Two Solitudes Read Online Free PDF

Yardley. Ten days ago he had bought the Dansereau place outright and had moved in immediately. Dansereau had gone to live with his sister’s family down the river. Last Sunday, Yardley had gone to church and sat through the whole of High Mass, though he had not genuflected to the altar or tried to cross himself and had not known when to kneel or when to stand. Afterwards he had been seen entering the presbytery with Father Beaubien, and it was rumoured that he had given the priest twenty dollars for his poor box. The captain came into the store nearly every day and he paid cash for whatever he bought. He spoke French, but with terrible grammar and aqueer accent mixed with many English words…worse than an Indian, Polycarpe Drouin said.
    Athanase listened to the conversation without any comment. He never mingled with the villagers man to man, and it would have been resented had he tried to do so. Yet whenever he was with them on their own ground a special kind of friendliness established itself; it was as though they recognized each other and confirmed the fact that they were separate branches of the same tree.
    Now Athanase realized that those who had met Yardley had not been able to help liking him. They admitted, almost defensively, that he was very different from their notion of an English-Canadian. He was friendly, there was nothing high and mighty about him, he was ready to ask them for advice. Apparently he knew a good deal about farming, and this seemed most peculiar in a sea captain. The priest had already arranged for Pit Gendron to work for him, and Pit said he was a good man for a boss. But the priest had made no comment, and in speaking about the captain to Athanase the men were all cautious and indirect, not committing themselves.
    Athanase spent nearly an hour in the store listening to the talk and asking about various members of the men’s families, and then he drove home. As the mare’s shoes clopped along in the dark he smiled to himself. Yardley certainly had a way with him. French-Canadians had salted down the Dansereau fields with their sweat for more than two hundred years; it was bound to seem to the collective instinct of the parish a kind of robbery for a foreigner to take over land like that. But apparently Yardley was going to get away with it. If he lived in Saint-Marc for the rest of his life he would always be regarded a foreigner, but there was no doubt that those who met him wanted to feel free to like him.
    Athanase decided he was glad. It was peculiar for a man like Yardley to want to live in a place like Saint-Marc, but no doubt he had a good reason and in time it might be known. Tomorrow he would call upon him formally and make sure they were seen together. Since the priest had made no overt objection, his own acceptance of the captain would more or less settle his status in the parish.
    Next morning he selected a heavy walking stick from the rack in the hall and started down the road to Yardley’s place with Paul trotting by his side. Athanase walked vigorously, his long thin legs shooting out fast in nervous strides. It never occurred to him to walk more slowly for the sake of the boy. Paul sniffed the air like a puppy, smelling the smoke from burning brush that had drifted a mile down the wind from the place where Blanchard was clearing away the last debris before snow fell. When they turned off the road they could see their neighbour putting new weather-stripping about the sashes of a window. As they drew closer, Athanase noticed that he was very good with his hands and accustomed to working with them.
    Yardley heard their steps and backed down from the step-ladder, turning about with a smile when he reached the ground. He was wearing a turtle-necked sweater and a pair of worn overalls. “Hallo,” he said. “I’d been wondering how you were, Mr. Tallard. Things must be pretty hot in Ottawa these days, judging from the papers. I guess you’re glad to