Western Kansas world. [volume] (WaKeeney, Kan.) 1885-current, 1886-06-19
THE CHILD SPY.

He was real Paris boy, puny and
pale, perhaps ten and perhaps fifteen
years old-for with these imps you never
can tell His mother was dead and his
father, formerly soldier in the marines,
was the guardian of square in QUARTER
du Temple. Everybody knew Father
Stenne and loved him-babies, nurses,
poor women and the old ladies with their
campstools-in fact, the whole of the
party OF Paris which seeks refuge from
passing carriages In these flower plots
surrounded by sidewalks. Everybody
knew what pleasant, sympathetic smile
the old fellow had behind his bristling
mustache, both the terrier dogs and loaf
ers, and they also knew that to call up
that smile they had but to ask:
"How is the little boy to-day?"
How old Father Stenne loved that boy!
He felt SO happy when the little fellow
came for him in the evening after school,
and they walked down the alleys hand in
hand, stopping before each bench to
greet the regular visitor and answer their
polite questions.
Unfortunately, the siege changed all
this. Father Stenne's square was closed,
and petroleum was stored there; so the
poor old man. ever on the watch, and
not allowed to smoke, passed his life
wandering alone among the deserted,
overturned strawberries. He could not
see his son now until late at night, at
home, and you should have heard him
talk about the Prussians and seen his
mustache bristle up fercely! Young
Stenne did not complain much of his new
Life.
You see siege is lots of fun for the
boys; school is closed; no more examina-
tions now; every day is holiday, and
the streets are like fair.
The child used to stay out until night
fall, running about everywhere. He
followed the companies of his ward as
they tramped off to duty of the ram
parts, and always picked out those that
had the best band. Young Stenne was
well up on this subject, and he could tell
you why the band of the 99th was poor
and why that of the 55th was so good.
Then again he watched the mobiles drill.
Besides these amusements there were the
waiting professions, which formed be-
fore the doors of the butchers and bakers,
In the Ozark of winter mornings, when
the lights were all out, and he would
stand up in file Like the rest, with his
basket under his arm and his feet in the
slush and water; here he made acquaint-
ances and talked politics, and, as he was
the son of Mr.. Stenne, everybody asked
his opinica. But what was most fun
was pitching pennies, and that famous
game of "galoche," which the Breton
L:litia had brought into fashion during
the siege. When you could not find
young Stenne either on the ramparts or
at the bakers, he was pretty sure to be
at the game of "galoche," on the square
du Chateaud' Eau. He could not play,
of course-that cost too much; but he
yooked on and opened the biggest, greed
lest eyes in the world.
There was one fellow in blue smock,
whom he admired especially; he only
bet dollar chips, and when he ran, you
could hear the silver jingle in his pockets.
One day he was picking up a coin
which had rolled away and stopped just
at young Stenne's feet, the big fellow
said to him in low voice: at makes
YOU sauint, does it? Well, if you want
to know I'll tell you where you can get
some"
When the game was over he led him
to corner of the square and proposed
to him to go with him and sell news
papers to the Prussians; he got 3Ofrancs
a trip. Stenne refused at first and was
highly indignant. For three days he
would not 60 back to the game-what
awful DAYS those three were He could
not eat or sleep. At night he dreamed
of piles of galoches at the foot of his bed,
and of shining dollars, Slipping along on
their faces. The temptation was too
strong. and on the fourth day he returned
to the Chateau d'Eau, saw the big fellow
and allowed himself to be talked over.
One snowy morning they started out,
each with a cloth bag slung across his
shoulder, and with the newspapers hid
den under his blouse. 1t was hardly
light when they reached the Flanders
gate. The big boy took him by the
hand and led him up to the sentinel
eood-humored, fat old fellow with red
nose-and said to him in a whining
voice:
s.Kind sir, do let us pass, please sir;
mothers i'll ard fathers dead and my
Young brother and I want to get out in
to the field and try to fird some pota-
toes"
He was actually crying. Stenne.
ashamed of himself hung his head. The
sentinel looked at them moment, then
down the solitary, white road.
.sPass then, quickly" he said, stand
ing aside, and they found themselves on
the road to Aubervilliers. How the big
fellow laughed!
Indistinctly, as in a dream, young
Stenne noticed the factories that now
were used as barracks and garnished
with wet rags, and the high chimneys
that pierced the fog and threw up
their empty, broken walls towards the
clouds. Here and there sentinel; hood
ed officers scanning the horizon through
their glass; little tents soaked with thaw-
ing snow before which the camp fires
were dying. The big fellow knew the
roads we'll, and where to cut across the
fields to avoid the pickets; still, notwith-
standing these precautions, they fell up
on an outpost of sharpshooters, wrapped
in their short cloaks and huddled up In
a ditch half full of water, that runs along
xl:,1 &rooL IN Soissons Here the