Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
Book online «Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ». Author Kate Chopin
âItâs jis like you say, Fifine,â murmured old ClĂ©ophas, huskily, when he had played upon the new fiddle that night. âItâs one fine fiddle; anâ like you say, it shineâ like satin. But some way or udder, ât ainâ de same. Yair, Fifine, take itâ âput it âside. I bâlieve, me, I ainâ goinâ play de fiddle no moâ.â
BoulĂŽt and BoulotteWhen BoulĂŽt and Boulotte, the little piny-wood twins, had reached the dignified age of twelve, it was decided in family council that the time had come for them to put their little naked feet into shoes. They were two brown-skinned, black-eyed âCadian roly-polies, who lived with father and mother and a troop of brothers and sisters halfway up the hill, in a neat log cabin that had a substantial mud chimney at one end. They could well afford shoes now, for they had saved many a picayune through their industry of selling wild grapes, blackberries, and âsocoesâ to ladies in the village who âput upâ such things.
BoulĂŽt and Boulotte were to buy the shoes themselves, and they selected a Saturday afternoon for the important transaction, for that is the great shopping time in Natchitoches Parish. So upon a bright Saturday afternoon BoulĂŽt and Boulotte, hand in hand, with their quarters, their dimes, and their picayunes tied carefully in a Sunday handkerchief, descended the hill, and disappeared from the gaze of the eager group that had assembled to see them go.
Long before it was time for their return, this same small band, with ten year old Seraphine at their head, holding a tiny Seraphin in her arms, had stationed themselves in a row before the cabin at a convenient point from which to make quick and careful observation.
Even before the two could be caught sight of, their chattering voices were heard down by the spring, where they had doubtless stopped to drink. The voices grew more and more audible. Then, through the branches of the young pines, Boulotteâs blue sunbonnet appeared, and BoulĂŽtâs straw hat. Finally the twins, hand in hand, stepped into the clearing in full view.
Consternation seized the band.
âYou bof crazy donc, BoulĂŽt anâ Boulotte,â screamed Seraphine. âYou go buy shoes, anâ come home barefeet like you was go!â
BoulĂŽt flushed crimson. He silently hung his head, and looked sheepishly down at his bare feet, then at the fine stout brogans that he carried in his hand. He had not thought of it.
Boulotte also carried shoes, but of the glossiest, with the highest of heels and brightest of buttons. But she was not one to be disconcerted or to look sheepish; far from it.
âYou âspecâ BoulĂŽt anâ me we got money fur wasâeâ âus?â she retorted, with withering condescension. âYou think we go buy shoes fur ruin it in de dusâ? Comment!â
And they all walked into the house crestfallen; all but Boulotte, who was mistress of the situation, and Seraphin, who did not care one way or the other.
Love on the Bon-DieuUpon the pleasant veranda of PĂšre Antoineâs cottage, that adjoined the church, a young girl had long been seated, awaiting his return. It was the eve of Easter Sunday, and since early afternoon the priest had been engaged in hearing the confessions of those who wished to make their Easters the following day. The girl did not seem impatient at his delay; on the contrary, it was very restful to her to lie back in the big chair she had found there, and peep through the thick curtain of vines at the people who occasionally passed along the village street.
She was slender, with a frailness that indicated lack of wholesome and plentiful nourishment. A pathetic, uneasy look was in her gray eyes, and even faintly stamped her features, which were fine and delicate. In lieu of a hat, a barĂšge veil covered her light brown and abundant hair. She wore a coarse white cotton âjosie,â and a blue calico skirt that only half concealed her tattered shoes.
As she sat there, she held carefully in her lap a parcel of eggs securely fastened in a red bandana handkerchief.
Twice already a handsome, stalwart young man in quest of the priest had entered the yard, and penetrated to where she sat. At first they had exchanged the uncompromising âhowdyâ of strangers, and nothing more. The second time, finding the priest still absent, he hesitated to go at once. Instead, he stood upon the step, and narrowing his brown eyes, gazed beyond the river, off towards the west, where a murky streak of mist was spreading across the sun.
âIt look like moâ rain,â he remarked, slowly and carelessly.
âWe done had âbout ânough,â she replied, in much the same tone.
âItâs no chance to thin out the cotton,â he went on.
âAnâ the Bon-Dieu,â she resumed, âitâs onây today you can cross him on foot.â
âYou live yonda on the Bon-Dieu, donc?â he asked, looking at her for the first time since he had spoken.
âYas, by Nid dâHibout, mâsieur.â
Instinctive courtesy held him from questioning her further. But he seated himself on the step, evidently determined to wait there for the priest. He said no more, but sat scanning critically the steps, the porch, and pillar beside him, from which he occasionally tore away little pieces of detached wood, where it was beginning to rot at its base.
A click at the side gate that communicated with the churchyard soon announced PĂšre Antoineâs return. He came hurriedly across the garden-path, between the tall, lusty rosebushes that lined either side of it, which were now fragrant with blossoms. His long, flapping cassock added something of
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