United States or Nicaragua ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
And the sails of the boats from the river banks seemed like the white wings of the coasting vessels seen beyond the great plain which extended from their homes to the very margin of the sea. They walked with short steps, Luc le Ganidec and Jean Kerderen, content and sad, haunted by a sweet melancholy, by the lingering, ever-present sorrow of a caged animal who remembers his liberty.
In front of them a barren plain studded with clumps of trees led to the wood, to the little wood which had seemed to them to resemble the one at Kermarivan. Grainfields and hayfields bordered the narrow path, which lost itself in the young greenness of the crops, and Jean Kerderen would always say to Luc le Ganidec: "It looks like it does near Plounivon." "Yes; exactly."
As soon as they reached the first clump of trees, Luc Le Ganidec would cut off a small stick, and, whittling it slowly, would walk on, thinking of the folks at home. Jean Kerderen carried the provisions. From time to time Luc would mention a name, or allude to some boyish prank which would give them food for plenty of thought.
As soon as they reached the first clump of trees, Luc Le Ganidec would cut off a small stick, and, whittling it slowly, would walk on, thinking of the folks at home. Jean Kerderen carried the provisions. From time to time Luc would mention a name, or allude to some boyish prank which would give them food for plenty of thought.
They never spoke of her. They were just glad to see her, without understanding why. She was a tall, strapping girl, freckled and tanned by the open air a girl typical of the Parisian suburbs. Once, on noticing that they were always sitting in the same place, she said to them: "Do you always come here?" Luc Le Ganidec, more daring than his friend, stammered: "Yes, we come here for our rest."
Often she brought them plums pocket for plums were now ripe. Her presence enlivened the little Breton soldiers, who chattered away like two birds. One Tuesday something unusual happened to Luc Le Ganidec; he asked for leave and did not return until ten o'clock at night. Jean, worried and racked his brain to account for his friend's having obtained leave.
Before them was a plain with a few clumps of trees, which led to the woods, a little forest which seemed to remind them of that other forest at Kermarivan. The wheat and oat fields bordered on the narrow path, and Jean Kerderen said each time to Luc Le Ganidec: "It's just like home, just like Plounivon." "Yes, it's just like home."
Then, too, they would always stop beside a certain landmark, a great stone, because it looked something like the cromlech at Locneuven. Every Sunday on arriving at the first clump of trees Luc le Ganidec would cut a switch, a hazel switch, and begin gently to peel off the bark, thinking meanwhile of the folk at home. Jean Kerderen carried the provisions.
Once, finding them seated in the same place, she said: "Good morning. You two are always here, aren't you?" Luc le Ganidec, the bolder, stammered: "Yes, we come to rest." That was all. But the next Sunday she laughed on seeing them, laughed with a protecting benevolence and a feminine keenness which knew well enough that they were bashful. And she asked: "What are you doing there?
But, one Tuesday, Luc le Ganidec asked for leave a thing which had never happened before and he did not return until ten o'clock at night. Jean racked his brains uneasily for a reason for his comrade's going out in this way. The next Thursday Luc, having borrowed ten sous from his bedfellow, again asked and obtained permission to leave the barracks for several hours.
Word Of The Day