coolly. The old man did so abstractedly. When the pipe was
lighted, Pierre said: "Now!"

"I have never told the story, never--not even to Pere Corraine. But
I know, I have it here"--he put his hand to his forehead, as did
Pierre--"that you will be silent." Pierre nodded.

"She was fine to see. Her eyes were black as beads; and when she laugh
it was all music. I was so happy! We lived on the island of the Aux
Coudres, far up there at Quebec. It was a wild place. There were
smugglers and others there--maybe pirates. But she was like a saint of
God among all. I was lucky man. I was pilot, and took ships out to sea,
and brought them in safe up the gulf. It is not all easy, for there are
mad places. Once or twice when a wild storm was on I could not land at
Cap Martin, and was carried out to sea and over to France.... Well, that
was not so bad; there was plenty to eat and drink, nothing to do. But
when I marry it was differen'. I was afraid of being carried away and
leave my wife--the belle Mamette--alone long time. You see, I was young,
and she was ver' beautiful."

He paused and caught his hand over his mouth as though to stop a sound:
the lines of his face deepened. Presently he puffed his pipe so hard
that the smoke and the sparks hid him in a cloud through which he spoke.
"When the child was born--Holy Mother! have you ever felt the hand of
your own child in yours, and looked at the mother, as she lies there all
pale and shining between the quilts?"

He paused. Pierre's eyes dropped to the floor. Gaspard continued: "Well,
it is a great thing, and the babe was born quick one day when we were
all alone. A thing like that gives you wonder. Then I could not bear to
go away with the ships, and at last I said: 'One month, and then the
ice fills the gulf, and there will be no more ships for the winter.
That will be the last for me. I will be pilot no more-no.' She was ver'
happy, and a laugh ran over her little white teeth. Mon Dieu, I stop
that laugh pretty quick--in fine way!"

He seemed for an instant to forget his great trouble, and his face went
to warm sunshine like a boy's; but it was as sun playing on a scarred
fortress. Presently the light faded out of his face and left it like
iron smouldering from the bellows.

"Well," he said, "you see there was a ship to go almost the last of the
season, and I said to my wife, 'Mamette, it is the last time I shall be
pilot. You must come with me and bring the child, and they