The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1881-03-30
\ RACE FOR A WIFE.
4 FRENCH STORY.

NY father used to live at Ret!iel,
/ in the high street, in a house l can
still see before my eyes with its
slate roof and projecting beams, a
hospitable house if ever there was
one. Poor folks knew the way to it.
They entered with their wallet
empty and went away with it full.
We were all seated one night at the
freside; my father was smoking his
pipe and watching the fire burn, my
mother was ironing, and | was read
ing. when we heard a noise at the
door, and saw enter boy with
frightened looks.
"What is the matters"
at is a soldier very tired who has
Just fallen exhausted befo;e the
door"
Nv father loved soldiers. He rose
brusquely, ran out, and there he
was. before | had taken a step com
ing in with a young soldier leaning
upon him, or rather my father had
taken him up and was carrying him
like sack OF corn.
Nv mother hastened to draw the
big armchair up to the fire. The
soldier was made to sit, or rather re-
cline in it, and my father said, look
ing at the poor fellow:
SIS it possible. Walking in that
state?"
The fact is that the soldier was
very thin and pale, his hair fatten-
cd on his forehead, the veins of the
temples big as your finger, his Elce
black with dust. We were then IN
the month of October and the
weather was beginning to grow fresh,
but the poor fellow was neverthe-
less sweating big drops, as if i had
been dog days. He must have had
a long tramp. His shoes were in
sh .eds; YOU could see where the
stones had torn the leather; the left
foot was bleeding. Tie soldier did
not move but remained in the arm
chair with his head thrown back,
his eyes half open and white as a
sheet.
Ny mother had already put some
soup on the fire.
"Bah ''said my father; ''the first
thing to be looked after is the feet"
And leaning down he began to
tear and cut away the shreads of
leather. The soldiers feet, ali swoll-
en- and full of blisters, looked like
the feet Of the martyrs, swollen with
pain and weaIed by hard cords, which
we see in the pictures Of the Spanish
painters.
Ny father dipped his handker-
CHIEF in vinegar and washed the
wounds.
"You," he said to me, make some
lint"
And / began to tear up some old
linen that my mother had taken out
of the big cupboard.
Meanwhile the soldier had come
to himself. He looked at us-at
NV father, my mother and myself
and the two or three neighbors who
had come in one after the other. His
wandering eyes seemed to interro-
gate everything. 1t was no longer
the road, the stones, the great desert
ed goods that he saw before him,
but a gay room with a ceiling OF
shining oak, cloth on the table, a
knife and fork laid and a brown
earthenware soup-bowl emitting a
sayory spell of cabbage soup.
Then he raised himself up, lean
inc on the arms of the chair, and
said to my father, with confused
emotion:
aAhl monsieur. But you do not
know me-" !,
@Ahl well that does not matter
we will become acquainted at the
table,"
We had already dined, but my
father wished to bear the soldier COM
panv. lie sat down to the table
opposite him, as it were, brooding
over him, and looking at the regl-
mental buttons that shone on his
cloak. The soldier ate, and ale
heartily; my mother served him..
"Wen,n said my father, suddenly,
pointing to the tin box that the sol
dier carried slung on a cord, you
have finished your time, for there is
your coinage. Then why do you
kill yourself by toiling along the
highway ! see how the matter
stands. You have no money to pay
for the diligence"
HI?" replied the soldier. i have
received my bounty and pay, and
my mother has sent me enough 10
pay for place in the coupe, II
liked. But / could not.