Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1886-10-16
THE CHILD SPY.

pale, perhaps 10 and perhaps Is
years old, for with these imps you can
never tell His mother was dead, and
his father, formerly soldier in marines,
was the guardian Of a 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 q 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 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 visitors and answer
their polite questions.
Unfortunately the siege changed all
this. Father Stennes 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 fiercelyl 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 to stay out until night
fall, running about everywhere. He fol
lowed the companies of his ward as they
tramped off to duty 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
why the band of the Ninety-sixth was
poor, and why that of the Fifty-fifth was
so good. Then again he watched mo-
biles drill. Besides these amusements,
there were the waiting professions,
NIliJl DblOIc tAO uUUIS Vi bi1C
butchers and 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, as 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 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 as he was picking up coin
which had rolled away and stopped just
at young Stenne's feet, the big fellow
said to him in low voice: ut makes
you squirt, 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 PrI,ssians; he got 30 francs trip.
Stenne refused at first and was highly
indignant. For three days he would not
go back to the game what awful days
those three were! He could not eat OF
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 dEau, 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 a 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 andI want to get init
the field and try tosfindS some potatoes
He was actually crying, Stenne
ashamed of himself, hung his head. Thu
sentinel looked at them a moment, ther
down the solitary, white road. =
"Pass, then, quickly" he said, stand
ing aside, and they found themselves OF
the road to Auberviliers. How the BIZ
fellow laughed
Indistinctly, as in a dream, younl
Stenne noticed the factories that nov
were used as barracks and garnishet
with wet rags, and the high chimney
that pierced the fog and threw up thei
empty, broken walls toward the clouds
Here and there sentinel, hooded officer
scanning the horizon through thei
glasses, little tents soaked with thawin
snow before which the campfires wer
dying. The big fellow knew the road
well, and where to cut across the field
to avoid the pickets; still, notwithstand
ing these precautions, thew fell upon a