de devil, Felix. Not to-night, anyhow."

"I di'n' done dat, Adolphe. No! Pas du tout. Not at all. H'only, I say, me, I would pray to de devil if he could help us out."

He laughed and shrugged his shoulders as he added recklessly:

"Yas, I would be one mud-catfish caught on his forked tail—just for to-night—an' let him drag me behind him in de river, if—"

"But you mus' ricollec', de devil he don't play wid water, Felix. Fire is his—fire an' brimstone—"

"Ah-h-h! Bah, Adolphe! Who is trying to talk sense to-night? Dose row of warehouse yonder, dey are all full, an' on my one pair shoulder. My li'l' crop is not'ing. I got in doze warehouse, waiting for a sure rise in de market—all on my obstinate judgment—everyt'ing of my brudder, my t'ree cousin, my wife, my mud'-in-law,—just t'ink!—not to speak about t'irty-five or forty small consignment. Sure! I would pray to anyt'ing to-night—to save dem. I would pray to one crawfish not to work dis way. Dem crawfish hole is de devil.

"But dat St. Joseph in my pocket! My mudder, I am sure she put it dere. She an' my sisters, dey will all kneel many hours at deir prie-dieux to-night—po' t'ings!"

"An' yo' wife—she also, of co'se—"

"My wife?" The man chuckled. "Pff! Ah, no! She is at de opera. She knows I am watching de river. She believe it cannot run over so long I watch it. I married her yo'ng. Dat's de bes' way.

"Mais, tell de trut', Adolphe, I am going to church, me, after dis. Dere's not'ing, after all, like God to stand in wid you! You hear me, I tell you to-night de rizzen our women keep good an' happy—it is faith. You know da's true."

"Yas, I believe you, Felix. An' me, I t'ink I will go, too. Any'ow, I'll show up at Easter communion. An' dat's a soon promise, too. T'ree week las' Sunday it will be here.

"All my yard is w'ite wid dem Easter lilies already. Dis soon spring compel dem. Wen you smell doze Bermudas above de roses in your garden in de middle of Lent, look out for Old Lady Mississippi. She is getting ready to spread her flounces over yo' fields—"

"Yas, an' to dance on yo' family graves. You may say w'at you like, Adolphe—de ruling lady of dis low valley country, it is not de Carnival Queen; it is not de first lady at de Governor's Mansion. It is—let us raise our hats—it is Old Lady Mississippi! She is de ruling lady of de Gulf country—old mais forever yo'ng.

"In my riligion I have no superstition. I swallow it whole—even w'en I mus' shut my nose—I mean hol' my eyes. W'at is de matter wid me? I cannot talk straight to-night. Mais to speak of de river, I mus' confess to you dat even w'en it is midsummer an' she masquerade like common dirty waters, I propitiate her.

"Once, I can tell you, I was rowing one skiff across by de red church, an' suddenly—for w'y I di' n' see immediately—mais out of de still water, mixed into bubbles only by my oars, over my hand came one big wave. I looked quick, but I could see only de sun to blind my eyes. Mais you know w'at I did?

"Dat bright sun, it reflect a small stone in my ring, one diamond, an' quick I slip it off an' drop it. It was de river's petition, an' w'at is a sixty-five-dollar diamond to a man w'en—"

"Dey ain' got no insanity in yo' family, I don't t'ink, Felix? Otherwise—excuse me—I would be oneasy for you."

Adolphe was smiling, and he mischievously lifted one brow and drew up his lips as if to whistle.

Felix smiled, too, as he replied:

"You needn't fear for me, Adolphe. Mais strong-headed ancestors, dey are not'ing. Me, I could start a crazy line just as well as my great-gran'fodder. Everyt'ing mus' begin somewhere."

But he added more seriously:

"Non, I would do it again—if I was on such a trip. I tell you w'at time it was; it was—"

He dropped his voice and looked over his shoulder.

"You want to know w'at, precisely, I was doing at de moment de river demand my ring? I was praying to her! Sure!" (This last in a whisper.)

"Oh-h-h!" Adolphe's face lit. "Yas, I understand. I ricollec'. You mean about five year pas'—dat time yo' sister los' 'er firs' 'usband, w'en—?"

"Yas, exac'ly. So you see dat predicament in w'ich I was placed wid de river. I never liked po' Jacques Renault—" He shrugged his shoulders. "I never profess to like him, mais he was my brud'-in-law; an' my po' sister—you know Felicité—she is my twin. She done not'ing but cry, cry, cry for fo' days an' nights, an' pay all 'er money in de poor-box to find him. An' dey tried every way to bring him up. So me, I say not'ing, mais w'en de fif day is come I loan from my cousin Achilles his wide skiff, an' I start out, an' I row two mile below w'ere dey foun' 'is clo'es an' hat, an' den I pull up again—an' wid every stroke I pray to de river to grant me dat satisfaction to find po' Jacques an' to lay him in his grave.

"Tell you de trut', maybe I am a sinner to say it, mais I was half afraid in my heart dat maybe Jacques was playing 'possum an' some day he would come back; an' w'en somebody is dead—dat's one terrible dread, yas—to get such a surprise, especially for one widow, you understand. It is a restriction, more or less, according to—Well, never mind.

"You may b'lief me or not, mais w'en de river she require of me dat ring, laying her wet hand over my hand like to take it, at de same time she turn it to de sun—well, I am not stupid. I dropped it quick to her, an' den I looked close, yas, on de water, an' immediately I see one—"

"You said jus' now you saw only de glare of de sun—"

"Exac'ly—an' den, naturally, one black spot befo' my eye, an' I t'ink it is de sun; mais—

"Well, 't is a disagreeable picture. Never mind! De river she give me de swap, an' we had one fine funeral de nex' day; an' my po' sister Felicité had her consolation.

"So, like I say, w'at consideration was one small diamond ring for such a pleasure?

"A widow widout a grave is like a wind in Feb'uary—crying always forever aroun' de house, wid nowhere to go, an' in her eyes are all kinds of weather. Bff!

"It is great consolation, a grave. It is a half-way station between de home an' de church; an' a widow she need dat—for a w'ile.

"Tell you de trut', w'en I take time to t'ink, Adolphe, sometimes I am ashame'. So long I am prosperous I am all for dis worl'; den, w'en somet'ing come, like now, an' t'row me on my knees, I feel cheap befo' God, yas. Mais, wid de river so, w'at can a man do if he cannot pray? So, after to-night's experience, I am at home wid my li'l' family by eleven o'clock every night, sure."

"'Ow much chillen you got now, Felix? You go too fas' for my 'rit'metic."

"Oh, no, not too fas'—just fas' enough. Only nine in over ten year—mos' eleven year. Only six, by right. I engage for six; mais w'at can a man do w'en his lady present him wid one extra, once in a w'ile! I am de las' one to make remark on her for dat, too, biccause I come dat way myself—following behind Felicité. Twins, dey run in some families; an' you know now I am coming to like dem. Dey are so sociable, twins."

"Ah, my friend, you have plenty occasion to be one good man."

"Occasion! I am blessed. T'ink all I have got to be t'ankful! I got my mudder, my mud'-in-law, my fad'-in-law—all riligious people an' good—an' nine li'tl' one, like six stair-steps wid t'ree landings for de accommodation of de twins." He chuckled. "Yas, an' I am going to be good. No more dem soubrette supper for me. An' dem