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“I know I’m a fool, Lizabeth Stock,” he said, “I always been a fool for hanging round you for the past twenty years.”

The trouble with Vance is, he’s got no intellect. I believe in my soul Uncle William’s got more. Uncle William advised me to go up to St. Louis and get treated. I been up there. The doctor said, with this cough and short breath, if I know what’s good for me I’ll spend the winter in the South. But the truth is, I got no more money, or so little it don’t count. Putting Danny to school and other things here lately, hasn’t left me much to brag of. But I oughtn’t be blamed about Danny; he’s the only one of sister Martha’s boys that seemed to me capable. And full of ambition to study as he was! It would have felt sinful of me, not to. Of course, I’ve taken him out, now I’ve lost my position. But I got him in with Filmore Green to learn the grocery trade, and maybe it’s all for the best; who knows!

But indeed, indeed, I don’t know what to do. Seems like I’ve come to the end of the rope. O! it’s mighty pleasant here at this south window. The breeze is just as soft and warm as May, and the leaves look like birds flying. I’d like to sit right on here and forget every thing and go to sleep and never wake up. Maybe it’s sinful to make that wish. After all, what I got to do is leave everything in the hands of Providence, and trust to luck.

The Storm

A Sequel to “At the ‘Cadian Ball”

One

THE LEAVES WERE SO STILL that even Bibi thought it was going to rain. Bobinôt, who was accustomed to converse on terms of perfect equality with his little son, called the child’s attention to certain sombre clouds that were rolling with sinister intention from the west, accompanied by a sullen, threatening roar. They were at Friedheimer’s store and decided to remain there till the storm had passed. They sat within the door on two empty kegs. Bibi was four years old and looked very wise.

“Mama’ll be ’fraid, yes,” he suggested with blinking eyes.

“She’ll shut the house. Maybe she got Sylvie helpin’ her this evenin’,” Bobinôt responded reassuringly.

“No; she ent got Sylvie. Sylvie was helpin’ her yistiday,” piped Bibi.

Bobinôt arose and going across to the counter purchased a can of shrimps, of which Calixta was very fond. Then he returned to his perch on the keg and sat stolidly holding the can of shrimps while the storm burst. It shook the wooden store and seemed to be ripping great furrows in the distant field. Bibi laid his little hand on his father’s knee and was not afraid.

Two

CALIXTA, AT HOME, felt no uneasiness for their safety. She sat at a side window sewing furiously on a sewing-machine. She was greatly occupied and did not notice the approaching storm. But she felt very warm and often stopped to mop her face on which the perspiration gathered in beads. She unfastened her white sacque202 at the throat. It began to grow dark, and suddenly realizing the situation she got up hurriedly and went about closing windows and doors.

Out on the small front gallery she had hung Bobinôt’s Sunday clothes to air and she hastened out to gather them before the rain fell. As she stepped outside, Alcée Laballière rode in at the gate. She had not seen him very often since her marriage, and never alone. She stood there with Bobinôt’s coat in her hands, and the big rain drops began to fall. Alcée rode his horse under the shelter of a side projection where the chickens had huddled and there were plows and a harrow203 piled up in the corner.

“May I come and wait on your gallery till the storm is over, Calixta?” he asked.

“Come ‘long in, M’sieur Alcée.”

His voice and her own startled her as if from a trance, and she seized Bobinôt’s vest. Alcée, mounting to the porch, grabbed the trousers and snatched Bibi’s braided jacket that was about to be carried away by a sudden gust of wind. He expressed an intention to remain outside, but it was soon apparent that he might as well have been out in the open: the water beat in upon the boards in driving sheets, and he