Daily Yellowstone journal., 1886-08-13
THE CHILD SPY.

Iney Cdltu MN SteHne, NouiE 'sthho' ]
He was a real Paris boy, puny and
pale, perhaps 10 and perhaps 10
years old for with these imps you can |
never tell. His mother was dead, and |
his father, formerly a soldier in marines,
was the guardian of square in the
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 that part of Paris which seeks refuge
from carriages in these flower plots sur
rounded by sidewalks. Everybody knew
what pleasant, sympathetic smile the
old fellow hid behind his bristling mus |
tache, the terror of both dogs and loafers,
and they also knew but to call up that
smile they had but to ask:
How is the little boy today"
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 visitors 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 wander
ing alone among the deserted, over
turned 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 mus
tache bristle up fiercely! 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-
tons now, every day is a holiday, and
the streets are like fair
The child used 20 stay out until night
fall, running about everywhere. He fol-
lowed the companies of his ward as they
tramped off TO luty on the ramparts,
and always picked out those that had
the best band. Young Stenne was well
up on this subject, and he could tell you
whysthe band of the Ninety-sixth was
poor, and why that of the Fifty-fifth was
90 good. Tllen again he watched mo-
biles drill. Besides these amusements,
there wer' the waiting professions,
which formed before the doors of the
butchers lud bakers, in the dark 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 acquaintance and talked politics,
and, a he was the son of Mr.. Stenne,
everybody asked his opinion. But what
was most fun was pitching PEN
MES and that famous game of
-galoche," which the Breton militia
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 Chateau
d'Eau. He could not play, of course
that cost too much; but he looked ON,
and opened the biggest, greediest eyes in
the world.
There was one fellow in blue smocls
whom he admired especially; he only bet
dollar chips, and when he ran you could
E hear the silver jingle in his pockets.
One day as he was picking up coin
which had rolled away and stopped just
at young Stennes feet, the big fellow
said to him in a low voice: 1T makes
you squint, 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 newspapers
to the Prussians; he got 30 francs 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 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, good
humored, fat old fellow with red nose
and said to him in winning voice:
Kind sir, do let us pass, please sir;
mothers i'll and fathers dead, and my
young brother and want to get into
the field and try to find some potatoes"
He was actually crying. Stenne,
ashamed OF himself, hung his head. The
sentinel looked at them moment, then
down the solitary, white road.
"Pass, 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 toward the clouds.
Here and there a sentinel, hooded officers
scanning the horizon through their
glasses, little tents soaked with thawing
snow before which the campfires were
dying. The big fellow knew the roads
WELL and where to cut across the fields
to avoid the pickets; still, notwithstand-
ing these precautions, they fell upon an
outpost of sharpshooters, wrapped in
their short cloaks and huddled up in
ditch half full of water, that runs along
the railroad track of Scissors Here the
biV falloHy reneated his tale in vain: they