The Yakima herald. [volume] (North Yakima, W.T. [Wash.]) 1889-1914, 1890-06-12
THR BOMB SHELL.
A Little story From the Prsnth..What The
Gunner Get AWay.

the left bank Of the Seine, tiny cottage
nestled in a mass Of verdure. the rool
almost hidden by a tangle Of ivy, Gle
mats and honysuckle. In the garden,
which was shaded by old chestnut trees,
4 band Of bullhnches and chafIinches
held Joyous meetings and charmed the
ear with their merry chatter.
Pierre Barlat, the master Of this pretty
home, was an honest, handwriting fel-
low, a genial comrade, though stranger
TO the tavern, and disdainful of all pleas
ures excepting those Of family life
Jeanne, his wife, was q robust and
cOmely peasant, displaying her wonder
fully white teeth.
It was pleasure to watch this happy
mother taking care Of her three small
children, for there was never q trace Of
hurry or impotence in her bearing; and
hers was no light task three babies to
care for, and their clothes to make and
wash, besides the other household duties
She did 1t all, singing gayly, and in the
evening, when the little ones were asleep,
passed an hour with her husband in the
garden, chatting idly.
The conversation generally consisted in
plans for the future. Three children to
bring upl It was q great undertaking,
but work was always to be found, and
strength and industry were not wanting.
In few years Pierre would be q fore
man, and then his pay would be much
larger; the children would be old enough
to 60 to school, and while they were
away, Jeanne could earn little with her
laundry-work; In that way there could
be money saved up, and some day the
little cottage would be their own prop
erty! When tie children were quite
grown up, they would work, as their
parents had done, while Pierre and
Jeanne could rest, in their old age, and
live on their savings. Such were the
dreams in which these two simple souls
delighted.
Years passed, and the dreams began TO
be realized. Pierre had worked unceas-
ingly, for the idea Of owning his house
had grown upon him.
It would be such o pity, thought Pierre
and jeanne, to lose the little home; and
the trees in the garden-they had planted
them-and to let others gather the fruit
would seem like robbery.
At last, therefore, the owner was per
suaded to come TO terms, the deed Of sale
was signed one Sunday morning, and as
Pierre Barlat came out Of the notary's
house with the deed in his pocket q
proud smile spread over his face, and he
felt that he would not care to "call the
king his cousin"
He had at first agreed with his wife to
celebrate the occasion by dining at the
inn, where fried fish, q rabbit fricassee
and some bottles Of wine would make q
meal ft for Lucullus. When Pierre felt
himself householder, however, be said
to his wife: "Coms, let US dine at home, "
and there was an inlonation Of tender
ness in bis voice as he pronounced the
last two words. There were several good
reasons for the change in their plans
first Of all, the cook OF the inn was not q
good one, always serving the same gravy,
with such a horrid taste Of burnt fat !
They would be much more comfortable,
too, in their own garden bower. with the
Seine at their feet and the great piano.
rama Of Paris before them gilded by the
sun.
1t was in the midst Of such happiness
as this that the war Of 1870 came to dis
turb Pierre BaTlat.
We now find him in the fort on Mount
Valerien; be is q gunner. While he is
standing at his post General Noel, the
commander, comes up, accompanied by
his staff, and, leaning against the cannon,
puts bis field-Rlass to his eye and looks
through it toward the Sevres bridge.
''CannOnier," he says suddenly, as he
stands erect and lowers his glass.
"Generalp responds Pierre, with the
military salute.
"Can you see the Sevres bridge2"
Perfectly, general"
"And little cottage half buried In the
trees, on the leit?"
Il see it," says Pierre, turningpale.
There Is q nest Of Prussians In thai
spot. Send them q shell, my good fellow
In spite Of the bleak, north wind, thai
Is making the officers shiver in their ful
pellisses, Pierre feels himself bathed in {
cold sweat. No one observes this, how
ever, and be carefully points and fire.
the piece, while the officers watch thu
effect. As the smoke clears away tn,
general exclaims:
swell aimedi The howell was not yer,
solid-it is nothing but q heap Of ruins.
Tears glisten In the gunner's eyes, anC
the general seeing them, asks in hi
brusk tone:
"Why, what Is the matter with tn
fellow"
Pardon me, general" answers Pierre
who has recovered his self-control, "tha
house was nline-it was all possessed. Ii
the Worldp