The morning call., 1890-08-31
"Why do you cry? Has any one hurt
rnnS Nhat is thu mattar 2n he sk led

"Why do you cry? Has any one hurt
you? What is the matter?" he asked.
No answer; only sobs; the little peddler
could not speak. The sick boy insisted:
sWhy do you cry?"
Then Charles wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
Between his sobs he managed to say: "Pm
not crying. Nobody has done anything to
me. No, no. I'm. not crying-but-oh my
sOldiersl my solders!"
"Well. haven't you been paid for your
soldiers?"
Eyes, but love them so much. 1t gives
me so much pleasure to look at them. to see
them on my tray, although dare not touch
them. My father has forbidden me, and
then when they are all gone / cry because /
want one so much-want one for myself
all my own"
Have you asked your father for oneP"
"Oh, yes. but he cannot give it to me; he
says they cost too muchv'
The hunchback looked at the street
yender with gentle, yet astoniShed eyes,
and said:
Would it give you great deal of pleas
ure to have onep
"Oh, yes-yesp cried Charles.
Then take this one," holding out the
toy; keep the 20 sous and take this one as
a present from me"
Charles could not believe his ears. No,
he dared not 1t was too great happiness.
Hesitatingly he halfway extended his
hand, the fingers spread out. his eyes Spark
X, u
The little hunchback placed the toy In
his hand. and gently said:
MAY give it to him, mamma? He wants
it so much"
Certainly, my child" said his mother;
then she and her son disappeared in the
crowd.
Charles returned to his attic in the Rue
DIES Acacias. His account was all right; he
reported 20 francs; but he had one soldier
for himself, all his own. He concealed it
in his pocket. Every evening he plays
with it. Every morning he makes the horse
gallop and the soldier brandish his sword
before he goes upon the street.
He is very gay now. although 1t is the
cold hard month of December His voice,
still shrln and childish, is no longer sad
and plantive as he joyously cries:
"Soldiers! beautiful soldiers! for 20
sous apiece"
Two months roll by; the little peddler
has never seen the hunchback since. but his
present is his greatest delight. Suddenly
his father came in one evening and said:
prietor, is very ILL.,"
Charles felt his heart swell with grief;
great tears came into his eyes.
a few days after his father said:
"Gaston Lamballe, the pool little hunch-
back is dead"
Charles shut himself up In the closet
where he slept, and cried, he knew not
why. He drew the sheet and coverings
ever his head and went to sleep crying, and
he woke up crying in his dreams.
Two days afterwards a black curtain was
stretched across the porte cochere of the
house in the Rue des Acacias. On it were
two silver letters-"G. L." In the grand
salon, under wreaths and crowns and
flowers between lighted wax candles, there
was little coffin, scarcely large enough for
a child of years. A great many friends
followed this little coffin to the church.
In the distance. far behind the funeral
more soiled than usual, his hands in his
pockets. followed Charles.
The sky was dark and somber; mist of
snow and hail was falling. Every now and
then a gust of wind would blow this icy
rain into ones eyes.
Charles dared not enter the church. He
waited in the street, and joined the funeral
cortege when it started for the cemetery of
Montmatre. He held himself aloof while
thev buried the little son. He watched the
friends and relatives as they passed away.
Then, when there was no one around the
grave, when the little one was left under
the cold, damp ground, he timidly APP
nroached and looked to see If he was OBJ
served.
No; he was alone.
Then, with great tenderness, ne took
from the pocket of his trousers the wooden
soldier. He looked at it for moment; he
touched the spring and made the horse gal
Iop and the soldier brandish his sword for
the last time.
Then he tenderly kissed the toy and
placed it among the crowns and the flowers
on the grave.-Translated from the French
for the Philadelphia Times.