hearts that tithes
might not be withheld, and the faithful rewarded. Then they went to the
Fulcher farm, where, in a chapel not much more than a shrine, the
service was again said with the people kneeling around in the grass. The
farmers and good housewives placed more faith in this than in the
methods of the newcomers with their American wisdom. But it was a
pleasing service. The procession changed about a little,--the young men
walking with the demoiselles and whispering in their listening ears.

Jeanne was with them. Madame De Ber was quite gracious, and Marie Beeson
singled her out. It had been a cold winter and a backward spring and
Marie had not gone anywhere. Tony was so exigent, and she laughed and
bridled. It was a very happy thing to be married and have some one care
for you. And soon she would give a tea drinking and she would send for
Jeanne, who must be sure to come.

But Jeanne had a strange, dreary feeling. She seemed between everything,
no longer a child and not a woman, not a part of the Church, not a part
of anything. She felt afraid of the future. Oh, what was her share of
the bright, beautiful world?

CHAPTER X.

BLOOMS OF THE MAY.

The spring came in with a quickening glory. A fortnight ago the snow was
everywhere, the skaters were still out on the streams, the young fellows
having rough snowballing matches, then suddenly one morning the white
blanket turned a faint, sickly, soft gray, and withered. The pallid
skies grew blue, the brown earth showed in patches, there were cheerful
sounds from the long-housed animals, rivulets were all afloat running in
haste to swell the streams, and from thence to the river and the lakes.

The tiny rings of fir and juniper brightened, the pine branches swelled
with great furry buds, bursting open into pale green tassels that moved
with every breath of wind. The hemlocks shot out feathery fronds, the
spruce spikes of bluish green, the maples shook around red blossoms and
then uncurled tiny leaves. The hickories budded in a strange, pale
yellow, but the oaks stood sturdy with some of the winter's brown leaves
clinging to them.

The long farms outside the stockade awoke to new vigor as well.
Everybody set to work, for the summer heats would soon be upon them, and
the season was short. There was a stir in the town proper, as well.

And now, at mid-May, when some of the crops were in, there was a day of
merrymaking, beginning with a procession and a ble