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Project Gutenberg's The Mothers Of Honore, by Mary Hartwell Catherwood This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Mothers Of Honore From "Mackinac And Lake Stories", 1899 Author: Mary Hartwell Catherwood Release Date: October 30, 2007 [EBook #23253] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOTHERS OF HONORE *** Produced by David Widger THE MOTHERS OF HONORE From "Mackinac And Lake Stories", 1899 By Mary Hartwell Catherwood The sun was shining again after squalls, and the strait showed violet, green, red, and bronze lines, melting and intermingling each changing second. Metallic lustres shone as if some volcanic fountain on the lake-bed were spraying the surface. Jules McCarty stood at his gate, noting this change in the weather with one eye. He was a small, old man, having the appearance of a mummied boy. His cheek-bones shone apple-red, and his partial blindness had merely the effect of a prolonged wink. Jules was keeping melancholy holiday in his best clothes, the well-preserved coat parting its jaunty tails a little below the middle of his back. Another old islander paused at the gate in passing, The two men shook their heads at each other. "I went to your wife's funeral this morning, Jules," said the passer, impressing on the widower's hearing an important fact which might have escaped his one eye. "You was at de funer'l? Did you see Therese?" "Yes, I saw her." "Ah, what a fat woman dat was! I make some of de peop' feel her arm. I feed her well." The other old man smiled, but he was bound to say, "I'm sorry for you, Jules." "Did you see me at de church?" "Yes, I went to the church." "You t'ink I feel bad--eh?" "I thought you felt pretty bad." "You go to de graveyard, too?" "No," admitted his sympathizer, reluctantly, "I didn't go to the graveyard." "But dat was de fines'. You ought see me at de graveyard. You t'ink I feel bad at de church--I raise hell at de graveyard." The friend shuffled his feet and coughed behind his hand. "Yes, I feel bad, me," ruminated the bereaved man. "You get used to some woman in de house and not know where to get anodder." "Hav
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