F. Clifford Smith - A Lover in Homespun

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A LOVER IN HOMESPUN

AND OTHER STORIES

BY

F. CLIFFORD SMITH

SECOND EDITION

TORONTO:
WILLIAM BRIGGS
29-33 Richmond St. West
MONTREAL: C.W. COATES. HALIFAX: S.F. HUESTIS.
PHILADELPHIA: HENRY ALTEMUS.
1896

ENTERED, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year
one thousand eight hundred and ninety-six, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, at the
Department of Agriculture.

To My Mother,

WHO HAS TAKEN SUCH A WARM AND LOVING
INTEREST IN MY LITERARY ENDEAVORS,

I DEDICATE

MY BOOK OF CANADIAN STORIES.

CONTENTS.

Page

A Lover in Homespun 7

The Faith that Removes Mountains 31

A Pair of Boots 50

A Prairie Episode 79

A Daughter of the Church 105

A Perilous Encounter 125

Le Loup-Garou 134

A Christmas Adventure 148

Narcisse's Friend 155

A Strange Presentiment 170

A Memorable Dinner 184

* * * * *

A Lover in Homespun.

Onesime Charest, farmer, of L'Orignal, was a happy man. As he drove
through the quaint little French-Canadian village, on his way to the
railway station, he was saluted by the villagers with much ceremony.

Everyone knew perfectly well just what it was that was taking farmer
Charest to the station this beautiful hazy afternoon. Over a week had
now elapsed since he received the letter from his son Zotique, in the
United States, saying he would be home on September 10th.

Before the important communication had been in the village a day, it
was common property, and had been read and re-read until almost every
soul in the place knew it off by heart.

The wanderer's return was to be made more momentous by Madame Charest
inviting a large number of guests to a party, to be given by her the
evening he returned.

If these worthy people were in a joyous mood the night of the party,
nature appeared equally so; for by the time the first hay-cart, with
its burden of guests, drove up to the scene of the festivities, the
moon, as though specially engaged to do duty on this honored occasion,
stood right over farmer Charest's house, and with jovial countenance
beamed into the faces of the arriving guests, and threw such a kindly
light over the farmer's rough, nondescript garments as to make them
look almost like good, soft broadcloth. It also paid flattering
attention to Madame Charest, and so beautified her thin face and
silvered her grey hair, as she stood in the door and welcomed the
arrivals, as to make the neighbors affirm--and that in a manner that
it would have been utterly useless to try and gainsay--that she looked
far younger than she did ten years ago!

The lion of the hour, of course, was the wanderer Zotique. He stood in
the main room of the house, the kitchen, near the long improvised
table, with its burden of seductive viands, and shook hands with the
guests without even the slightest tinge of the superiority which it
was thought he would, and that justly, assume.

Notwithstanding his graciousness, however, he was looked upon with no
little awe. He had grown so tall, got so broad-shouldered, become the
owner of such a soft, curling moustache, and wore such fine clothes
and white linen as to quite throw in the shade his elder brother
Vital, and the other men present, who wore, as was customary on all
occasions--state or otherwise--the dark woollen suits and grey woollen
shirts, with the long pointed, attached collars.

Had Zotique not been a sensible fellow, he would surely have had his
head turned by the many flattering things said to him.

It so chanced, too, that remarks were passed about him to his parents
and brother, _sotto voce_, which, strange as it may appear, managed in
some unaccountable manner always to reach his ears.

"He certainly has grown good-looking, very good-looking," thought
Vital, as he hovered about his younger brother. Although he was
sincerely glad to see him, he could not altogether drive away the
shameful wish that he had been less handsome. When he thought of what
it was that gave rise to the wish, he felt ill at ease.

Vital, in every way, was different from his tall younger brother. He
was slimly built, scarcely the average height, and not prone to many
words. He was given to day-dreams, too, and often did such
absent-minded things as to cause his father much mental perturbation,
and at times to wish that he had not given him so much schooling, but
had trained him for a farmer instead of a school-teacher. Still he was
immensely proud of his two sons, and as he saw them standing together,
he decided that they looked far superior to the other farmers' sons,
who had been given little or no education.

The wanderer Zotique was only twenty-two years of age, while Vital had
turned thirty.

As the minutes stole by, and the babel of tongues increased, it might
have been noticed that both the brothers stole anxious glances at the
door. Every time it opened they invariably turned to see who the
arrival was. There must have been some weighty reasons for the
frequent disappointed looks which stole across their faces.

At last the guests had nearly all arrived, and farmer Charest, his
good-natured face all aglow, intimated by much hammering on the table
that it was time they sat down to supper. There being no dissenting
voice to this popular proposition, a general move was made to the
benches ranged on both sides of the table. By a strange coincidence,
Zotique and Vital, instead of going to the table with the others,
gravitated toward the door.

"Just thought I would have a look out; it is such a fine night," said
Zotique, as he took a long breath of fresh air.

Vital looked at his robust brother in a queer, constrained manner, and
said that it was indeed a beautiful evening. Now, instead of looking
up at the queen of the night, as one would naturally have expected
after such flattering comments, they both, as though by common
consent, treated her with the most marked disrespect, not once looking
toward her, but bestowing all their attention on a certain little
whitewashed cottage down the road, from a window of which streamed a
light.

"I think we had better go in," said Zotique, presently, in a slightly
disappointed tone.

"Yes, yes, Zotique, what you say is right; there never was a finer
night," answered Vital, dreamily, his eyes still fixed thoughtfully on
the cottage. He was in one of his absent moods, and had not heard
what his brother had said.

Zotique turned, looked sharply at him, and then broke into a hearty
laugh. "You are as absent-minded as ever, Vital," he said jestingly,
as he seized him by the arm and marched him into the room.

The guests were seated, but there was still room for four or five
more. After jeering them both for being moon-gazers, farmer Charest
called Zotique to come and sit by his side. Vital, thus being left
alone, wandered off to the foot of the table, and sat down by the side
of an old farmer, where there was plenty of room. What made him go so
far for a seat when there were others nearer, though not so roomy,
will presently be seen. Hardly had he seated himself when he did an
unaccountable thing. Sitting as close as he could get to the farmer on
his right, he stealthily ran his hand along the bench till it reached
his neighbor on his left. The intervening space evidently was
satisfactory, for a look of content came over his face, and he turned
and looked once more expectantly at the door.

Scarcely had the repast begun when the door was quickly opened, and a
young woman, clad in a bewitching white dress, burst into the room.
She was out of breath, and had evidently been running.

"Do you know, Madame Charest," she said laughingly, as she advanced,
"the reason I am late is--because--well, because"--the color rushed
into her face as she hesitated for a few moments--"because it took me
so long to dress. There, now, I have told you! Father said he would
tell you all when he came just what did keep me, although I coaxed him
not to. Now I have spoiled the joke he was going to have on me, and we
can laugh at him."

This audacious thwarting of parental plans caused much laughter,
during which Zotique sprang to his feet, and going over to where she
was standing, and laughing merrily, held out his hand and said, "Have
you no word of welcome for me, Katie White?"

She put her hand into the outstretched one, and looking up into his
face with her bright blue eyes, told him that she was very much
pleased to see him.

Vital, who had seen her the very moment the door opened, had risen
with alacrity, and in the hope that she would see the vacant seat by
his side, was unconsciously crushing the hapless farmer on his right
into a most uncomfortable position. The hopeful, expectant look on
Vital's face deserved far better recognition than it was awarded.

Despite the fact that there was but little room where Zotique was
sitting, the shameless, prevaricating fellow impressed upon her that
seats in that particular quarter were actually going begging.

For a few moments Katie hesitated as though she hardly knew what to
do. Absent-minded Vital was still standing and looking at her, his
whole heart in his eyes.

"Yes, I will sit next to you; it was very kind of you to take such
interest in getting me a seat."

Poor Vital! As he heard these ominous words, saw her look up and smile
at Zotique, and after great crushing sit down by his side, all the
pleasure of eating left him entirely.

As the good things began to disappear and tongues were loosened,
unobtrusive Vital seemed to be entirely forgotten, except by the
neighbor whom he had so cruelly crowded. Had it not been for this
kindly, unrevengeful soul, Vital's inner man would have been in as
beggarly a condition at the conclusion of the meal as at the
beginning. As it was, it received but scant attention. Seeing the
poverty of his plate, without asking leave, the farmer generously
filled it.

This act of kindness brought Vital's thoughts to a sudden halt, and
made him feel ashamed of the interest he had been displaying in all
the young woman, seated at his brother's side, had been doing and
saying. With a firm determination no longer to slight his plate, he
turned his attention to it, but had scarcely eaten two mouthfuls when
his treacherous thoughts stole off to Katie again. Absently laying his
knife and fork down, he was soon unconscious of all that was going on
around him.

His friendly neighbor decided it would be a most opportune time to
pass the salt, and thus give him another hint that he was losing much
valuable time.

"Oh, thank you," said Vital, absently, as he took the salt and
proceeded to distribute it over his meat in such reckless quantities
as to completely entomb the latter. For a space the farmer looked
aghast, and then, with a mystified shake of his head, turned his
attention to his own affairs, and did not look at him again till the
time for speech-making had arrived. Then, to his consternation, he saw
Vital had not made the slightest effort to extricate the hapless meat
from its strange covering. Besides the farmer, another person had
witnessed the adventures of Vital's plate!

After considerable solicitation and stimulating applause, farmer
Charest rose to deliver the first speech. "As dare are," he began in
broken English, "a few farmer here who not spick de French lanwige, I
will try for spick a few words in Anglish. I know I not spick de
lanwige vary much, but my son Zotique, who just come from de States,
he spick Anglish just so well as de Anglish, and so he mak you spich
better dan I mak."

He turned and laid his hand affectionately on Zotique's head. Zotique
colored at the unexpected compliment, and looking down into Miss Katie
White's bright blue eyes, smiled, and shook his head deprecatingly.
She looked up, smiled, and nodded her compact little head, as though
she thought the compliment was fully deserved.

Vital, who had eyes for only one person in the room, saw the look
Zotique gave her, and her apparent appreciation of it, and longed to
be out in the little garden at the back of the house.

"I not mak some vary long spich," went on the orator, "as I know dat
you all rather have de dance. Den I see, too, dat my friend Magloire
Meloche, down dare, he look many time at de fiddle he brought and hang
on de wall." This bantering allusion to the veteran fiddle-player of
the district caused a hearty outburst of laughter and applause.

"All I want for say," continued the speaker, rubbing his hands briskly
with gratified pride, "is dat me and my _femme_ we both glad dat my
son Zotique he come from de States to pay us de visit. My son he do
well in de States, where dare is vary much place for work. When he
write to say dat he pay us de visit, my _femme_, she say she mak dis
little pleasure so dat you all see him. My son Zotique he now spick."

Had farmer Charest been a second "Mark Antony," the recognition of his
oratorical ability could not have been more marked. Certain it is that
that renowned orator could not have borne more becomingly the honors
showered upon him.

Very handsome Zotique looked as he rose, and he spoke in English which
fully justified the goodly remarks passed upon it by his father.
Vital's heart beat fast with pride as he looked at his handsome
brother, until it occurred to him how insignificant Katie White must
think him in comparison.

Before Zotique had spoken many words, he had completely won the hearts
of his hearers. Quite fluently he told them of the cities he had
visited in the States, and how a grocery clerk's life was one much to
be desired. He interspersed little jokes in his speech, at which he
laughed just as heartily and sincerely as his listeners. More than
once he was on the point of concluding, when a glance at Katie White's
sweet face incited him to fresh efforts.

It was a speech remembered and spoken of for many days.

Before the dancing began, farmer Charest declared, despite the
increasing and obvious restlessness of Magloire Meloche to get at the
fiddle, that they must have a speech, in English, from his eldest son
Vital. "And my son Vital, he has mak me a good son, if he do like to
tink alone too much, and sometime do forgetful ting." Very
affectionate was the look he gave Vital, who had been with him always,
and for whom it was not necessary to kill the fatted calf.

If there was anything Vital was an adept at not doing, it was making a
speech in English. He was considered quite clever at playing the organ
in the little village church, singing the mass, teaching school, and a
hundred other things, but at speaking English he was known as an
arrant failure.

For a few moments he stood struggling hard to regain his composure,
and ardently wishing that Katie were at his side to inspire him as she
had inspired his brother. Finally, he launched forth, to the quiet
amusement of the few English farmers present. Truly, he took liberties
with the language seldom attempted even by French-Canadians, to whom
the Saxon tongue appears to have no terrors. Yet, had he spoken in
Dutch, he would have been listened to just as patiently, for all
present knew and appreciated his quiet worth. After accomplishing the
feat of letting them know, at least half a dozen times, that he was
glad once more to see his brother with them, he got hopelessly
wrecked, and gazed hard at his plate for inspiration. Finding no
succor there, his thoughts again galloped off to the young woman who
had come late, where they evidently delighted to linger. A peaceful
smile stole over the speaker's worried face, and absently taking up
his fork he began to drum contentedly on the table with it, utterly
forgetful of those who were waiting anxiously for the remainder of his
remarks.

With a broad smile, farmer Charest began to applaud loudly, receiving
generous aid from the guests.

This unexpected appreciation caused Vital to color painfully, well
intentioned though he knew the applause to be. The thought that Katie
must be again contrasting him with Zotique kept the crimson hue on his
face long after he sat down. The few remaining words which he spoke
were in continued praise of his brother, of whose cleverness both he
and his parents were very proud.

After the clapping of hands had subsided, the table was carried away
to make room for the dancing.

Feeling that he had utterly disgraced himself in Katie's eyes, Vital
wandered off to a quiet corner where he could see her without
attracting attention. It seemed to him, once or twice, that she looked
over inquiringly in his direction, but the thought that it was
presumptuous of him to imagine she would think of him now, made him
quickly decide that he had been mistaken as to the direction of her
glances. He was also convinced now that he had made a still more
serious mistake when he allowed himself to hope that she had
cherished tender thoughts of the many walks they had taken along the
quiet country road, and of the evenings he had spent with her.

Fearing to be thought unsociable, he rose hastily, and was soon
talking to the guests with unusual eagerness. His sudden lapses into
thought, however, created the impression in the minds of some of his
listeners that he was laboring under suppressed excitement.

At times, when he found himself drifting unconsciously toward Katie,
it was amusing to see what a hasty retreat he would beat.

As for Zotique, he had never enjoyed himself more. Scarcely for a
moment did he leave Katie's side. Brightly he talked to her of their
school-days and of the many pleasant parties they had met at before he
went away. When, presently, he asked her about a certain little
present which he had sent her a few months before, his voice grew very
tender, as also indeed did his eyes. It took considerable questioning
before she admitted that she had not parted with it. After this slight
admission he grew more chatty than ever, and failed to notice that her
manner was growing a little constrained.

Finally the floor was cleared, and Magloire Meloche, with much
dignity, took down the doughty fiddle, seated himself, cast his eyes
calmly over the expectant guests, and began slowly to tune up. From
the expression of his face, it was quite apparent that he had a keen
appreciation of the important part he had been called upon to occupy
in the evening's festivities. Besides constituting the entire
orchestra, he was floor manager, and called out the figures. The gusto
with which he cried out, "Swing your pardner! Now tak de hand all
round," etc., and beat time with his huge moccasined foot, added in no
inconsiderable degree to the excitement.

It being well known that Vital did not dance, no comments were passed
upon his absence. The poor fellow had tried to stay and watch the
dancing, but the pain at his heart had grown so, on seeing Zotique's
arm around her waist, that he really could not endure it, and so had
gone out to the little garden at the back of the house, and was
sitting on his favorite seat under a huge birch tree, whose thick
foliage the inquisitive moon could scarcely pierce.

Through the open kitchen door there floated to him at intervals the
playing of the fiddle, and the commanding tones of Magloire Meloche.

Finally the music ceased, and some of the dancers came out into the
garden to view the beauty of the night. Vital was just in the act of
rising, when a couple, whom he recognized as his brother and Katie
White, came within a few yards of him. Where he sat, the shadows were
too deep for them to see him.

Before he could escape, they paused for a few moments near the outer
branches of the great birch, where the lavish moon beamed clear as
noonday. Their faces were distinctly revealed. Zotique's bore an
intensely eager look, while Katie's was strangely agitated. They were
talking earnestly. Dreading they might think he was eaves-dropping,
Vital was about to make his presence known, when they began slowly to
move away, and there fell upon his ears words that bereft him of
speech. It was his brother's voice, low and pleading: "Before I went
away I loved you, and I have loved you ever since. I was so anxious to
see you, that I came back. You are surprised at me telling you
to-night; but I can only stay a few days. If you will only give me
your promise, I--"

The voice died away in the distance.

The shadows where Vital stood suddenly assumed a more sombre hue, and
widened and deepened and spread, until the whole garden was enveloped
in a funereal pall.

The ancient garden seat groaned audibly as he sank back heavily upon
it; the shock drove the gathering blackness away. Never in his life
before had he been so sorely moved; his pale face had almost a ghastly
hue, while his hands shook painfully. He rose mechanically and passed
out into the moonlight, and looked around absently. There was no one
in sight, and all was quiet. He began to move in the direction of the
house. He appeared to have forgotten all about the festivities; he was
simply weary, and was going home to rest.

"Tak your pardners for de nex' waltz!" A moment of preliminary
scraping, then the tune, and finally the muffled scuffling of feet
fell upon his ears. Then it all came back to him, and turning
hurriedly, he walked away from the house to the far end of the garden.
Resting his arms on the fence, he stood bathed in the moonlight,
trying to think it all out calmly, and get courage to return and act
as though nothing had happened. While he stood battling with his
rebellious heart, he might have noticed, had he been facing the house,
a young woman, dressed in white, come to the door soon after the dance
had started, and look around the garden as if searching for someone.
Finally her eyes travelled to the far end of the garden, where a
lonely, despondent-looking figure was standing, and then she started
eagerly forward. Very lovely was the color in her cheeks as she sped
toward him. As she was about to lay her hand on his arm she appeared
to grow irresolute. She paused and looked back at the house as though
meditating upon the advisability of returning, and actually did take a
few steps towards it, but again hesitated and looked back; the
pathetic droop of his shoulders affected her keenly, and she stole
back to him again. Bending her little head till it was near his, she
said softly: "Dreaming again, Vital?"

The foolish fellow turned and looked at her as though he had utterly
abandoned all faith in the veracity of his hitherto faithful eyes:
"Katie! Katie White!" he exclaimed.

She laughed outright. "Yes, Katie White. Did you think it was my
ghost? Of course, if you are not glad to see me, and would rather be
alone, I can go back to the house again."

Sly Katie!

It was marvellous the way the look of misery fled from his face, while
the sudden growth of his friendliness was nothing less than
astounding. Taking her little hand in his he shook it repeatedly, and
impressed upon her, over and over again, that he had never been more
surprised in his life.

Suddenly she put on a most serious look, and leaning back against the
fence, looked up into his face and said gravely: "Even if you don't
dance, Vital, I think it was a little rude of you to leave the house
for so long, and scarcely speak to anyone the whole evening. And the
way you acted, too, at dinner, Vital! I can't understand it."

In the happiness of having Katie near him, he had forgotten all about
the scene he had witnessed near the great birch tree, and the dreadful
words that had floated to him, and had almost stopped the beating of
his heart. Of course, she was his brother's now. How foolishly he had
been acting, and how painful to her must have been his extravagant joy
at seeing her. The reference she had made to the dinner made his
humiliation still keener to bear, for he thought she alluded to his
unhappy speech.

The sudden flight of happiness from his face made her own grow grave,
and she drew a little closer to him; but in his humiliation he did not
notice it. He thought she was haughtily waiting for him to speak. In
his quaint halting English he began to tell her that he feared he had
been most discourteous. The truth was he had "not meant to stay away
so long, but had got thinking of--of--"

"Thinking of what, Vital?"

Was he mistaken? Was not that a kindly ring in her voice? It was hard
to keep his eyes from her face. Then he thought of his brother, and he
was sure his ears had deceived him. After a painful pause, he answered
that he had been thinking of many things. Not for a moment did he
dream of letting her know that she had been the magnet around which
all his thoughts had revolved. Then he began to explain about that
speech. Hardly had he begun to apologize for his lack of oratorical
ability, when a pained expression swept across Katie's face, and she
was about to reproach him for thinking she would be so ungenerous as
to upbraid him for such a thing, when a spirit of mischief entered her
heart, and putting on a serious air she let him continue. He finally
wound up by praising his brother's wonderful gift of speech.

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