The Goodland republic. [volume] (Goodland, Kan.) 1891-1907, 1892-06-10

bert was really good soul, and always
ready to help poor nelghbor. She was
very fond of the 0'Hara girls, and already
she had begun to build her little castles In
the air for their benefit Rose was TO marry
Philip, that honest young mechanic from
the far SOUTH beyond Carcassonne, who was
doing so well as jOurneyman cabinet
maker, and who was something OF an artist
in his way, and thus little above the aver
age mechanic. And now here there had
dropped from the sky as II were, the very
lover Of lovers for Kathleen-yOung, hand
some, refined, as charming as lover in q
play
Maman Schubert told herself 1t was high
time Kathleen should have lover, whose
duty 1t would be TO protect and cherish her,
and TO marry her so soon as ever they were
rich enough to marry. She was much too
pretty to remain unguarded by strong
mans love. For such fresh and lnnOcent
loneliness Paris was full OF snares; she
cOald not go the length Of street ilone
without encountering perlls. The wolf was
always on the watch for this lamb Rose
O'Hara's ayocatlOns compelled her TO be alb
sent all day long, and she was obliged to
new her young sister In the little sitting
room, forblddlng her to go a step beyond
her daily marketing within a narrow radius
Of the Rue Git lie CHur.
The wolf, as represented by the gandtn
or pettt CreUe was not often on the pr0wl in
this humble locality. The payemeats were
too rough for his dainty boots, the region
altogether too shabby for his magnlfcence.
But from the SOrbOnne, from the Luxem-
bourg, and from the Hotel Dieu issued
wolves Of another and rOugher species
students Of all kinds; and Rose lived in
eyer-present fear lest one Of these should
assail her cherished lamb. Maman Schu-
bert was often too lazy to 60 marketing;
and then Kathleen must needs go alone on
her little errands to the green-grOcer, or the
pOrk-butcher, or the cremerie.
The cremerie was just round the corner
one Of the neatest dalntlest little shops in
Paris, or at least 1t was so thought by the
inhabitants of Git lie CGur, who patronised
It literally. 1t was a tiny shop in a narrow
street. and one descended to 1t by two stone
steps trodden hollow and sloplng by pill
prims in past ages; for the shop was an old
shop, coeval with the departed glories of
the Faubourg St. German. 1t was cellar
like and dark, but that was an advantage
on a hot summer day. 1t was cool and shad-
owy, like rustic dairy, and it was clean
all, how 1t was clean You might have Of
fered napoleon for every cObweb to be
found In Suzon Michel'S shop, without fear
Of being out of pocket by your offer. The
little tables at which SuzOn's customers
breakfasted were Of spotIess marble. Her
thick white crOckery had never stain or a
smear. Her brass mllk-cans and tin coffee
pots were as bright as silver in silver
smiths shop.
1t was In this acknowledgement apartment
that CASTOR Mortemar, the young journalist,
took his breakfast every day-coffee and
eggs, roll and butter occasionally DIVERSE
fed by plate Of redlshes.
This simple and wholesome fare was en-
liyened by the society Of Madame Michel, a
buxom black-eyed widow of slx-and-twenty,
who had always the last news Of the quar-
ter and CHEEKY word for every conner, and
who found great deal to say to this par
tlcular customer. She stood behind her
bright little counter, flashing her knitting
needles, or moved defhy about the shop,
and arranging her pots and pans,
while CASTOR Mortemar breakfasted, and
that hour seemed to her always the bright
est in the day. By the time he had lived
six months in the Rue Git 10 Ceur, they
were on very intimate terms. She used to
upbrald him II he were five minutes later
than his usual hour, and she would pout and
look sorrOwful II he seemed In haste to de-
part. Once she served him better break
fast than he had ordered, and wanted to
supply him with dainty dish gratis; but
Monsieur Mortemar drew the line here. His
angry flush and naughty frown told the lit
tie widow that she had gone too far.
"Please to remember that am gentle.
man, and not q piqueasStette, he said, "and
that eat nothing cannot pay for"
Madame shrugged her shoulders, and said
It was hard she could not offer an Onlelette
a,tr points d'dSpergeS to q friend If she
liked.
"When 1 visit my friends l take what they
choose to give me-" answered CASTOR cold.
ly; "but have no friends in this part of
Paris"
Suzon Michel looked as black as thunder,
and took the journalists money in sulky ST.
lenCe. She broke jug before dinner-time,
and was snapplsh to her customers all the
rest Of the day.
What Satan-llke prldep she exclaimed
thinking Of her favorite patron; and then
she muttered q remark which might have
found place later in the columns Of the
Pere DuCh6ne.
She cried when she went to bed thatnight,
cried and sobbed, and swore an oath or two
by way Of soace, before she laid her head
on her pillow, thinking that CASTOR Morte-
mar would come no more to the little table
at the end Of the shop. But at the usual
time he walked into her shop, and sat him
self down with an imperturbable vlsage.
She served his coffee as carefully as ever,
but said never word. He read a newspa.
per while he breakfasted, paid, and went,
without word on his part.
Next morning there was bunch Of daffo-
dis on the little table, bunch OF yellow
bloom lighting up the shadowy corner.
Suzon had trudged to the flower-market be.
fore she opened her shop, to buy these
spring flowers for the man she loved. Yes,
she loved him, and meant to marry him II
she could. He was gentleman, and she
cdndtlle de cdndille. But what of thatS
Did not the gutter throne 1t yonder on the
side of the Seine, in the Bots, in the Pare
MOnceau-the gutter made glorious in silks
and satins, driving thoroughbred horses,
scattering their lovers substance In waves
Of goldp Did not all that was noblest in the
land lay itself down and grovel at the feet
of the rnttar2 And her rnnLlnrnnn ,unn ,,nnr