limbed to the summit of the rock, and laying down the boy, kindled a
fire of driftwood. "I may see his face," he muttered. "The last of my
line! The English cross shows! The strain shows! I must wash it out!
Hush, my little one, thy grandfather guards thee; soon shalt thou
sleep in my arms--arms that cradled thy father, and shall hold thee
forever. I, who was ever gentle, who spared the birds and beasts, and
sorrowed with the trapped beaver, will spare thee, too, my baby--will
save thee from thy father. Here where the wind speaks of freedom; here
where the river even in its anger, as to-night, whispers peace; here
where Deschamps worked and hoped; here where Deschamps sorrowed and
mourned; here, little one, shall we rest together. Child, for you and
me life means disgrace; the better part is death and freedom."

A leap from the rock! The baptismal robes, fluttering white like
angels' wings, dipped to the surface and disappeared. The race of
Deschamps was ended. The black water of Saguenay was its pall, the
storm its requiem.

THE THOUSAND DOLLAR NOTE

The three men who sat together around the little library table of the
Rectory felt the unpleasant tension of a half-minute of dead silence.
The big burly one, with his feet planted straight on the carpet,
passed his tongue over his lips and nervously folded and opened the
paper in his hands. The tall young chap with creased trousers kept
crossing and re-crossing his legs. Neither of them looked at the young
priest, who ten minutes before had welcomed them with a merry laugh
and had placed them in the most comfortable chairs of his little
bookish den, as cordially as if they were the best friends he had in
the world. Now the young priest looked old and the half-minute had
done it. He was just an enthusiastic boy when the contractor and
architect arrived; but he was a care-filled man now, as he sat and
nervously passed a handkerchief over his forehead, to find it wet,
though the room was none too warm. He seemed to be surmounting an
actual physical barrier when he spoke to the big man.

"I do not quite see, Mr. McMurray" (it had been "John" ten minutes
before), "I do not quite see," he repeated anxiously, "how I can owe
you so much. You know our contract was plain, and the bid that I
accepted from you was six thousand eight hundred dollars."

"Yes, sur; yes, sur; it was, sur," answered McMurray with shifting
embarrassment, "but you know these other things were e