The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1882-01-04
THE CHILD SPY.

His name was Stenne, little
Stenne. He was a child of Paris.
thin and pale, and was ten, perhaps
fifteen years old, for one can never
say exactly how old these children
are. His mother was dead, and his
father, an ex-marine, was the gar
dian of a square in the centre OF the
Temple. The nurses and babies,
the old ladies who always carry their
own folding chairs, and the poor
mothers-all that small world OF
Paris which seek shelter from We
hicles in those gardens that are sur
rounded by pavements-knew Faith
er Stenne and loved him. They
knew that under his rough mus
tache-which was the terror OF dogs
and disturbers of benches-was hid
den kind, tender, and almost
motherly smile, and that in order to
bring it forth they had only to say
to the good man /:
"How is your little son ?"
For Father Stenne loved his little
son so much. He was so happy in
the afternoon when, after his school,
the little boy would call for him,
and together they would make the
rounds of the paths, stopping at each
bench to speak to the habitues of
tho souare and TO answer their good
wishes.
But when the siege began every
thing was sadly changed. Father
Stenne's square was closed and fill
ed with petroleum, and the poor
man. condemned to an incessant
surveillance, passed his life in the
deserted, unturned paths, quite
alone, not permitted to smoke. and
only seeing his little son late in the
evening at his home. You should
have seen his mustache when he
spoke of the Prussians.
Little Stenne, however, did not com
plain of this new life.
Siegel Nothing is more amusing
to such urchins No more school,
no more studies Holiday all the
while, and the streets are as exciting
as fair.
The child ran about al! day till
nightfall. He followed the hatallions
fro mthe quarters to the ramparts,
choosing those that had good
band. Little Stenne was well post
ed on that subject. He would tell
you very glibly that the Ninety
lsixth's band was not worth much.
but that the Fifty-ffth had an ex-
cellent one. Sometimes he would
watch the mobiles training, and
then there were the professions.
Z x With his basket under his
arm he would join in the long files
that were formed in the dark, cold,
winter mornings, when there was no
gas before the butchers and bakers
shops. There, with their feet in the
wet, the people would make ac-
lquaintances and talk politics, and,
as he was Mr.. Stennes son, every
body would ask him his opinion.
| But the most amusing of all were
the afternoon games, especially the
famous game of galeche, which the
Breton mobiles made the fashion
during the siege When little Stenne
was not at the ramparts or bakers
shons Won would surely find him at
1.-THE square of the Chateau d'Eau.
| He did not play. however it need
ed too much money he was satisii-
ed in watching the players with all
his eyes.
One especially. great fellow IN a
blue workman's gown, who only
played with franc pieces, excited his
admiration. When he ran one
could hear the coins iingling under
his blouse.
One day. as he was picking up &
piece that had rolled under little
| Stenne's feet, the great fellow said to
him in low tone, THAT makes yor
wink, hey ? Well, if you like, III
take you where they are to bt
T found"
The game over, he took him to
. corner of the square and proposed
; that he should join him in selling
newspapers to the Prussians tha
he would make thirty francs to
every trip. At first Stenne wa
very indignant and refused, and
what was more, he remained away
from the game for three days. Thre'
terrible days. He neither ate no
slept any more. At nights he would
see great heaps of galeches piled OF
the foot of his bed, and five franz
pieces moving over it, bright ant
shining. The temptation was to-
strong for him. The next day h
returned to the Chateau d'Eau, saw
the large fellow, and was overcome
They set out one sunny morning
a linen bag thrown over their shout
ders and their newspapers hiddei
under their blouses. When the,
reached the Flanders Gate it wa
hardly dawn. The large fellow tool
Stenne by the hand, and approach
ing the sentinel-a good civiliar
with red nose and kind air-h'
said to him with a plaintive tone
LET us pass, my good monsieur
Orr mother is III and mana is dead