. Thistledown . er the water and throw up a little sprayas she skips along; and she will lead all the others, for Giovan saysthat Brunos boat is the best and fastest on the island. Now aurevoir, mamselle; I must say good night to la madre and Tessa,and then go to my bed, so that I may wake bright and early in themorning. Happy Beppo! thought mamselle, looking after him withloving eyes as he ran away swiftly in the twilight. Amonor the survivors of the dire disaster at Isle de Chene there o are none who will ever forget Sunday, October i, 1893. On thatmorning the sun rose in a cloudless sky out
. Thistledown . er the water and throw up a little sprayas she skips along; and she will lead all the others, for Giovan saysthat Brunos boat is the best and fastest on the island. Now aurevoir, mamselle; I must say good night to la madre and Tessa,and then go to my bed, so that I may wake bright and early in themorning. Happy Beppo! thought mamselle, looking after him withloving eyes as he ran away swiftly in the twilight. Amonor the survivors of the dire disaster at Isle de Chene there o are none who will ever forget Sunday, October i, 1893. On thatmorning the sun rose in a cloudless sky out of a sea of opal andblue. The light breeze that Beppo had wished for just rippled thewater and fluttered the sails of the boats, while there was a cease-less under-swell that lapped the sand softly and gently, rocking thegayly decked little fleet until it was reflected over and over onthe glassy surface. The tender monotone of the sea mingled withthe jubilant songs of birds as they flitted among the branches or. But the prettiest, most gracious picture of all was Beppo and little Tessa. ROSES EVERYWHERE 135 soared away toward the distant blue. The cloudless sky, the un-ruffled sea, were as calm and peaceful as the soul of a saint about towing its way heavenward. As Pere Bonneval paced back and forth on the landing, waitingfor the wedding party to appear, the peace and beauty of the scenefilled his heart with gentle melancholy. Walking along the shorehe had noticed that every house had a festal appearance, and everyperson he met looked gay and happy in their holiday attire. Yet,for some reason that he could not explain, he was oppressed withstrange forebodings. Presently the sound of music broke into the silence and calmthat surrounded him. It was the harmonious strain of a violin andan accordion, rendering with much beauty of expression the inspir-ing air of Santa Lucia. Then he saw a picturesque processionapproaching. First came blind Pierre, the village fiddler, carriedon a
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