Over beyond at the southern end was the great Chouteau pond, almost a lake where the mill was situated, then a kind of creek winding about and another lovely spot, broadening out, turning around again, and ending in a long point. Young people and older ones too went out to row, taking their dinner in picnic fashion. They were always full of pleasure, these merry French.
Christmas had delighted Renée, and brought a disappointment as well. It was a great season in old St. Louis. At twelve o’clock every one who possibly could went to midnight mass and the little church was crowded. The people were already outgrowing it. Father Meurin had come up from other visitations, there was good old white-haired Father Savigne, who had been a missionary to the Indians and several times barely escaped with his life. Father Valentine taught the children and was much younger.
The altar was decorated and illuminated with candles in front of the Virgin Mother and her baby Son. The solemn yet lovely sound of the Gregorian chants made waves of music through the chapel and stirred every heart. There was the solemn consecration, the kneeling, adoring multitude, the heartfelt responses.
They might not have understood the intricate, hair-splitting truths of to-day, and many no doubt came far short of the divine precepts, but they did worship with all their hearts and souls. And when the priest rang the bell on the hour of midnight it touched them all with deep reverence; and they were glad to join in the hymn, and the benediction descended like a blessing.
Ah, how beautiful it was out of doors! There was no moon, but myriad stars gleamed and glowed, and it seemed as if they were touched with all faint, delicate colors. The ground was white with snow, the peaked roofs were spires, and the river a dark, winding valley.
Outside the church everybody shook hands and gave good wishes. Children and old people were all together. No one would have missed the mass. But now they chatted gayly and talked of the coming day, the young men loitering to capture some pretty girl and walk home with her.
Mère Lunde stirred the fire and Denys put a great log on it, and on his own in the shop. The little girl’s window was hung with a fur curtain, for occasionally the wind found chinks to whistle through as it came from the great prairies beyond and brought the sound of writhing and sometimes crushed forests. But all was warmth within. Mère Lunde made a hot drink with wine and spices, and brought out her Christmas cake which she had not meant to cut until to-morrow.
“But see, it is to-morrow already,” she said with her cheery laugh. She had devoted several prayers for her poor son’s soul and she was quite sure he was safe with the Blessed Virgin and now understood what heavenly life was like.
“It was all so beautiful,” Renée said with a long breath of delight. “And the singing! I can hear it yet in the air.”
“Thou must to bed, little one, for to-morrow will be a gay day,” said Gaspard, kissing her. “Mère, see that she is well tucked in, for the night is cold.”