" 
 
 " Because we can't afford it." 
 
 " But you can? " 
 
 Raising his eyes again, he met her questioning look. 
 " A part of my errand concerns me personally," he re- 
 plied, " although I don't mean to make a mystery of it. 
 As regards your share, I didn't wish to tell you be- 
 cause I feared you would oppose it." 
 
 " And yet you were going to do it? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Does Fergus know? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And approve? " 
 
 " Of course. Otherwise, I should not plan to do it." 
 
 " Don't the affairs of this plantation concern me? 
 And haven't I a right to know what's going on as well 
 as you and Fergus? Or are you so convinced of the 
 heaven-ordained incapacity of woman that you think 
 I must, permanently, be treated as a child? " 
 
 " I didn't wish to tell you," he replied in a reluctant 
 tone, " because we feel compelled to investigate some- 
 thing in regard to Marc Sutton and I feared you 
 would blindly champion him." 
 
 " And yet you were planning to do it! " Her tone 
 was cutting. 
 
 " For your good; yes." 
 
 " Don't you think it would be more sensible and 
 more honorable to let me have a voice in your pro- 
 jects to benefit me? "
 
 THE GRINDING 271 
 
 " I knew you'd take that tone, Catherine," he said, 
 "and as it is a matter of business that seemed to 
 Fergus and me to be imperatively necessary, we 
 decided not to let your prejudice in his favor work you 
 harm." 
 
 " We decided. Did you or Fergus first discover the 
 delinquency of Marc Sutton? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 She laughed slightly, and he reddened. " Make a 
 pet of him if you wish," he said. " I'm not going to 
 let him ruin Esperance if I can help it." 
 
 " Why do you accuse me or at least imply that 
 I ' make a pet ' of him? What have I done to warrant 
 such an insult? " 
 
 " Have you forgotten how fiercely you championed 
 him the evening he took supper here? And can't you 
 see what a devoted friend he has proved himself, after 
 all his protestations? He has been out in the country 
 again and again and has never come near you. He no 
 longer needs you. You may be right in considering 
 him an evangelist and an anchorite " 
 
 " I don't think he need be either an evangelist or an 
 anchorite to be ordinarily trustworthy," she inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 " Neither do I," said Ronald. " But the difference 
 between you and me is that I don't consider him any 
 one of the three. I do wish, for your own sake, you 
 could be made to see " 
 
 " I do see he is very intimate at Gold Mine," she 
 interjected, " and that you are jealous,"
 
 272 THE GRINDING 
 
 " Don't be unjust, Catherine," he urged, still trying 
 to control his temper. " You championed him " 
 
 " When you championed the Blaises," she again in- 
 terrupted. " I have had plenty of solitude in which 
 to think over the situation." 
 
 " I never championed them beyond saying that you 
 were needlessly scornful toward Modesta." 
 
 " Of course," she replied, " I was in the wrong. 
 You thought she would be such a delightful companion 
 for me. So ' lovely ' and all that." 
 
 " I thought it imprudent to insult our influential 
 neighbors. But I don't see what that has to do with 
 Marc Sutton." 
 
 " Don't you? Then I'll tell you. Because of his 
 intimacy at Gold Mine, you became jealous and exag- 
 gerated my interest in him." 
 
 " As you did mine in Modesta Blaise." 
 
 " Perhaps I did; but you have such a lovery way 
 when you are talking with girls that, naturally, we ' ; 
 
 " ' We '! " he interrupted. " Who are ' we '? I'm 
 sure Fergus never said such a thing. You may have 
 thought it but I'd be ashamed to think I had a 
 ' lovery ' way. You might just as well call me a dis- 
 gusting fool as to say " He stopped in speechless in- 
 dignation. " Why, Catherine," he resumed sternly, 
 " how can you be so unreasonable? " 
 
 " ' Unreasonable '! " she repeated. " Was it unrea- 
 sonable to see how you took up for her that night at 
 our ' cunning little sugar house '? And at that awful 
 party they gave " She was on the point of telling
 
 THE GRINDING 273 
 
 what she heard Modesta say about him in the conserva- 
 tory, but checked herself. 
 
 " Oh, yes/' he broke in stormily, " the time you 
 were flirting with Tom on the side gallery. I remem- 
 ber" 
 
 " And the day she called here," Catherine went on, 
 " you fairly had your arm around her pony's neck, you 
 were so crazy about her." 
 
 "Catherine Maine! " he ejaculated. "You might 
 as well call me " 
 
 "Now! Now! Now! " she interrupted. "I'm not 
 calling you anything. I'm only saying you were per- 
 fectly bewitched with that girl from the very first 
 moment you saw her. You said she was lovely that 
 day she stopped to insult me at the gate." 
 
 " When did she ever insult you? " 
 
 " Every time she had a chance." 
 
 " I never saw her insult you. You certainly made 
 her bite the dust." 
 
 "Oh, yes; I was in the wrong. Always! You may 
 think her perfectly heavenly if you like, but I don't 
 care to lower myself " 
 
 " No," he agreed sarcastically, for he was now as 
 angry as she, although his tone remained steady, " You 
 wouldn't lower yourself for the world." 
 
 " You've a perfect right to be as flirtatious as you 
 like," she continued. " By all means, marry the girl; 
 it's no business of mine." 
 
 "Flirtatious!" he repeated. "Look out for the 
 windows in your own house, Catherine. What do you
 
 274 THE GRINDING 
 
 think of yourself trifling equally with a poor, ignor- 
 ant fisherman or a hardened roue? It's all the same to 
 you; just another scalp at your belt. I don't blame 
 Tom Ogers for saying you led him on. I thought " 
 
 "Of course! Of course! " she flung back, "you'd 
 have thought I was flirting with old Monsieur Poisson 
 if I'd ever spoken to him. I suppose you think I'm 
 secretly leading Placide Chauvin on. And you were 
 off with Miss Blaise when you forgot about our birth- 
 day supper." 
 
 " Forgot! " he exclaimed. " I didn't do anything of 
 the sort." 
 
 " Then that's all the worse, if you deliberately went 
 off and didn't care enough to come." She had never 
 meant to speak of that again, but now in her wrath she 
 had inadvertently referred to it. 
 
 " I did care," he said, rising and looking sternly 
 down at her. " I couldn't help being late, the auto- 
 mobile skidded so." 
 
 " Well, you knew it would skid when you started. 
 It was raining, and yet you couldn't deny yourself 
 the pleasure of a ride. It seemed so childish of you 
 to be so crazy for a ride." 
 
 He made an impatient gesture. " If that isn't just 
 like a woman! " he exclaimed. " To prove that I am 
 flirtatious, you say I'm childishly crazy for a ride. 
 I'll tell you what I tried to explain the morning after 
 our birthday." 
 
 " I haven't the slightest interest in your reasons for 
 going riding with Miss Blaise."
 
 THE GRINDING 275 
 
 " I am well aware of that," he replied. " You have 
 not left me in ignorance as to your sentiments in re- 
 gard to me, but before we part, I am going to set myself 
 right in this one particular. I went to Bergerac to 
 get you a birthday present." 
 
 "Oh, Ronald! " she ejaculated, softening instantly 
 and regretting what she had said. " You ought not 
 to have tried to get me anything." 
 
 " I did get it," he replied. 
 
 " What is it? " she demanded eagerly. 
 
 " Do you remember that round, antique mirror that 
 used to hang over your desk? Do you remember, it 
 was convex and framed so quaintly? " 
 
 " Remember it! " she exclaimed, and there rose be- 
 fore her mental vision a vast, luxurious room and the 
 reflection of her own figure crowned and sceptred as 
 she saw it the night Fergus told her of the impending 
 failure. 
 
 " George Burbank bought that mirror in an antique 
 shop on Royal street," Ronald explained, " and May 
 recognized it. She knew you prized it and he wrote 
 offering it to me. They were afraid to write directly 
 to you for fear of calling up painful memories." 
 
 " And you've had it all this time," she said slowly. 
 
 " No," he confessed with evident embarrassment, 
 " I haven't it." 
 
 "Ronald North!" she cried, passionately, "you 
 didn't give my mirror to that girl? " 
 
 The question was an accusation, and in his indigna- 
 tion at her suspecting him of such a possibility, he
 
 276 THE GRINDING 
 
 would not clear himself and confess what had really 
 happened, viz., that in his anger at her refusing to 
 hear his explanation, he recklessly threw her beautiful, 
 valued, mirror into the bayou. The truth was bad 
 enough. He could not brook her suspicions. 
 
 " I'm glad I didn't give you the handkerchiefs I 
 made for your birthday," she declared. 
 
 " You made me handkerchiefs? " he asked, relent- 
 ing, and ready now to explain. 
 
 But she answered with studied insolence, " Oh, yes, 
 I made you some, but I changed my mind about giving 
 them to you" 
 
 " To me," he repeated, misunderstanding, as she had 
 meant he should. " Have you given them to any- 
 one? " 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " May I ask to whom? " 
 
 " Perhaps to Tom Ogers, and perhaps to Jacques 
 Lirette." She half regretted her words as soon as they 
 were spoken, but the thought of her mirror in the pos- 
 session of Modesta Blaise had goaded her beyond all 
 bounds of prudence. 
 
 " Catherine," he said, and his voice was deep and 
 steady, " you have brought me to a decision." 
 
 The door opened, and Ananias entered. With trem- 
 bing hands, Catherine wrapped the sandwiches and 
 placed them in the basket, while Ronald stood waiting 
 as inexorable as fate. Outside, the garden lay bathed 
 in the peaceful moonlight, and the lights of the sugar
 
 THE GRINDING 277 
 
 house, reflected in long, rippling threads across the 
 surface of the bayou gave a fantastic semblance of 
 stage scenery. The voices of men and women piling 
 cane on to the carrier in the cane shed came through 
 the still air, now singly, now in chorus. They were 
 singing a wild, improvised fugue in which a piercing 
 treble was answered by a deep, musical bass. 
 
 " Move, Danuel, move," shrilled the treble. 
 
 " Move, Danuel, move," responded the bass; " move 
 to the other shore." 
 
 A high, passionate falsetto exhorted: "Lay your 
 burdens down, Danuel." 
 
 " Burdens, burdens," boomed the bass, and in a 
 great flood of harmony: " Move to the other shore." 
 
 Ananias went out, leaving the door open and Ronald, 
 his face marble-white, said, " I see my coming to 
 Esperance was a mistake. You have misunderstood 
 my motives. We need never reopen this subject." 
 He paused, pressing his lips firmly together as if they 
 might betray his agitation, then added, " When the 
 grinding is ended, I shall go, and unless you ask me 
 to do so, I will never come back." 
 
 " ' Ask ' you? " she repeated. " Ask you! I'd die 
 first," and turning, she left him. 
 
 " What am I waiting for? " she questioned herself; 
 "staying on and on at Esperance. Every day like 
 every other day, just dragging me toward my grave." 
 As in a lightning flash she saw the life that Tom was 
 offering her. With his wealth and influence, he could
 
 278 THE GRINDING 
 
 give her everything. Why should she not accept it? 
 What was holding her back? A sense of duty? 
 
 In the thick darkness of her room she stood think- 
 ing.
 
 XXIX 
 
 /CATHERINE was destroying old letters; tearing 
 V^ them in pieces and throwing them back of the 
 ornamental board front which closed the empty fire- 
 place during the eight months of summer. There were 
 notes, invitations, disconnected reminders of her 
 former life how long ago it all seemed ! Here was 
 one from Marc Sutton beginning, " My queen! " 
 She tossed it away with the others, and just then a 
 warm breath from the window stirred the mass as with 
 a sigh of regret. 
 
 Turning, she drew down the sash and as she did so, 
 her eyes fell on a withered vine at the foot of a tree 
 near-by; the beautiful, wild vine Jacques Lirette 
 brought the day she went to Bergerac. How disap- 
 pointed and mortified he must have been to find her 
 absent and to be confronted by whom? She did not 
 know. She could only conjecture. Poor boy! She 
 would explain, the next time she saw him, that she had 
 tried to save the plant and was sorry it died. 
 
 A knock at the open door roused her from her 
 thoughts and Marcelline's voice inquired : " Does you 
 want Pidgeon to thrash the pecan trees? 'Taint no 
 use waitin' fer frost." 
 
 " Oh, yes," Catherine answered eagerly, snatching 
 
 279
 
 280 THE GRINDING 
 
 up her garden hat and following into the side yard 
 where she found Pidgeon already scrambling around 
 among the branches and reaching out with a long pole 
 to touch the outermost twigs. Marcelline, standing 
 below, observed him with a warning exclamation of 
 " Watch out! You has to be mighty keerless when you 
 is tryin' to play squirr'l." Grumblingly, she picked 
 up the nuts as they fell and tossed them into a basket, 
 saying as she did so. " 'Tain't scurcely wuth the 
 trouble er thrashin' the trees this year. Anyhow, this 
 ain't no good year for nothin'. The cane ain't yield- 
 in' like it ought, the hens ain't layin', the calves is all 
 bulls, an' the puccons ain't wuth pickin' up." 
 
 " There ought to be good pecans in this part of the 
 country," said Catherine, gazing anxiously up at Pid- 
 geon. 
 
 " Shore, they is good puccons in these parts," Mar- 
 celline replied, taking two of the nuts and cracking 
 them in the palm of her hand. " Down to Malabar 
 they was trees had nuts bigger 'n my thumb. I reckon 
 the high water kilt them. Tha's where M'sieur var- 
 iste Ledoux got his trees; right thar to Malabar an' 
 every one know what fine puccons he use' to have." 
 
 " Monsieur variste Ledoux! " Catherine repeated. 
 " Who is Monsieur fivariste Ledoux? I've heard the 
 name, but I can't remember where." 
 
 " He live up the bayou, a good piece above Bergerac. 
 while his paw was livin,' they use' to live to Beau- 
 Rivage, down by Malabar. Hit got kinder ruinted, 
 time er the big storm a few years back. Sence then,
 
 THE GRINDING 281 
 
 they has raised sheeps on them salt marshes, but I 
 reckon all the sheeps got drownded, time er the high 
 water. M'sieur Evariste got kinder disheartened, 'case 
 his paw die, and Miss Hortense wouldn't marry him, 
 so he an' his maw went up to Garlenda to live." 
 
 " He wanted to marry Miss Hortense? " Catherine 
 asked. 
 
 " He shore did, an' he stood her friend when nobody 
 ain't believe her tale, an' he want to marry her, spite 
 of everything. He war the onliest one what always 
 stand by her." 
 
 " I thought her brother did." 
 
 " Yas'm, he kinder did. He wouldn't let the young 
 Madam turn her out of doors. But you know how 
 it are, Miss Catrine. When there's trouble, some 
 folks walks a mile the other way an' he shore did 
 stay a heap of time in the fiel's. But M'sieur Evar- 
 iste always stan' by her, an' he want to take the li'l 
 gal when Miss Hortense die but his maw were a 
 turr'ble crabbish ole lady, an' she were dead agin her. 
 Dead sot. She wouldn't listen to no good talk 'bout 
 Miss Hortense, ner she wouldn't so much as listen to 
 her name. No Ma'am! " 
 
 " Whom did he marry? " Catherine asked. 
 
 " Him? He nuver marry no one. No, Ma'am; not 
 him! He live up yonder with his maw, twel she die, 
 not so long ago, neither. She suttingly driv' him with 
 a stiff bit. But he ain't say nothin'. She were a 
 kinder miser-fied ole lady, an' she kep' the money in 
 her own hand, an' she buy Belle Alliance an' Holley
 
 282 THE GRINDING 
 
 Glen, an' I reckon she'd have own' all the land 'twix 
 Garlenda an' the Gulf effen the Lord hadn't a remem- 
 ber her all of a suddint an' snatch her away 'fore she 
 could do any more mischief." 
 
 " Who is it they call his daughter? " Catherine 
 asked. 
 
 Marcelline stopped in her search for pecans and 
 looked inquiringly at her Mistress. " I ain't nuver 
 year talk 'bout no darter," she said, " ner I don't be- 
 lieve he've got one, neither." 
 
 " Was he Felicie Trosclair's godfather? " Catherine 
 asked. 
 
 " I reckon he must er ben," Marcelline replied, look- 
 ing surprised. 
 
 " Yes, Ma'am, he were," Pidgeon piped down from 
 the tree. 
 
 " Sure, he must er ben," Marcelline repeated, but, 
 not being deeply interested in the subject, she said no 
 more and withdrew shortly to the kitchen. 
 
 Pidgeon came down from the tree, but Catherine 
 was still picking up pecans when Fergus and Ronald 
 appeared at the gate, talking earnestly. They walked 
 slowly, so absorbed that, at first, they did not notice 
 her and she suspected rightly that they were discuss- 
 ing something not meant for her ears. 
 
 " I have distrusted Sutton for a long time," Ronald 
 was saying, " and I think I have proof now that he 
 was the one who suggested the scheme." 
 
 " You may be wrong," Fergus remonstrated gently. 
 " Don't decide against him until you have made fur-
 
 THE GRINDING 283 
 
 ther investigation. Besides, it may be true that the gas 
 pocket is on the Gold Mine side of the line." 
 
 " No, Fergus, it isn't. It's just a scheme to rob 
 Esperance of what may be its most valuable asset." 
 
 'The most valuable asset is the crop, Ronald. 
 Drilling in this sandy soil is too uncertain and too 
 costly for us to consider. But the crop is something 
 that affects the whole community. The pocket might 
 enrich us if we neglected the crop, we should be 
 doing wrong to all this part of the parish." 
 
 " You're like Louis XII," Ronald said, smiling. 
 
 " How so? " 
 
 " A true Father of the People. Don't you remem- 
 ber, he said he'd rather his people should have plenty 
 of silver in their pockets than that he should have some 
 gold? I think it was Louis XII, wasn't it? " 
 
 " I don't remember; but about that position Bur- 
 bank mentioned. What is your objection to it? " 
 
 " It will bring me into contact with Banks. In 
 fact, I should be placed over him, and I should be 
 forced to discharge him. He'd think I was doing it 
 out of spite and I hate to be put in such a position; 
 but I know that's cowardly of me. Burbank says 
 they'll wait two or three weeks for my decision." 
 
 " You've practically made it, haven't you? " 
 
 " Yes. I hate to leave before your relations with 
 Blaise are more settled. There's no doubt he has been 
 deeply hurt by Catherine's attitude toward Modesta. 
 I think he hoped great things in a social way from 
 their becoming intimate. The girl's pretty and at-
 
 284 THE GRINDING 
 
 tractive enough, and, naturally, he's inordinately proud 
 of her his only child." 
 
 " Naturally. I'm sorry Catherine is so prejudiced 
 against her." 
 
 " It's lamentable! " Ronald declared. At this mo- 
 ment, he noticed Catherine standing under the pecan 
 tree, and, as always in catching an unexpected glimpse 
 of her, was struck by her charm. It smote him with 
 a pang. " I love her yet," he thought, and scorned 
 himself for his weakness. 
 
 From the branches of the tree hung long festoons 
 of moss through which the sunlight filtered upon her, 
 dappling her with light and shadow. As aloof as a 
 wood nymph, she moved about, her face turned from 
 them. He wondered if she would move through life, 
 this way; solitary and apart from her fellow beings. 
 What loneliness she was preparing for herself! She, 
 who loved no one in the world but Fergus her un- 
 practical, visionary brother. Yes. Ronald saw it 
 clearly. He, the despised Ronald, must for their 
 sakes, leave them and accept that position where he 
 could provide for them. He must let them believe 
 that he was deserting them after all these years of 
 companionship. It was the only way to save Esper- 
 ance from failure as fail it must, unless some one 
 performed a miracle in iheir behalf. 
 
 " Fergus," Catherine said, coming toward them bas- 
 ket in hand, " see how few pecans there were on that 
 tree. Haven't they a tree over at the Chauvins'? " 
 
 Ronald was on the point of saying that there were
 
 THE GRINDING 285 
 
 several. That the tree shading the side gate was a 
 pecan, but, as she had not glanced at him, he re- 
 frained from speaking. She, for her part, looked 
 steadily at Fergus as if Ronald were not present. 
 He had said he did not wish to reopen the conversa- 
 tion. Very well; he need not. So far as she was con- 
 cerned, he no longer existed. 
 
 " I think they have one," Fergus hazarded. 
 
 " Isn't that one by the gate a pecan? " 
 
 " I think it is." 
 
 She walked up the steps, her hand slipped through 
 Fergus's arm, while Ronald followed in silence. 
 
 " I'm going over to Miss Victorine's," she said, 
 " when you go back to the sugar house. I want to have 
 a barrel of pecans. We always used to have a barrel- 
 ful in our store room in the city, didn't we? " 
 
 " I believe we did," Fergus agreed. 
 
 " Very well. It's ridiculous not to have them out 
 here where they grow." 
 
 " Certainly, you must have them," Fergus reiter- 
 ated. " But shan't I see about it for you? " 
 
 " No, I want the walk," and she went singing to 
 her room, not having vouchsafed Ronald one glance. 
 
 As she' walked with Fergus towards Miss Victorine's, 
 she no longer felt so proud of herself for wounding 
 Ronald. After all, he had had provocation, and she 
 was too much of a -coquette to wish any act to be 
 final. Possibly, he might not " come back " even if 
 she did " ask him," she reflected. 
 
 Miss Victorine emerged from the hen house as Cath-
 
 286 THE GRINDING 
 
 erine entered the gate, and pausing only to lock the 
 door which she would not have forgotten to do even 
 though the earth yawned to swallow her the old 
 lady hastened to meet the mistress of Esperance. 
 Very, very willingly, she assured Catherine, they would 
 supply her with as many pecans as she wished. What 
 was theirs was hers, the old lady assured her, speak- 
 ing in parables as it were. Catherine, on the other 
 hand, fully believed that what was theirs was hers, 
 and accepted the assurances without too exaggerated 
 a gratitude. Several times, she noticed that the old 
 lady was gazing searchingly at her but she was ac- 
 customed to receiving more than a passing glance and 
 did not attach importance to Miss Victorine's look. 
 
 " And," the old lady added, " my Placide will bring 
 you some good ones but admirable, magnificent 
 ones; paper shells from Belize when he go up yon- 
 der to visit his pretended: Celimene LeBreton." 
 
 " Celimene LeBreton! " Catherine exclaimed, gen- 
 uinely surprised by the news. " I congratulate you, 
 Miss Victorine." 
 
 " I 'ave the honor to announce it," Miss Victorine 
 said solemnly. " God is good, Mees Catrine. He see 
 how I grieve for my little Solange with the angels, 
 it is now thirty year. He see that I desire, that I 
 have need of a daughter , and He send me Celimene, 
 who onderstand chicken like no one on the bayou; 
 who cook an' sew, an' mend, and who love my Pla- 
 cide." 
 
 Catherine was searching in her imagination for
 
 THE GRINDING 287 
 
 words adequate to this astonishing situation, when a 
 clear, barytone voice was heard, gaily singing, and 
 turning they saw Pere Ignace approaching from the 
 direction of Gold Mine. He was carrying a gun on 
 his shoulder, and his two hounds, Quin and Boulee 
 (Queen and Bully) were slinking at his heels. 
 
 " There is joy to Gole Mine to-night," he announced 
 from a distance. 
 
 " To Gole Mine? " Miss Victorine exclaimed. 
 " 'Ave Meester Sutton return? " 
 
 " Ah, bah! " said Pere Ignace lightly. " Where are 
 the rose of last year? It is no Meester Sutton: an- 
 other blossom in his place. This are a grand parti. 
 But grand! " 
 
 " But 'ow could that be? " Miss Victorine demanded. 
 " Ef it are not Meester Sutton: Pierre Poisson are no 
 parti. She play with him like a cat, but he is not " 
 
 " Ah, la, la! " Pere Ignace interrupted. " It is not 
 for Cajan marriage them lights twinkle through the 
 trees, an' the family eat their New Year dinner in 
 anticipate. But I tell you it is a parti! It is one who 
 reside in Vashington. Who holler ' Allo ' in the tele- 
 phone every morning with the President. Who h-ad- 
 vise heem an' say, ' Geeve them sugar planter a tariff 
 on their sugar, you hear me, hein? ' An' the Presi- 
 dent promise what he demand." 
 
 Miss Victorine burst out with an unexpected tor- 
 rent of indignation. " That ain't just, Pere Ignace! " 
 she exclaimed. " They has did their possible against 
 all the bayou. An' that Modeste, makin' noses at all
 
 288 THE GRINDING 
 
 the parish, makin' a slave of our Felicie, laughin' in 
 the face of the bayou she will foam to the Presi- 
 dent? Non! Justice do not h-exist." 
 
 " Have a care, Mees Victorine," Pere Ignace warned 
 her. " Justice do h-exist, even though we 'ave not 
 always the pleasure to see our enemy in purgatory 
 onless we accompany heem; which we do not desire, 
 hein? " 
 
 " It is true," she acknowledged. " We are not per- 
 mit to behole our enemy in purgatory. But that Mod- 
 este, that serpent in the herbs, with a face as round as 
 the Tower of Babylon she will foam to the wife of 
 the President? It is too much! " 
 
 " Have you heard the name of the parti? " Catherine 
 asked, knowing full well beforehand what it must be. 
 
 " Bang," said Pere Ignace. " No; that don't sound 
 right. Bang? Bang? " he repeated tentatively: then, 
 his memory coming to the rescue, " Bank! Bank are 
 the name. A very distinguish' diplomate. There is 
 so much joy to Gole Mine, the 'ouse will not contain." 
 
 Catherine made no comment, and for a moment all 
 remained silent. That the wicked had been rewarded 
 seemed so obvious there was no explaining it away. 
 
 As Catherine, after saying good-by to Miss Vic- 
 torine, walked toward the bridge, accompanied by the 
 priest, a softened haze rested on the fields where some 
 laborers were burning a pile of trash. In the gath- 
 ering twilight, the flames flared and danced fantas- 
 tically, throwing into high relief a group of children
 
 THE GRINDING 289 
 
 from the quarters who were " playing lady " on the 
 bank of the bayou. Stopping their game, they watched 
 with bright, observant eyes as the two approached. 
 
 Seeing the little, kinky heads with horns of 
 " wrapped " hair that gave them a demoniacal look, 
 Pere Ignace said, " Good evening, my children." 
 
 As if drilled to do so, the little figures instantly rose 
 upright, and the little heads ducked in a courtesy as 
 the children replied with the regulation formula of 
 " Good evenin', Pere Ignace, Good evenin', white 
 Miss." 
 
 " How well the church is getting on," Catherine said, 
 looking up at the spire. " If only you had Nore Pinel 
 to help now with these repairs." 
 
 " Yes," he agreed, " it is a peety he are not here. 
 An' I have search in vain among the paper of the 
 parish. I fear he exist only in imagination. Some of 
 the paper will interes' you very much, Mees Catrine." 
 
 " Won't you come to dinner with us to-morrow? " 
 she begged, " and bring the papers? " 
 
 " With pleasure, yes," he replied. 
 
 " And you will invite Miss Delicia for me, won't 
 you? " she added. 
 
 " With your permission, no," he said. " These 
 paper are not for the perusal of the bayou. An' my 
 seester Delicia she are good; she fulfil her vow- 
 but for a promise, a simple promise, she have a long 
 forget. I remind her, ' Thou didst promise not to 
 tell,' an' she ease her conscience by the reply: 'Ah,
 
 290 THE GRINDING 
 
 bah! why ask me to promise for a trifle? It did not 
 importe that secret.' And when the bayou enrage 
 itself for what she have reveal I need not explain, 
 hein, why it is bes' to invite my seester another time? " 
 
 Catherine smiled, remembering a parish quarrel of 
 which she had heard rumors. " Very well," she said. 
 " Then I shall expect you to-morrow, and Miss Delicia 
 some other time." 
 
 The sunset flamed in a sky of burnished copper 
 against which the cypress trees lifted their branches. 
 A lugger with a vast expanse of crimson sail that 
 seemed to reflect the tints of the setting sun, glided 
 slowly down the bayou. A man standing at the prow, 
 raised a conch-shell to his lips and blew three long, 
 wailing blasts. How well she remembered the first 
 time she saw that statuesque form. Enveloped in the 
 evening glow, the graceful boy with dark, silken hair, 
 a red handkerchief knotted about his throat, took on 
 a look of fantastic beauty. She half wished she had 
 never known him. Better to picture him in her imag- 
 ination as this beautiful, elfish being, remote from her 
 world, untouched by her cruel kindness, than to have 
 to reproach herself, as she should, so long as life lasted, 
 with the knowledge that she had wounded the gentlest, 
 loveliest creature that ever lived. His face* was turned 
 away. She knew that his eyes were searching for her. 
 Standing perfectly still, scarcely daring to breath for 
 fear of attracting attention, she watched the boat 
 sweeping through the open bridge. It glided on, grow- 
 ing fainter and fainter, fading into the gathering twi-
 
 THE GRINDING 291 
 
 light, now a gleam as a ray touched the sail, now a 
 shadow among the trees, now a distant flash of coral 
 flame. Then it was gone, and unknowingly, she had 
 looked her last on Jacques Lirette.
 
 XXX 
 
 /"\N that same evening, Marc Sutton, in his luxuri- 
 ^^ ous apartment in Washington, was looking over 
 certain papers. Everything had gone well with him. 
 Without losing the confidence of the sugar planters 
 who believed he was devoting himself to their inter- 
 ests, he had managed through Adolphus Banks to make 
 friends with the advocates of free trade, and secretly 
 to identify himself with them. He was in the position 
 of a man who blindfolds the world and receives money 
 in both hands. Yes, he was that rarest of human 
 beings, a satisfied man. Of so obscure an origin that 
 no one remembered when he came to New Orleans, he 
 now considered himself the most influential man in the 
 city. Furthermore, he had so involved Tobias Blaise 
 that he was practically the owner of the richest bits 
 of land in the parish; and he smiled complacently as 
 he drew a mental sketch of the central sugar house 
 which he would build as soon as he had leisure to 
 attend to it. Of course, when Banks learned to what 
 extent his prospective father-in-law had become en- 
 tangled, he would try to save something for himself 
 from the wreck, but Marc smiled at the thought of 
 his futile struggles. With a word with one single 
 threat he could silence Adolphus Banks. Further- 
 
 292
 
 THE GRINDING 293 
 
 more, should need arise in order to make sure of the 
 land, he would take Modesta away from Adolphus. 
 He had no doubt of his ability to do so. Possibly, 
 however, he might blindfold that dreamer, Fergus 
 Maine, and marry Catherine. He thought with satis- 
 faction of her presiding over his establishment. Fur- 
 thermore, there was no need of haste. He could move 
 at his leisure. Unconsciously, they were all working 
 for him. 
 
 One thing he had overlooked, and that was the age- 
 old fact that we cannot see ourselves as others see us. 
 He did not know that by his cupidity and thinly-veiled 
 contempt, he had given offence to Tobias Blaise, and 
 he trusted so implicitly to the Cajan ignorance and 
 inability to see through his plans that he failed to take 
 proper precautions, and approached Dr. Bonvillain 
 without realizing that he and Blaise, having ties of 
 nationality and of life-long association, would natur- 
 ally trust each other rather than a comparative 
 stranger. So when he tried to breed distrust between 
 them because he feared Bonvillain's adverse influence, 
 he put them both on their guard. Furthermore, he 
 tried to lead Bonvillain on to talk by making him 
 drunk. There were certain points he wished to learn 
 in regard to Blaise's title to Gold Mine, and he felt 
 sure Dr. Bonvillain could tell him. Very willingly, 
 Dr. Bonvillain got drunk, but it happened that he be- 
 came more and more morose and taciturn with each 
 succeeding glass, while Marc, drinking more than he 
 intended, grew benign and confidential.
 
 294 THE GRINDING 
 
 And so it came to pass that while Pere Ignace was 
 telling Catherine and Miss Victorine the wonderful 
 piece of bayou gossip, and Marc Button, a thousand 
 miles away, was smiling secretly to himself, Dr. Bon- 
 villain and Tobias Blaise were talking confidentially 
 together. They were on horse back, having ridden 
 some distance down the bayou, to ensure no one's 
 hearing. 
 
 "What I looks at is this," said Dr. Bonvillain. 
 " Meester Marks come out here an' shine up to Destie, 
 an' then he come to me, an' ax whether you is sure 
 enough owner of Gole Mine, an' whether it were mort- 
 gage' to any one. You never show him no paper, 
 hein? " 
 
 "No; I tole him I was lawful owner, an' that it 
 weren't much in debt. And any how, wha's it to him? 
 Ain't I tole you she's engage' to Adolphe Bank? " 
 
 " Well, tha's what I'm a-comin' to. Him, Bank, 
 an' Marks is in cahoot. An' he don't want to marry 
 Destie lessen they is sure about the property." 
 
 This frank statement was displeasing to Blaise's 
 fatherly pride, and he answered in a surly tone, " I 
 reckon he'd marry Destie without no plantation. You 
 talk like she wa'n't good enough fer him or any other 
 man." 
 
 " Tobias," said Bonvillain, " I ain't sayin' nothin' 
 agin Destie. She's purty enough, an' she dress fine, 
 an' she've got city ways I ain't sayin' nothin' 'bout 
 her, but I does say somethin' 'bout him. You remem- 
 ber Boggs? "
 
 THE GRINDING 295 
 
 " What Boggs? " 
 
 " Reginal'." 
 
 " Course I remember Reginal' Boggs. He put up 
 my name fer the St. Francis Club." 
 
 " Well, he come to Bergerac to visit his maw, an' I 
 seen him when I went up yonder, yestiddy, an' tha's 
 why I come over here to-day. He tole me suthin' 
 about Mr. Marks." 
 
 " What about him? " Tobias asked. 
 
 "You needn't ter get mad with me, Tobe," Bon- 
 villain said. "It ain't my affair. I ain't no sugar 
 planter, but you-all trusted him so an' send him up 
 yonder to fight fer your interes', an' what you reckon 
 he done? " 
 
 " I dunno," Tobias growled. 
 
 " He fit agin your interes'. He's fer free sugar. He 
 fit the tariff " 
 
 " It's a lie! " Tobias exclaimed with such a volley 
 of oaths that even Dr. Bonvillain, inured to that style 
 of conversation, paused in astonishment. 
 
 " Quit you cussin', Tobe," he said, " an' don't you 
 dast say lie to me." 
 
 " I ain't sayin' lie to you. I says Boggs lied." 
 
 " I ain't standin' up fer Boggs, but he say he kin 
 prove every word, an' soon's he git the chanct, he's 
 comin' down to show you his proof. But he tole me 
 to come quick to-day. He say, ' Caliste, this ain't 
 no time fer foolin'. That man's got Tobe's wool pulled 
 over his heyes, an' him an Bank'll git every arpent er 
 land what he own away fum him, you mind.' An' so
 
 296 THE GRINDING 
 
 I cum, an' all the thanks I gits is a good cussin' out. 
 But they's another word I has to say, an' then good- 
 by " 
 
 " Don't be mad, Caliste, cain't you see I'm wor- 
 ried? " 
 
 " Yes, I sees it, an' I sees something you doesn't 
 see. I sees you has had three years er crop failure 
 and this are the wust. An' ef you tries to hang on 
 to them mortgage note you is goin' to be like the 
 nigger what got caught with his fist in the corn bin. 
 Either he had to drap some er the corn, or he couldn't 
 pull his fist outer the bin. You is got to drap some- 
 thing, er you lose all. How is you goin' to buy feed 
 fer your stock? And how is you goin' to pay your 
 niggers? An' " 
 
 " Ef I hold on to them note, I'll be the richest man 
 in this parish." 
 
 " Yes, an' the biggest fool ef they takes off the 
 tariff and you is ruined. You take my hadvice, Tobe. 
 You sell them note an' raise money to run Gole Mine. 
 'Tain't wuth your while to ruin yourself jes' to spite 
 Mr. Maine." 
 
 " When he was president of the St. Francis Club " 
 Tobias began, but Caliste interrupted him. 
 
 " You've tole me all about that, Tobias, but what 
 you want to do right now is to raise money. After 
 that, you kin get into all the clubs this side er purga- 
 tory, fer all of me, but right now, you wants to shuck 
 your corn an' get it in the bin. Besides " 
 
 " Besides what? " Tobias asked suspiciously.
 
 THE GRINDING 297 
 
 " You know what Marks tole me when he was 
 drunk? " 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " He tole me Mr. Maine were out of the city when 
 your name come up, and it was him, Marks, what kep' 
 you out of the club. I promise' him I'd never tell 
 an' we laughed an' was powerful frien'ly over it." 
 
 Tobias listened to this in silence, while his purple 
 face and distorted features showed his inward agita- 
 tion. 
 
 " Don't hexcite yourself, Tobe," Dr. Bonvillain 
 warned him. " You'll hurt your spleen ef you stirs 
 yourself up that way. Cool off an' take it easy. 
 Mark'll bite his nails good an' plenty ef he find out 
 you ain't in debt no more. An' you can trust Boggs. 
 He's Cajan like me and you, and he ain't goin' to 
 kiss your hand an' then turn round an' spit on your 
 back. He says to me, 'You tell Tobe to get rid of 
 Marks, quick.' ' 
 
 " His name ain't Marks it's Sutton." 
 
 " I don't keer ef it's Pichonque what I says is, 
 watch out." 
 
 As the two men sat, side by side, Bonvillain, in his 
 nondescript clothing of a uniform dust color, his bushy 
 beard and untrimmed hair of the same general hue, 
 wore such an air of slovenly poverty that Tobias Blaise, 
 the prospective millionaire, felt a sudden impulse of 
 scorn toward his former playmate. After all, what had 
 Bonvillain accomplished in life to warrant his coming 
 and advising him, the owner of Gold Mine, in this
 
 298 THE GRINDING 
 
 peremptory manner? And yet, knowing the fiery tem- 
 per of his old friend, he dared not dismiss him too 
 curtly. 
 
 " I'll ask Destie," he observed, turning his horse's 
 head toward the field where, in the distance, they saw 
 the men and women cutting cane. " She has a long 
 reckonin' with Miss Maine, and I reckon, ef I let the 
 Maines off too easy, she'll raise a big holler." 
 
 " You ain't lettin' them off. But it ain't wuth your 
 while to ruin yehself just to get even with Miss Catrine. 
 I reckon she ain't broke to harness very good, but 
 she'll get her pace without no help fum you. I know 
 it's hard to disappint Destie. I'm a father myself, 
 an' I know it's hard. I peetee you but it pain me 
 more to see you such a big fool you trusts " 
 
 " Big fool yourself! " Tobias broke out. " What 
 do you want to be takin' up fer the Maines fer? " 
 
 Dr. Bonvillain listened in open-mouthed astonish- 
 ment. " Who's takin' up fer the Maines? " he de- 
 manded. 
 
 " You! " Tobias retorted, " and I want you to know 
 right now, I don't trust nobody meddlin' in my af- 
 fairs." 
 
 " All right," Bonvillain answered hotly, " but don't 
 you holler fer me to come an' haul you out when you 
 is stuck in the mud," and he galloped away in deep 
 wrath.
 
 XXXI 
 
 TGNORANT as always about matters of business, 
 - Catherine was unconcious of the widespread feel- 
 ing of disappointment in regard to the yield of the cane, 
 which was so tall that the roads leading through the 
 fields were like tunnels in which a man on horseback 
 was hidden from sight. Every one had prophesied a 
 " bumper crop " and she did not realize that the great 
 growth of the cane and its continued greenness made 
 it the more unfit for grinding. Surely their debts 
 would be paid this year, she thought, and then they 
 could leave this place of exile and live once more in 
 the world. It would be such a simple thing to cut 
 adrift from all the perplexing entanglements out here 
 
 Some one knocked, and turning from the window 
 where she had been dreaming of the roseate future, 
 she beheld Pidgeon standing in the doorway holding 
 out a letter toward her. 
 
 " Dishyere are all what come to-day," he informed 
 her, " scusin' what I lef over yonder to the office." 
 
 The envelope was postmarked Newport, and was 
 from Tom. Smilingly, she opened and began reading 
 it. The first page was filled with accounts of Lady 
 Fullerton and her beautiful daughter. Catherine's 
 smile of amusement deepened. " Trying to make me 
 
 299
 
 300 THE GRINDING 
 
 jealous," she thought. It was such a familiar trick of 
 Tom's it seemed almost childishly transparent. He 
 ought to have known it could not deceive her. Turn- 
 ing the page, she read on: 
 
 " You know I've never seen a grinding. Won't you 
 let me come down before it's finished? Besides, I 
 have a special reason. I give you my word of honor 
 I never meant really to harm any of you. I meant to 
 frighten you a little and punish you a bit for flirting 
 so outrageously with that Cajan boy, right before my 
 face. I'll explain the business details to Fergus. No 
 use bothering you with them. And don't let him per- 
 suade you that the bottom has dropped out of every- 
 thing. It hasn't, and I can make everything right 
 when I come." 
 
 There were several more pages, filled with protesta- 
 tions of devotion, but with a veiled warning that she 
 had trifled long enough, and ending with a request for 
 a speedy reply as his plans of the next few weeks 
 depended on her answer. 
 
 Still smiling with a mixture of amusement and pleas- 
 ure, she went to the front gallery to watch for Fergus's 
 return from the office. To her surprise, she found 
 him seated, in an attitude of utter exhaustion, asleep. 
 As she stood gazing at him with an undefined feeling 
 of apprehension, scanning the gentle, refined face, now 
 seamed with lines of care, he woke with a start and 
 looked up at her. 
 
 " Tired? " she asked. 
 
 " A little," he replied.
 
 THE GRINDING 301 
 
 Dismissing her fleeting anxiety, and seating herself 
 on the arm of his chair, she said, " Guess from whom 
 this is." 
 
 He turned the letter so as to see the superscription. 
 " From Tom Ogers," he replied in a lifeless tone. 
 
 " Yes, from Tom," she replied with a gay little 
 laugh, and not noticing his apparent lack of interest. 
 " Funny, isn't it? He wants to come and visit us 
 again so as to see the grinding." Watching him 
 smilingly as he turned the pages slowly and finally 
 handed it back without comment, she slipped her arm 
 around his neck, asserting rather than asking, " We're 
 sure to pay our debts this season, aren't we? " 
 
 " No," he answered in a constrained voice, " I never 
 expected to take up those notes in one year. I was 
 assured there would be no difficulty in getting a re- 
 newal." 
 
 " Is there any difficulty? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " There won't be when Tom comes," she assured 
 him. " I'll arrange it." 
 
 " How do you propose to ' arrange ' it? " he asked. 
 
 His tone startled her. Ronald, who no longer loved 
 her, could be severe toward her, she reflected bitterly, 
 but Fergus was different; he was never harsh. There 
 was some reason for his change of manner. For the 
 moment she felt abashed, but after a pause she said, 
 " I can do it; and on some accounts I shall be glad to 
 see him." 
 
 Fergus seemed scarcely to hear her. His eyes
 
 302 THE GRINDING 
 
 looked beyond her with a strange absorption. The 
 breathless heat pressed upon her and the metallic 
 sound of hammering that reached her from the sugar 
 house,, mingling with the prolonged ringing of a locust 
 near-by, seemed to intensify the sultry silence. 
 
 " There were things I liked about him," she ob- 
 served, after waiting for some comment from Fergus. 
 " He had good manners, and it was a pleasure to have 
 some one to talk to some one like the people I used 
 to know. But he stayed too long, and I got tired." 
 She paused, waiting for some word, but he maintained 
 his austere silence. "I'll be more patient this time," 
 she finally added. " I know I can persuade him." 
 
 Fergus now looked searchingly at her, but still ut- 
 tered no word. 
 
 " I know I've been hateful and perverse and all 
 that," she suddenly burst out; " I don't need any one 
 to tell me so." 
 
 " Has any one told you so? " he asked. 
 
 " Not in words," she replied, " but Ronald goes 
 around with such an accusing air " 
 
 " I never observed it." 
 
 " I suppose it would be nearer the truth to say he 
 ignores my existence," she corrected herself, trying to 
 say it lightly, and without betraying her vexation, in 
 the hope of drawing some word of justification from 
 Fergus; but he remained silent. 
 
 Rising from the arm of his chair, she walked to the 
 end of the gallery and looked toward the flaming west. 
 From behind masses of purple clouds, like lights shin-
 
 THE GRINDING 303 
 
 ing through half-closed blinds, there streamed rays of 
 burning orange and crimson. The China tree which 
 shaded that end of the gallery with its thick, plumy 
 foliage, so dark it was almost black in the shade, now 
 glowed in the vivid light with iridescent, bronze tints. 
 
 " Any how," she resumed with a forced laugh, 
 " Tom doesn't ignore me. He wants to come back 
 ' to make everything right.' I don't know what he 
 means by that." 
 
 " I do." 
 
 She was leaning on the railing, fanning herself with 
 the letter, but at Fergus's words she turned and looked 
 at him. In the vivid light, his face was of a waxen 
 pallor, strange and ghastly. " What do you mean, 
 Fergus? " she asked. Then, frightened by his look 
 and manner, she went swiftly to him and laying her 
 hand on his shoulder, cried, " What is it, Fergus? 
 What has Tom done? " 
 
 " He has ruined us." 
 
 " Ruined us! " she repeated, her face blanching. 
 " How has he ruined us? " 
 
 " I have learned within the hour " he answered 
 breathlessly as if strength failed him, " he has sold the 
 mortgage notes to Tobias Blaise. They say Blaise 
 hates me " 
 
 "Tobias Blaise! " she repeated with bloodless lips, 
 "Tobias Blaise! In the power of that dangerous 
 man! Oh, Fergus! " (It was a piercing cry.) "I 
 have ruined you." 
 
 He made no reply.
 
 304 THE GRINDING 
 
 Tremblingly she twisted her fingers together whis- 
 pering, " Oh, why wouldn't I make friends with those 
 people while I had the chance? Oh, what have I done ! 
 What have I done! Fergus, what will he do to us? " 
 
 " He will foreclose and turn us out." 
 
 She wrung her hands. " I could have saved you," 
 she cried. " I could, and I wouldn't." 
 
 He put his hand to his head. " There ought to be 
 some way," he muttered. 
 
 " There is a way," she cried passionately, and broke 
 into wild weeping.
 
 XXXII 
 
 IT was nearly morning when Catherine, who had fal- 
 len into a doze after lying for hours gazing with 
 sleepless eyes into the darkness, awoke with a start, 
 hearing a human voice ringing in her ears. The cry 
 was repeated and as she roused more fully she could 
 feel the house trembling in the clutch of the wind. 
 Above the roar of the lashing trees, which was like 
 the roar of the sea, she heard a prolonged, deep growl, 
 unutterably awful; the voice of the tempest itself. 
 Then there mingled with it a keen whistle as if the 
 black huntsman, riding on the blast, were whistling to 
 his hounds. All the forces of the night and of the 
 storm were let loose. And again, the piercing shriek 
 of the wind, as it found some crevice or keyhole. 
 
 " Fergus ! " she cried, running to his door, " Fer- 
 gus! don't you hear some one calling? " 
 
 " No," he answered, " it's the wind." 
 
 She tried to light her candle, but a gust from the 
 open window blew out the flame and dressing hurriedly 
 in the darkness she groped her way into the hall where 
 she found him waiting with a lighted lantern. He stood 
 in a listening attitude. 
 
 "Hark! " she said, as a wild, wailing cry seemed 
 to echo through the house, " some one is calling." 
 
 305
 
 306 THE GRINDING 
 
 " No," he repeated, " it's the wind." 
 
 The lantern flickered and went out in the draft that 
 came soughing down the stairway, and some papers 
 left on the table the evening before, flew, rustling, about 
 the hall with a ghostly suggestion of wings. 
 
 Gropingly, she felt for Fergus and clung to him. 
 As she stood so, waiting, listening, she dared not think 
 for what, she felt the pressure of the gale against the 
 door and the long, flanking windows. 
 
 She listened, expectantly, her eyes searching the 
 darkness of the stairway, and finally asked, " Where is 
 Ronald? " 
 
 " He went down to Octave Robichaux's. He should 
 have been back last evening." 
 
 She pressed her hand against her breast. What if 
 she never saw him again! If she never had the chance 
 to take back the many unkind things she had said! 
 Now, too late, she saw clearly her own selfishness and 
 perversity, and suffered the poignant anguish of re- 
 morse. How kind how truly kind he had been! 
 How wise in trying to save her from her own follies! 
 And kind toward that poor boy All in vain! Every- 
 thing had happened as he foresaw. "Oh, Ronald! 
 Ronald! " throbbed and beat in her brain. "If only 
 you come back! " 
 
 Her mind, like a broken mirror that catches here 
 and there a disconnected reflection, glanced over her 
 past life. She saw herself a child in her luxurious 
 home, with servants to do her bidding, with every whim 
 indulged yet never satisfied. Then as a queen,
 
 THE GRINDING 307 
 
 scorning the honors heaped upon her. Always dissat- 
 isfied! Nothing had ever been sufficient for her. She 
 had broken her toys and thrown them away; she had 
 broken hearts and tossed them aside. 
 
 Feeling his way, Fergus drew her to the settle, as one 
 might a child, and so they sat without speaking while 
 the wind rose in a long crescendo as if the spirits of 
 all the broken hearted, all who had died without hope, 
 were uttering their lament. 
 
 A vivid crimson flashed through her closed eyelids, 
 and the house rocked in the reverberation of the 
 thunder. In the hollow silence that followed she heard 
 the ticking of the clock on the mantlepiece. 
 
 At last the darkness grew faintly luminous. Outside 
 the windows fantastic shadows tossed themselves 
 about. The leaden dawn turned to a paler gray and 
 through the blinding rain the daylight struggled. The 
 shadows became branches of trees whirling in a 
 witches' dance. 
 
 " Another day," she said. 
 
 Fergus rose and went to the window. She knew 
 for whom he was watching, and followed him. Three 
 weird figures, their bodies braced against the storm, 
 their heads covered with rice sacks, came toward the 
 house, plodding heavily through the rain-soaked earth. 
 They were Marcelline, Ananias and Pidgeon. 
 
 "They are fairly risking their lives! " Fergus ex- 
 claimed and opening the door went out on to the gal- 
 lery to speak to them. Catherine followed, close be- 
 hind, and the door closed with a jarring crash. But
 
 308 THE GRINDING 
 
 the three, deafened by the wind and blinded by the 
 rain and the muffling rice sacks, had already gone 
 around the corner of the house without hearing or 
 seeing those on the gallery. 
 
 Cowering back into the window niche, Catherine 
 clung to Fergus who tried to shield her from the rain 
 which was blinding, stinging like whips, beating upon 
 her as with stones. For a moment it shut her in like 
 a wall, then it lifted again and she had a glimpse of 
 the fields, on which the cane lay flat the beautiful 
 cane that had been so tall and plumy only the day 
 before. The fences were down and frightened cattle 
 were running for shelter. She looked at the great 
 China tree it was lying on the ground, its lovely 
 foliage torn and beaten into the mud. Across up- 
 rooted trees whose broken branches were scattered 
 over the garden, she saw the place where the church 
 had stood. The priest's house still crouched in safety, 
 and to the left, beyond the bridge, she dimly discerned 
 Miss Victorine's behind its sheltering orange trees. 
 The bayou rolled along, brimming and flecked with 
 foam. A log swept by upon its waves, then an over- 
 turned boat, then a roof with something clinging to it; 
 something that moved feebly. She covered her face 
 with her hands. 
 
 From far away, there came a faint, metallic sound. 
 Fergus raised his head and listened. Again, far off, 
 faint, but unmistakable. Both knew what it meant, 
 the smoke stacks were falling. The smoke stacks, 
 bought and put up at so much sacrifice! But what
 
 THE GRINDING 309 
 
 did it matter? What did loss, or ruin, matter any 
 more? Oh, if only Ronald would come! 
 
 Later, when she was lying, exhausted, on her bed, 
 she heard Fergus in the hall, talking with Ananias, 
 who was trying to build a fire. 
 
 She listened as in a dream, so weak from the long 
 mental strain that she seemed to herself to be no 
 longer in this world, but in the borderland of that 
 strange, mysterious continent of which we know noth- 
 ing, but toward which we grope half reluctant, half 
 eager. " Am I still living," she questioned, " or is this 
 death? " 
 
 The hours passed. Another night, and the howling 
 of the storm. How could the frail shelters man had 
 made withstand the fury of the tempest! 
 
 Toward morning, there came a knocking at the door: 
 an awful sound at that hour and in such darkness. 
 The servants, unable to get back to their cabins across 
 the broken bridge, huddled in a frightened group, 
 while Fergus, lantern in hand, unlocked the door and 
 Catherine, with blanched face, came silently into the 
 hall. 
 
 The door opened, and Ronald entered. 
 
 With a stifled gasp she went toward him. 
 
 "You are alive! " Fergus exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, I am alive." Ronald's face showed his agi- 
 tation as he looked from one to the other. Then going 
 to the fire and seating himself wearily, he spread out 
 his benumbed hands to the blaze. 
 
 " How did you get here? " Fergus asked, steadying
 
 310 THE GRINDING 
 
 his voice with an effort. Catherine, behind Ronald's 
 chair, wept silently. 
 
 " Robichaux brought me part way," Ronald an- 
 swered, " but something happened to the boat at Beau 
 Rivage, fivariste Ledoux's place. I think it began 
 to leak, but, to tell the truth, I was so anxious about 
 you and Catherine I scarcely noticed what the trouble 
 was. Come nearer to the fire, Cathie," and, turning, 
 he looked at her wan face. " You've been terribly 
 frightened," he said. 
 
 " Not for myself," she answered faintly. 
 
 " Robichaux's house was not washed away? " Fer- 
 gus asked. 
 
 " No, the floating prairie saved it but it hindered 
 him in getting his boat out. It is a miracle about that 
 floating prairie," he added. " You remember it, don't 
 you? Miles and miles of vegetation floating on the 
 top of the water. It seems as if the whole prairie 
 rose and swept toward us and that is what saved 
 us from drowning." 
 
 Catherine shuddered but said not a word. 
 
 " The vegetation completely surrounded the house 
 so that the waves no longer broke over." Plainly, he 
 was talking to recover his composure, and the sound of 
 his voice betrayed his exhaustion. 
 
 " But how did you come the rest of the way? " 
 Fergus asked. 
 
 " I got a mule at Beau Rivage. The road is so 
 flooded I had to take a roundabout way back of the 
 Settlement,"
 
 THE GRINDING 311 
 
 " The Settlement is standing? " 
 
 " Yes, the floating prairie saved that too." 
 
 " So the Lirettes are safe? " 
 
 " Yes. Jacques is not there. He had a chance to 
 go away some days ago. He must be on the ocean 
 now." He did not glance at Catherine as he spoke. 
 
 She listened in silent self-condemnation, not needing 
 to be told why the poor boy had gone. 
 
 " So the road is not washed out? " Fergus asked, 
 making no comment on what Ronald had said about 
 Jacques. 
 
 " Oh, yes, there is no road left. But any way, the 
 mule gave out at Bonvillain's and I had to leave it 
 there." 
 
 " Then how did you get here? " 
 
 " I walked." 
 
 "You walked!" It seemed incredible, "How 
 could" 
 
 " I want to tell you something," Ronald interposed 
 as if he shrank from speaking of the terrible effort 
 he had made. " I think your troubles are ended." 
 
 " Your troubles." Catherine noticed the wording. 
 So he was going to carry out his threat of leaving 
 them? After all they had endured of agony, of mortal 
 peril, he was still going to leave them! 
 
 " How can our troubles be ended? " Fergus asked. 
 
 " Ledoux told me an amazing thing. He has bought 
 the mortgage notes on Esperance." 
 
 " He has bought them! " Fergus and Catherine ex- 
 claimed in a breath.
 
 312 THE GRINDING 
 
 " Yes, and he told me that, if for no other reason, 
 he wished to buy them for the sake of Felicie Trosclair, 
 whom he has legally adopted. He said he hoped to 
 prove his gratitude for your kindness to her, Cath- 
 erine." 
 
 " My kindness ! " she repeated. " Have I ever been 
 ' kind ' to any one? " She covered her eyes with her 
 hand and the tears trickled between her fingers. 
 
 " It seems Pere Ignace told him of some plan of 
 yours for her protection, and Ledoux was deeply grate- 
 ful to you. He's a rich man, and a kind one." Then, 
 rising, he said, " Will you come up with me, Fergus, 
 while I get on something dry? I must catch that 
 morning train. You must have the riggers here to 
 put up those smoke stacks as soon as possible." 
 
 " Oh, Ronald," Catherine faltered, " you can't go to 
 the city to-day. You'd be risking your life again." 
 
 " I promised Ledoux I would go," he answered 
 quietly as he began mounting the stairs. 
 
 A half hour later, as Catherine was returning to the 
 hall with Marcelline who was carrying a tray, she heard 
 Ronald coming down. 
 
 " So I shall answer the letter in person," he was say- 
 ing. 
 
 " I shall miss you," Fergus declared. 
 
 " And I shall miss you every day, Fergus. You 
 have been the strongest influence for good in my life." 
 
 Wide-eyed, Catherine gazed at him as if trying to 
 impress upon her memory a last glimpse; as we watch 
 the fading form of some one upon a ship that is sailing
 
 THE GRINDING 313 
 
 away from us forever. Yes, he was leaving them 
 now, when they had just been restored to each other. 
 
 " How kind of you, Catherine," he said, seating him- 
 self upon the settle before which they had arranged 
 his breakfast. " Will you pour my coffee? " It 
 seemed as if he were trying to fill the time with com- 
 monplace matters, as when we bid good-by to a friend, 
 and, all our messages uttered, are conscious of a blank 
 in the overlapping minutes. 
 
 Marcelline brought a plate of .corn bread and placed 
 it upon the tray and Fergus, -drawing a chair to the 
 fireplace, sat down. Catherine's hands shook so as 
 she tried to put the sugar into the cup that she 
 sprinkled it all around. 
 
 Gently, Ronald took the spoon from her hand. 
 " You're tired out," he said. She should always re- 
 member the tone, it seemed to her; that deep, gentle, 
 comforting tone. 
 
 " She hasn't eaten for two days," said Fergus. 
 
 " You must take care of yourself, Cathie." How 
 kindly he spoke; and after all he had had to forgive. 
 
 Her eyelids smarted, but she restrained her tears. 
 " You won't try to walk to Bergerac, will you? " she 
 asked, refusing the plate he offered her. 
 
 " No," he answered, " I think the storm is abating 
 so I can go in the boat. And now," he said, rising, 
 " I must say good-by to the servants." 
 
 She watched him as he left the hall. Ananias came 
 down the stairs carrying a trunk. She stood in the 
 dim light, waiting for Ronald's return. She would tell
 
 314 THE GRINDING 
 
 him as soon as he came back. But with him came 
 Fergus, and behind them Pidgeon and Marcelline. 
 
 " Good-by, Catherine." 
 
 " Good-by, Ronald." 
 
 He was gone. She had lost her opportunity. 
 
 With a sudden cry, she tore open the door. She 
 must tell him. She must speak. The sun was rising, 
 and she saw the two figures nearing the gate. 
 
 " Ronald! Ronald! " she called, but her voice was 
 drowned in the wind. No! No! He must not go 
 without hearing her. " Ronald! " she repeated, run- 
 ning, struggling after him. 
 
 And now he heard. Wonderingly, he turned and 
 came back to her. 
 
 "Ronald!" It was a lamentable, heart-broken 
 tone. " You know don't you that I'm sorry? I 
 never, never meant it. Oh, I've been a fool! A fool! 
 You will come back, won't you? " 
 
 He looked down at her white, tear-wet face. Was 
 this a passing mood? A whim of the moment? 
 
 " Oh, Ronald," she repeated, " don't you see I am 
 asking you to come back? Don't you know that I 
 love you? " 
 
 Without a word, he took her in his arms. 
 
 " I reckon the storm are past," Ananias said to Fer- 
 gus who was standing on the bank, waiting. " Look 
 yonder! A spot er blue sky." He gave his charac- 
 teristic chuckle. " 'Twon't be long now befo' the sun 
 pull the cane up a-standin' agin." 
 
 Pidgeon's voice ? carried by the wind, reached them
 
 THE GRINDING 315 
 
 fitfully from the side yard where he was chopping 
 kindling for Marcelline. In a high, piercing treble, he 
 sang: 
 
 " The grindin' season has came to a end, 
 An' yo' back are broke ef it wouldn't bend, 
 'Case you has to wuk every day God send, 
 An' it ain't no use complainin'. 
 
 " We has had weather of every kind, 
 For the clouds has rained an' the sun has shined, 
 But the sugar are sweet when the cane you grind, 
 An' it ain't no use complainin'."
 
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