The morning call., 1890-08-31
THE TOY SOLDIER.
A Pathetic Little Story of the Gay
BOuIevards of Paris.

iry, FINE misty rain is falling-so fine
WAX as to be almost invisible. The whole
XIV sky is dark and gray. The trees
nave lost their leaves. The streets and
payements are covered with thick, black
mud. slippery, half frozen by the cold De-
cember air.
But, in spite of the cold, penetrating rain.
in spite of the fierce north wind, the boule :
ward is full of people fastening here an d
there. At the corner of the Rue Gailbout a
little boy, scarcely 10 years old, is standing.
His brown hair falls in stiff, thick meshes
over his forehead, even to his eyebrows.
His clothes are old, worn and not very
clean. His c0tton-yelyet coat, once brown,
is now gray with dirt. 1t is too large and
too long, but then the little fellow can grow
to that. His face is speckled with mud,
thrown by the passing carriages, but very
sweet In expression, with soft, gentle blue
eyes.
His father Is q street-peddler. The boy
follows the same business, and his name is
Charles Fr0u.
For some days the father has been selling
new toy on the boulevards-a wooden SOL
der on horseback. Touch spring, the
horse gallops, the sword is raised to cut off
imaginary heads, while the soldier. with
bristling mustache, rolls his ferocious eyes.
He has sold a great many on the grand
bouleyards, but has placed his son on the
corner of the Rue Gailbout, with a little
tray suspended from his neck, and on it are
displayed these Respondent ferocous sol
diers.
Every morning his father gives him
twenty soldiers; every evening when he
climbs to the sixth story of house on the
Rue des Acacias, he has to account for the
sale of his soldiers.
The little fellow shivers in the cold,
misty rain; his cheeks, ears and nose are
| purple with the cold; his poor little chapped
hands are thrust, even to the elbows, Into
the pockets of his trousers.
In sweet but melancholy voice he cries,
'.Soldiers, beautiful soldiers, for 20 sous
apiece.
The crowd indifferently passes by. Still
he regularly repeats his plaintive cry as he
heard his father do.
The father. old and unable to work, has
taken to this business as means of sup
port. lie gravely displays his wooden SOL
diers and attracts the attention of the chill
dren by his bright talk.
But the little one is sad; there are tears
in his voice as he cries Soldiers! beautiful
soldiers! at 20 sous apiece!
1t is not because he is cold, for he is used
y to the cold; it is not that he is hungry OF
sick, for he is strong and robust and his
father feeds him WELL
Then why does he cry?
Why does he look with scared. startled
eyes at all that approach his tray to buy his
fine wooden soldiers. and when the toy dis
appears and the silver piece of 20 sous
is lingering in his pocket, why does he fol-
low with jealous, yearning eyes, the chill
dren that carry off the beautiful playthings I?
But one toy left and nineteen francs are
Jinsling in his pocket.
just then child approaches with his
mother. He is very small, pale and fragile
A great hump deforms his shoulders. He
Is about the same age as the little street
peddler.
They know each other we'll although thew
have never exchanged a word. He is the
son OF a rich widow, who owns the house
in the Rue des Acacias, where Charles lives,
and they have often met In passing he
says,
"Oh, mamma. look at the beautiful
soldier! Do buy it for mel"
There are great dark circles around his
hollow eyes and his thin, slender hand is
as white as wax as he takes up the soldier
and touches the spring. making the horse
gallon and the soldier brandish his sword
"oh, mamma, do buy it for me-" he
cries.
flow much do you ask for your toy ?"
said the mother TO the little peddler.
Twenty sous, madame"
Here they are" and the little hunch-
back carried off the beautiful toy
There was nothing left upon the tray-it
was empty.
The poor little peddler tried not to cry.
tried with all his might to choke back the
sobs that shook his Qulvering throat His
head was bent until it almost touched the
empty tray. his lips trembled as he cried !:
'Oh, my soldiersp'
CASTOR Lamballe. the hunchback. heard
him and returned, drawing his mother with
him.