Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1883-03-07

lJL5GO, LIS UOuSuS ln0 WI6LCn
had returned to the district with the
others, and for an hour had been prowl-
ing around the house, awaiting his ia
theirs departure to enter. She wished
to scold him, but had not the courage.
1t was SO long since she had seen and
embraced him! Besides, he gave her
such good reasons: He was weary of
| Algeria, of the army, of living always
far from his family; then, the discipline
had become more severe, and his
comrades called him 4" Prussian," be-
cause of his Alsatian accent. She be-
lieved everything he said. She had only
to look at him to believe him. While
talking they had entered the house.
The awakened youngsters ran, barefoot
ed and in their nightgowns, to kiss their
big brother. His mother offered him
something TO eat, but he was not lun-
cry. He was only thirsty, terrible
thirsty, and drank huge drafts of water
on top of all the beer and white VINE to
which he had treated himself since
morning at the inn,
But some one was walking in the
courtyard. 1t was the blacksmith re-
| turning.
"Christian, here comes your father.
Quick, hide yourself that L may have
time to talk to him, to explain to him. !"
She pushed him behind the huge
faience stove. then resumed sewing with
| trembling hands. Unfortunately the
| Zouave's chechia had been left upon the
table, and it was the first thing Lory saw
on entering. The mothers pallor, her
embarrass ment. furnished additional evil
! dence. He understood everything.
christian is here - said he, in a ter
rible voice, and, taking down his sabre
with frantic movement, he rushed to-
ward the stove where the Zouave was
concealed, pale, sobered. leaning against
the wall from fear of falling.
The mother threw herself between
them, crying:
Glory, Lory, don't kill him [ wrote
to him TO return. that you needed him at
the forge!'
She chung to his arm, dragged herself
along, wept. In the darkness of the
chamber, the children began crying on
hearing those voices so full of anger aud
sobs, so changed that they no longer
recognized them. The blacksmith
paused, and. looking at his wife, said:
"Ah You were the cause of his COM
| y ,
| let him go to bed. Tomorrow | will
see what / have to do.
The next morning, Christian, on awak-
en1ng from heavy sleep, tull of night
mares and terrors without cause, found
himself again in the chamber of his
childhood. Through the little window
panes, framed with lead and almost COW
cred on the outside with blooming hop
ho- to ]
warm and high. Below, the hammers
were sounding on the anvil His
mother was at his bedside; she had not
quilted it the whole night long, with
such fear had her husbands anger filed
her. Neither had the blacksmith been
in bed. Until morning he had walked
about the house, weeping, signing, open
ing and shutting the closets, and now he
gravely entered bis sons chamber,
dressed as for a journey, with high gal
tiers, SLOUGH hat, and stout, iron-shod
mountain staff. He came straight to the
bed, saving:
"Come, get up!"
The young man, somewhat confused,
arose and moved as if to put On his
zouave uniform.
"No, not that!" said his father,
sternly.
Trembling with fear, his mother inter
posed:
''But, husband, he has no other
clothes.
"G.ve him mine. [ no longer need
them. "
While Christian was dressing him
self, Lory carefully folded up the uni
form-the little vest, the wide, red
breeches-and, the bundle made, he
passed about his neck the stamp at
tached to the tin box containing the
feaIiLte de route.
Now, let US go downstairs, - said he
when he had done this, and the three
silently descended to the forge. The
bellows was roaring; every body was at
work. On seeing again that shed, with
its doors and windows vide open, about
which he had thought so much when in
Algeria, the Zouave remembered his in
fancy ana how he had played there tor
so long between the heat of the highway
and the sparks of the forge, brilliant
amid the black coal-dust. A fit of ten
derness took possession of him, a great
desire to obtain his fathers pardon; but,
on raising his eyes, he encountered only
an memorable look.
At last the blacksmith made up his
mind to speak.
"Son, said he, ''you see the anvil,
the tools-they all belong to you. And
all that, too - added he, showing him
the little garden, which was visible, full
of sunlight and bees, surrounded, as it
were, by the smoky frame of the door
way. "The bee-hives, the. vineyards,
the house, all are yours. Since you
have sacrificed your honor for these
things, the least you can do is to take
care of them. You are master.here. AS
for me, I am going away. You owe five
years to France; [ shall serve them out
for you p,
''Lory, Lory, where are you going ?"
cried his poor wife.
:" Father p supplicated the son. But
the blacksmith had already departed,
walking rapidly, without looking back.
At Sidi-bel-Abbes, at the depot of the
Third Zouaves, there has been for some