The Canton advocate. [volume] (Canton, D.T. [S.D.]) 1877-1897, 1881-11-10
A COUNTRY POSTWAR.
"A story of a Hero,

Translated from French by Louis C0llas.
You have often seen him pass
through the fields with hasty tread
recognizable not only by his blouse and
his regulation hat, but also by the sus.
.tained activity of his movements, be,
cause for him the instants are counted
and he has not the right to slacken his
pace. An indefatigable walker, he &C
complishes his task from the first to the
last day of the year without even rest
ing. No matter though tropical sun
invite all creatures to become motion
less, though the cold be Siberian,
though it blow and snow, he must 90 to
ths,last village on his route to carry the
letters, newspapers and prospectuses
which trade confdes by millions to the
care of the post.
The highways are not made for him
must he not cross the country, passing
through woods ard marshes, to seek the
hut lost in the depths of the solitude,
far removed from the public road?
He travels from eight to ten leagues
daily, making circuits, crossing brooks,
scaling rocks, venturing into ravines
and wounding himself among the
hedges and briers. Lettering is for
hidden to him, for the official hour of
return is fixed; the letters he brings
back must depart by the next mail.
They are waited for at the postoftice,
and the least variation Of his pro-
gramme may have grave consequences.
We cannot without ingratitude forget
the services of this incorruptible mes
senger, whose probity and zeal are con-
stantly put to the proof, who brings us
at certain hour our letters and our
journals, the news, the expectation of
which keeps us full of anxiety who
contributes to soften for us the bitter
ness of absence and distance. Imagine
the void the disappearance of these
humble functionaries would leave in
our existence.
knew man who for twenty years
filled this position. A former soldier,
thanks to the irreproachable records of
service strengthened by a little intiu-
ence, he had obtained the great favor
of having placed to his credit so francs
per month at the post office of the dis
trict.
Pere Martin was not very fond of this
brilliant position, but he perfectly I'M
dersteod his responsibilities and duties;
he never complained.
Everybody in the district was &C
quainted with this little gray-haired
man with bronzed features, whose
limbs had the pliancy and strength of
steel. He was highly appreciated, for,
while scrupulous observer of the reg
ulation, he never refused to perform a
service, provided it did not conflict with
his duties.
There was not corner of his route
which he had not passed over, accom-
panied by his wolf'dog. He knew to a
meter the distance separating the
smallest hamlet from the chief town of
the district, and was familiar with all
paths and by-ways.
TO spare himself half an hours walk
he never would have thrown into a
ditch some silly prospectus or some
printed matter bearing doubtful ad-
dress; if he returned anything to the
post office, it was because its destina-
nation could not be found. He was
the slave of his orders, as punctual as
. the clock, and SO discreet as to discour-
age the most curious. Everybody greet
ed him kindly when he arrived at the
village; the children came to him, and
even the dogs barked joyously at his
approach. There was considerable III
valry as to who should offer him glass
of cider and slice of bacon. But he
rarely accepted anything Time passed
and he did not like to contract trouble
some obligations.
Hence the notes made concerning
him were excellent, and the chiefs re-
GREETED that the parsimony Of the ad-
ministration only permitted them to
reward his loyal services with con-
temptible gifts.
One day in the middle Of October he
departed on his usual round. The
weather was frightful; it had been rain
ing necessarily for more than week;
the roads had become boys and the
brooks had been transformed into tor
rents. What foliage remained on the
trees was so impregnated with water
that it could not offer q protecting
shelter. The postman, wet to the skin,
walked with the impassibility of an old
soldier Who does not discuss his orders.
He had distributed a portion of his
mail, but his round was far from being
finished, when he passed an inn, or,
rather, miserable drinking house, stu
ated at the entrance of a wood. This
place was mainly patronized by sabot-
makers, who found there alcoholic
drinks and a few groceries.
"Ho! Monsieur, the postman, stop
here for an instant; while you are CIV
ing me the information / need, the vio-
lence of the storm will abate.'
This invitation was addressed to him
by man who, with pipe in his
mouth, was standing upon the threshold
of the drinking house.
" The rain was pouring down at that
moment; n fierce blast swept it into