226 GOLDEN DAYS 



in the parish church two leagues away 

 waiting the morrow's festival. 



Only the human elements remained. 

 A model of a ship riding a dusky 

 moonlit sea, a votive offering from the 

 fishers of Pouldu, loomed in the choir ; 

 some waxen hands and feet, the yearning 

 gifts of halt and lame, lay clustered in the 

 shadow, and from a pillar hung a little 

 crutch of wood. Jean Pierre tiptoed 

 across the uneven floor ; softly we closed 

 the door. 



Outside the clear moonlight bathed the 

 world in stillness, broken only by the 

 creaking of the cart as the old horse 

 steadily browsed along the track. Jean 

 took a pinch of snufF, then gathered up 

 the reins. I lit my pipe and clambered 

 in beside him. Our road now lay for a 

 good distance along a strip of moorland. 

 On one hand the intersecting hills stretched 

 vague and dim : on the other dark pine- 

 woods unfolded, and from their shadows 

 here and there a few grey rocks crept out 

 as if to catch the moonbeams. Ever a 

 gentle breeze went with us, shivering the 

 sleepy grass and dead bracken, stirring 



