The Iowa plain dealer. [volume] (New Oregon, Howard County, Iowa) 1867-1895, 1881-04-07

Dear. darling mcoal dote upon her,
l wsteh her nightly IN the sky;
But Oh! upon my word Of honor,
Id rather aho were dead than |.
A RACE FOR A WIFE.
have this story from . friend who was
dear to me. He related il to me one day
rs we were talking on the hazards Of life,
more astonishing and moro romantic q
hundred times, than the inventions OF
fiction. He had seen this little drama
develop itself; he still knew the actors in
It II will present yOu," he said to me,
land We viii 60 together to Mezieres,
where We will find one of the heroes Of
this narrative still living. All the ro-
mances have not yet been written; the
most marvellous have still to be pub
mances each one Of us takes away with
him profoundly buried in the secrecy Of
his conscience, painfully smothered un-
der the Commissioner" Eugene Decary
did not know how true his words were,
and the story Of Jean Chevaucheux was
the last that he told me. It i hs who
Will tell you the story.
NY father used TO live ct Rethel, in
the high street, in house can still see
before my eyes with it's slate roof and
projecting beams, hospitable house il
ever there was one. Poor folks new the
way 10 it They entered with their wal
let empty and went away with il full.
We were all seated ono night at the fire.
side; my father was smoking his pipe
and Watching the fire burn, my mother
was ironing, and | was reading, when we
heard noise at the door, and saw enter
. boy with frightened looks.
ssWhat is the matter"
1T is . soldier very tired who he's
Just fallen exhausted before the door
Ny father loved soldiers. He rose
brusquely, ran ont, and there he was,
before had taken step, coming in
again with : young soldier leaning upon
him, or, rather, my father had taken
him up and was carrying him like sacl,
Of corn.
Ny mother fastened to draw the big
armchair up to the fire. The soldier
was made to sit, or rather recline in it,
aud my father said, looking at the poor
fellow
rs il possiblel Walking in that
state?"
The fact i that tho soldier was very
thin aud pale. his hair flattened on his
forehead, the veins Of his temples big as
your little finger, his face black with
dust. We were then in the month 81
October, and the weather was beginning
to grow fresh, but the poor fellow was
nevertheless sweating big drops a. If il
had been dog days. He must have had
q long tramp. His shoes were in shreds;
you could see where the stones had torn
the leather; the left foot was bleeding.
The soldier did not move, but remained
IN the armchair, with his head thrown
back, his eyes half open and white Us .
sheet,
My mother had already put some soup
on the fire and painful Of wine.
Ball." said my father. ''tho first
thing to be looked after is the feet"
Aud, kneeling down, he began to tear
aud cut away the shrcds of leather. The
soldiers feet, ali swollen, and full Of
blisters, looked like the feet Of the
martyrs. swollen with pain and weakened
by hard cords, which We see in the pic
lures If the Spanish painters.
My father dipped his handkerchief in
vinegar and washed the wounds.
.You," he said to me, make some
lint"
Aud began to tear up some old linen
that my mother had taken out OF the
big cupboard.
Meanwhile the soldier had como to
himself, He looked ut us. at NV father.
my mother, aud myself, and tho two or
three neighbors who had come in, one
after the other. His wandering eyes
seemed to interrogate everything. It
was no longer the road, the stones, the
great deserted woods that he saw before
him, but gay room, with ceiling Of
shining oak, q cloth on the table, knife
aud fork laid, and brown earthenware
sonp-bowl emitting . savory smell Of
cabbage soup.
Then he raised himself up, leaning on
the arms OF the chair, and said to my
father, with confused emotion:
"Ahl Monsieur. But you do not know
me"
.Ah! well, that does not matter; we
viii become acquainted at the table"
We had already dined, but my father
wished to bear the soldier company.
He sat down to table opposite him. IS it
were brooding over him, and looking at
the regimental buttons that shone on his
CLOAK. The soldier ate, and ate heartily;
my mother served him. My father took
charge Of the wine, and the glasses did
not long remain empty.
WELL" said my father, suddenly,
pointing to the tin box that the soldier
carried slung on . cord, ''you have
finished Your time, for there is your
congo. Then why do you kill yourself
by toiling along the highway? | sec
how the matter stands You have nc
money to pay for the diligence?"
~" replied the soldier. Il have re-
ceived my pay and my bounty, and my
mother has sent me enough to pay for a
place in the coupe, If I had liked. But
conld not"
II understand, said my father, who
did not understand it all. Then he asked
for another bottle of wine
When the meal was over the soldier
tried TO walk. He tottered, uttered q
smothered cry, and fell back into the
chair. then saw . tear in his eve. He
was . young man. rather thin, but
nervous, dark and with m energetic
look. He was not q man to shed tear
for little, and that tear puzzled me.
"Ah," he said with q movement in
which there was little anger and good
deal Of grief; II shall not BIO able to
walk until tomorrow morning.
walk" cried my mother, terrified.
The soldier shook his head.
''You don't know, you. / must.
It was vow.
In our Ardennes those primitive souls
have respect and faith. / saw my father
look at the young man in the face with
out establishment, and with mute inter
rogation.
1.Yes," said the soldier, Il will tell
You the whole story. You have, perhaps.
saved my life; ! ought. at least, to tell
You Who ann My name Is Jean Chevau-