"My son, I am sorry your grandfather died last night, while I was unable
to reach him."
"Yes, father."
"You have been a good son. Your conscience acquits you. And now the time
has come when you are free to go anywhere you please."
Jean looked over the flood.
"But there's no place to go to now, father. I was waiting for Kaskaskia,
and Kaskaskia is gone."
"Not gone, my son. The water will soon recede. The people will return to
their homes. Kaskaskia will be the capital of the new State yet."
"Yes, father," said Jean dejectedly. He waited until the priest
sauntered away. It was not for him to contradict a priest. But watching
humid darkness grow over the place where Kaskaskia had been, he told
himself in repeated whispers,--
"It'll never be the same again. Old Kaskaskia is gone. Just when I am
ready to go there, there is no Kaskaskia to go to."
Jean sat down, and propped his elbows on his knees and his face in his
hands, as tender a spirit as ever brooded over ruin. He thought he could
bear the bereavement better if battle and fire had swept it away; but to
see it lying drowned before him made his heart a clod.
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