er is all gone. Oh--you are--so--good--to me."

"You have suffered much. You have come from a very sad place--but
listen! There will be more joy in heaven over the tear-bathed face of
one repentant sinner than over the white robes of a hundred just men. If
you emerge from that place with thoughts of evil and wrath against
mankind, you are to be pitied; but if you emerge with thoughts of peace
and good will, you are more deserving than any of us. But now, Monsieur,
since you have supped, I will conduct you to your room. This is your
room, sir. May you pass a good night, and to-morrow before you leave us
you must drink a cup of warm milk."

"Ah, is this true? Do you lodge me close to yourself like this? How do
you know that I am not a murderer?"

"That is the concern of the good God. Good night, brother. Good night."

FOOTNOTE:

[78] An adaptation from "Les Miserables," by Lucy Dean Jenkins.

LASCA

ANONYMOUS

I want free life, and I want fresh air;
And I sigh for the canter after the cattle,
The crack of the whips like shots in a battle,
The mellay of horns and hoofs and heads
That wars and wrangles and scatters and spreads;
The green beneath and the blue above,
And dash and danger, and life and love.
And Lasca!

Lasca used to ride
On a mouse-gray mustang close to my side,
With blue _serape_ and bright-belled spur;
I laughed with joy as I looked at her.
Little knew she of books or of creeds;
An _Ave Maria_ sufficed her needs;
Little she cared, save to be by my side,
To ride with me, and ever to ride,
From San Saba's shore to Lavaca's tide.
She was as bold as the billows that beat,
She was as wild as the breezes that blow;
From her little head to her little feet
She was swayed in her suppleness to and fro
By each gust of passion; a sapling pine,
That grows on the edge of a Kansas bluff,
And wars with the wind when the weather is rough
Is like this Lasca, this love of mine.
She would hunger that I might eat,
Would take the bitter and leave me the sweet;
But once, when I made her jealous for fun,
At something I'd whispered, or looked, or done,
One Sunday in San Antonio,
To a glorious girl on the Alamo,
She drew from her belt a dear little dagger,
And--sting of a wasp!--it made me stagger!
An inch to the left, or an inch t