Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-03-09


 prayed moment, with the hot agonizet, tear. rolling down her face, and then rose ant stepped out bravely in the cool of the night on the great southwest road towards Paris.
 Her way lay out through the forest. and ir that sweet green woodland she was not afraid no more afraid than the lawns were
 1t Boitsford she shrank little. indeed Here there were the open air restaurants and the cafe gardens all aEeht for tho pleasure seekers from the city; here there were music and laughter, and horses with brass bells, and bright colors on high in tho wooden balconies, and below among ths biossoming hawthorn hedges She had to gc through 1t all, and she shuddered little as she ran, thinking of that one priceless. death less forest day when he had kissed her first.
 But the pleasure people were all busted with their mirth and mischief, and took nc notice Of the little gray figure in the starry night She went on along the grassy roads under the high arching trees, with the hoot of the owls and the cry of the rabbits on the stiffness
 At Groenendael, in the heart of the forest midnight was striking as she entered the vii lage. Every one was asleep The lights were all out The old ruined priory frowned dark under the clouds.
 She shiVered a little again, and began te feel chill and tired, yet did not dare to knock at any one of the closed house doors-she had no money.
 So she walked on her first ten unknown miles, meeting few people only, and being altogether unmolested-a small gray figure trotting ill two little wooden shoes.
 They thought her peasant going to fair or lace mill, and no one did her more harm than to wish her good night in rough Elem ish.
 When the dawn began to whiten above the plains of the east, she saw an empty COW shed filled with hay; she was a little tired, and lay down and rested an hour or two, as a young lamb might have lain on the dried clover, for she knew that she must keep her strength and husband her power, or never reach across the dreary length of the foreign iard to Paris
 But by full sunrise she was on her way again, bathing her face in brook and buy ing a sous worth of bread and flet milk at the first cottage that she passed in bright. leaf powered Hoeylaert
 The forest was still all around her, with its exquisite life of bough and blossom, and mur- nur of insect and of bird She told her beads, praying as she went, and was almost happy.
 God would not let him die Oh, no, not till
 
 with him
 The hares ran acT oss the path, and the blue butterflies flew above head. There was purple gloom of pinewood, and sparkling verdure of aspen and elm. There were distant church carillons ringing, and straight golden shafts of sunshine streaming.
 She often felt tired, and her wooden shoes were wearing so thin that the hot dust of the road at monday burnt her feet through them. Sometimes, too, she felt a curious brief falntneSs such as she had never known. for the lack of food and the long fatigue be. gan to tell even on her hardy little body.
 But shc went on bravely, rarely doing less than her twenty miles a day, and sometimes more, walking often in the night to save time, and lying down in COW sheds or under haystacks ill the noontide
 So she walked on until she reached the frontier of France. She began to get little giddy; she began to see tho blue sky and the green level always swirling round her as if some ono were spinning them to frighten her. but still she would not be afraid; she went on, and on, and on, till she set her last step on the soil of Flanders
 Here new, strange, terrible, incompre- hensible obstacle opposed her; she had no papers; they thrust her back and spoke to her as if she were a 1 She could not understand what they could mean. She had never heard of those laws and rules. She vaguely compre- hended that she must not enter France, and stunned and heart broken, she dropped down under tree, and for the first time sobbed as if her very life would weep itself away. She could see nothing, understand nothing. There were tho same road, the same hedges, the same fields, tho same white cottages. and peasants in blue shirts and dun hued oxen ill the wagons She saw no mark, no difference, ere they told her whero she stood | was Belgium, and where they stood was France, and that she must not pass from one Into the other The men took no notice of her. They went | pack into the guard house. and smoked and 1 frank. A cat stunned herself under scarlet 1 bean. The white clouds sailed on before | sky She might die here-he there and nothing seemed to care.
 After awhile an old hawker came up; he vas travelling with wooden clocks from the Black Forest. He stopped and looked at her. md asked her what she ailed
 She knelt down at his feet in the dust.
 "Oh, help mel" she cried to him. "Oh, pray, help mel have walked all the way rom Brussels-that is my country, and now hey will not let me pass that house where he soldiers arc. They say have no papers. What papers should have, I do not know. When one has done no harm, and does not we sou anywhere, and has walked all the it money that they wanta I have lone; and they stole my silver clasps in and if do not get to Paris must lie-die without seeing him again-ever again, dear God!"
 She dropped her head upon the dust and and sobbed there, her courage broken by this new barrier that she had lever dreamed would have come between herself and Paris
 The old hawker looked at her thoughtfully. de had st.n much of men and women, and new truth from counterfeit, and ho was moved by the child's agony
 He stopped and whispered in her ear:
 "Get up quick, and 1 will pass you. It is gainst the law, and I may go to prison for t. Never mind; one must risk something in his world, or else be cur. My daughter las stayed behind in Marbais sweethearting Ter name Is on my passport, and her age and ace will do for yours. Get up and follow me lose, and will get you through. Poor little oul! whatever your woe is it is real enough a cy1cl h