The Portland daily press., 1891-09-19
FOR MARSE CHOUGHOUTE.
youths Companion. /

~SWt JOdAASo AAAoht w oS W. "N"-
to remember is this-an take it fer 20
motto: No monkeyshines with Uncle
SAM You understand You aware now
O. the penalties attached to monkey
shinin with Uncle Sam. reckon that's
bout all got to say; so you be on han
promp' tomorrow mornin at o'clock to
take charge o the United States mail
bag"
This formed the close of very pomp-
GUS address delivered by the postmaster
Of Centerville to young Armand YER
Ghetto, who had been appointed to carry
the mails from the village to the rail-
way station, three miles away.
Armand-or Chouchoute, as every one
chose to call him, following the habit of
the creoles in giving nicknames-had
listened little impatiently.
Not so the little negro boy who accom-
panied him. The child had listened with
the deepest respect and awe to every
word Of the rambling admonition.
SHOW much you gwine git, Marse
Chouchoute" he asked, as they walked
down the village street together, the
black boy little behind. He was very
black, and slightly deformed; a small
boy, scarcely reaching to thelshoulder of
his companion, whose casttof garments
he wore.
But Chouchoute was tall for his six
teen years, and carried himself well.
"W'y, I'm goin to git thirty dolla' a
month, Wash. Wat you say to that?
Beta IAN hoein cotton, ant itP" He
laughed, with triumphant ring in his
voice.
But Wash didnot laugh. He was too
much impressed by the Importance of
this new function, too much bewildered
by the vision of sudden wealth which
thirty Collars month meant to his I'M
derstanding.
BE felt, too, deeply conscious of the
geat weight Of responsibility which this
new Office brought with it. The impos-
ing salary had confirmed the impression
left by the postmaster's words.
"You gwine git all dat money! Sakesi
Wat you reckon Name Armand say2 ]
know she gwine mos take fit wen she
heah dat"
But Chouchoute's mother did not
"mos' take a fit" when she heard of her
sons good fortune. The white and
wasted hand which rested upon the boys
black curls trembled little, 1t Is true,
and tears of emotion came into her tired
eyes This step seemed to her the be-
ginning Of better things for her father
less boy.
They lived quite at the end Of this lit
tie French village, which was simply
two long rows of very old frame houses,
facing one another closely across dusty
roadway.
Their home was a cottage, so small
and so humble that it just escaped the
reproach Of being cabin.
Every one was kind to Nine. Armand.
Neighbors ran In of mornings to help
her with her work-she could do so little
for herself. And often the good priest,
Pere Antoine, came to sit with her and
talk innocent gossip.
To say that Wash was fond of Nine.
Armand and her son is to be poor In
language to express devotion. He wor-
shipped her as If she were already an
sngel in Paradise.
Chouchoute was delightful young
fellow; no one coEid help loving him.
His heart was as warm and CHEEKY as his
own southern sunbeams. If he was born
with an unlucky trick Of forgetfulness-
or, better, thoughtlessness-no one ever
felt much like blaming him for it, SO
much did it seem part of his happy,
careless nature. And why was that
faithful watchdog, Wash, always at
Marse Chouchoute's heels, If it were not
to be hands and ears and eyes to him.
more than half the time?
One beautiful spring night Chou
choute, on his way to the station, was
riding along the road that skirted the
river. rne CTumsy Inaai Dag Unat lay
before him across the pony was almost
empty, for the Centerville mail was a
meager and unimportant one at best.
But he did not know this. He was
not thinking of the mail, IN fact; he was
only feeling that life was very agreeable
this delicious spring night.
There were cabins at intervals upon
the road-most of them darkened, for
the hour was late. AS he approached
one of these, larger than the others, he
heard the sound of a fiddle, and saw
lights through the openings of the house.
It was so far from the road that when
he stopped his horse and peered through
the darkness he could, not recognize the
dancers who passed before the open
doors and windows. But he knew this
was Gros Icons ball, which he had
heard the boys talking about all the
week.
Suppose he should stand in the door
way an instant and exchange word
with the dancers2 It would not take
moment.
Chouchoute dismounted, fastened his
horse to the fencepost and proceeded to-
ward the house.
The room, crowded with people young
and old, was long and low, with rough
beams across the ceiling, blackened by
smoke and time. Upon the high man
telpiece single coal oil lamp burned
and none too brightly.
In far corner, upon a platform Of
boards laid across two flour barrels, sat
Uncle Ben, playing upon a squeaky fid-
die and shouting the Figures"
"Ahi Via Chouchoutel" some one
called.
"Ehl Chouchouter
"Jus' in time, Chouchoute; yere's Miss
Leontine waitin fer partna."
''S'lute yo' partnasl" Uncle Ben was
laundering forth; and Chouchout, with
one hand gracefully behind him, made
profound bow to Miss Leontine, as he
offered her the other.
Now Chouchoute was noted far and
wide for his skill as a dancer. The mo-
ment he stood upon the floor a fresh
spirit seemed to enter into all present
It was with renewed vigor that Uncle
Ben intoned his "Balancy ALL Fus TO-
fo'ard an backp'
The spectators drew close about the
couples to watch Chouchoute's wonder
full dancing.
sit takes Chouchoute to show 'em de
step, vaP proclaimed Gros Leon, with
fat satisfaction, to the audience at large.
'Look imi look i'm yondal Ole Ben
got to work hard an dat if he want to
keep up wild Chouchoute, val"
So it was; encouragement and adula-
ton on all sides, till, from the praise
that was showered on him, Chouchoute's
head was as light as his feet.
At the windows appeared the duskJ
faces of the negroes, their bright eyes