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Show The Lime Burner By Sir Gilbert Parker. For a man in whose life there had been tragedy, trag-edy, he was cheerful. He had a habit of humming hum-ming vague notes in the silence of conversation, 4 as if to put you at your ease. His body and face were lean and arid, his eyes oblique and small, his hair straight and dry and straw-colored; and it flew out, crackling with electricity, to meet his cap as he put it on. He lived alone in a little hut near his lime-kiln by the river, with no near neighbors, and few companions save his four dogs, and these ho fed sometime at the expense of his stomach. He had just enough crude poetry in his nature to enjoy his surroundings. surround-ings. For he was well placed. Behind the limekiln, lime-kiln, rose knoll on knoll, and beyond these, the verdant hills, all converging to Dalgrothe mountain. moun-tain. In front of It was the river, with its banks u dropping forty feet, and below the rapids, always troubled and sportive. On the farther side of the river, lay peaceful areas of meadow and corn land, and the rest, having a windmill and a flagstaff. flag-staff. This building was almost large enough for a manor, and indeed it was said that it had been built for one just before the conquest in 1759, but the war had destroyed the ambitious owner, and it had become a farmhouse. Carrote always knew the time of day by the way the light fell on the windmill. He had owned this farm once, he and his brother iFablan, and he had loved it as he loved Fabian, and he loved it now as he loved Fabian's memory. And in spite of all, they were cheerful memories, both of brother and house. At twenty-three they were orphans, with two hundred acres of land, some cash, horses, and cattle, plenty of credit in the parish, or in the county, for that matter. Both were of hearty dispositions, dis-positions, but Fabian had a taste for liquor, and Henri for pretty faces and shapely ankles. Yet no one thought the worse of them for that, especially es-pecially at first. An old servant kept house for them and cared for them in her honest way, both physically and morally. She lectured them when at first there was little to lecture about. It is no wonder that, when there came a vast deal to reprove, good Agathia desisted altogether, overwhelmed by the weight of it. Henri got a shock the day before their father died, when he saw Fabian lift the brandy used to mix with the milk of the dying man, and ' pouring out the third of a tumbler, drink it off, smacking his lips, as ho did so, as though It were a cordial. That gave him a cue to his future fu-ture and to Fabian's. After their father died, Fabian gave way to the vice. He drank in the taverns, he was at once the despair and the joy of the parish; for wild as he was, he had a gay temper, a numerous mind, a strong arm, and was the universal lover. The cure, who did not, of course, know one-fourth of his wildness, had a warm spot for him in his heart. But there was a vicious streak in him somewhere, and It came out in a perilous fashion. There was in the hotel of the Louis Quinze, an English servant from the west, called Nell Barraway. She had been in a hotel in Montreal, and it was there Fabian had seen her as she waited on table. She was a splendid-looking creature, crea-ture, all life and energy, tall, fair-haired, and with a charm above her kind. She was also an excellent ex-cellent servant, could do as much as any two women in the house, and was capable of more airy diablerie than any ten in Potiac. When Fabian Fa-bian had said to her in Montreal that he would come he told her where he lived. She came to " see him instead, for she wrote to the landlord of the Louis Quinze, inclosed five testimonials, and was immediately engaged. She came, and Fabian was stunned when he entered the Louis Qulnzo and saw her waiting on table, alert, busy, good to see. She nodded at him with a quick smile f as ho stood bowildered juBt inside the door, then said in English, for ho understood it "fairly: "This way, monsieur." As he sat down, ho said in English also, with a laugh and with snapping eyes: "Good Lord! what brings you here, Ladybird " As she pushed a chair under him, she almost hissed through his hair, "You!" and then was gone away to fetch pot au feu for six hungry men. The Louis Quinze did more business in three months than it had done before in six. But it became known among a few in Pontiac that Nell was notorious. How it had crept up from Montreal, Mont-real, no one knew, and when the report did come, her name was very intimately associated with Fabian's. Fa-bian's. No one could say that her life in Pontiac Ponti-ac had not been exemplary. Yet wise people had made up their minds that she was determined to marry Fabian, and the wisest declared that Bhe would in spite of everything religion (she waB a Protestant), character, race. She was clever as the young seigneur found, as the little avocat was forced to admit, as the cure allowed with a sigh and she had no airs of badness at all and very little of usual coquetry. Fabian was enamored, and it was clear that he intended to bring the woman to the manor, one way or another. an-other. Henri admitted the fascination of the woman, felt it despaired, went to Montreal, got proof of the career, came back, and made his final and only effort to turn his brother from the girl. He had. waited an hour outside the hotel, and when Fabian got in, drove on without a word. After a while, Fabian who was in high spirits, said: "Open your mouth, Henri. Come along sleepyhead." sleepy-head." Straightway he began to sing a rollicking song, and Henri joined in with him, heartily, for the spirit of 'Fabian's humor was contagious: "There was a foolish little man, The foolish Guilleri, Carabi. He went unto the chase, Of partridges the chase. Carabi, Tita Carabi, Toto Carabo, You're going to break your neck, My lovely Guelleri." when Henri stopped him, saying, "You're going to break your neck, Fabian." "Wlhat's up, Henri?" was the reply. "You're drinking hard and you don't keep good company." ' There was a little man, The foolish Guilleri, Carabi. He went unto the chase, Of partridges the chase. Titi Carabi, Toto Carabo, You're going to break your neck, My lovely Guilleri." He was about to begin another verse, when Henri stopped him, saying: "You're going to break you're neck, Fabian." "What's up, Henri?" was the reply. "You're drinking hard, and you don't keep good company." Fabian laughed. "Can't get the company I want, must have what 1 can get, Henri, my the rock-a-bye." "Must. Born in me. Love it like cream from dear." "Don't drink." Henri laid his free hand on Fabian's knee. Henri sighed. "That's the drink, 'Fabian," he said patiently. |