Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1892-10-08

n Nv hN aAAbAtltA htAAAN NAt htA-h-
bors did not remember it. What they
did remember was that he had suffered
deep griefs and forsaken them to make
others happy. He was dwarfed and
ugly, with a long, brown face scanned
with fine lines ike a dried fig. But
the kind heart shining in his pleas
ant smile made up for the hooked nose
and beetling brows. Beside. Pere lie
Bonheur had no critics; only loving
friends.
He lived in a little one-story, hump
backed house on Dumaine street, in
the French quarter. and kept books for
n sugar house on the levee, WHITTIER he
had piled his way along the same
streets for twenty-five years until the
families in his daily route were in
timately acquainted with his tiny fig
ure in its worn but neatly brushed
suit of mourning. As he shuffled by
with a peculiar step, punctuated with
his cane, people indoors recognized
and greeted it with There goes Pere;
God bless him for a good mani"
His charities were only suspected.
Even Agalice, the good-hearted old wo-
man who kept his small house and scold-
ed him affect:onately for his ruinous
extravaganza, did not dream of the
bounties that poured from his slender
purse. and yet, there was always
enough at the years end.
Tonight Is Christmas I've and Perc
is home from the office.
Agalice has built a good lightwood
Gre. which flames against the scarlet
table cover and makes the sitting-room
CHEEKY. But the old man himself is
not gay. He moves restlessly in his
handsome morocco chair, the postum
nous gift of a rich friend, "a souvenir
| of the tired heart his visits had so oft
en- relieved" However, change of
position brings no comfort. At last.
rising and lighting a candle OH the la
bic. be passes with 1t across the hall,
through his bedroom into the little
one beyond. Here he gazes long at
the bed half hid by pretty white cur
tains, at the low dressing table with
its fat pincushion and small mirror
propped against the wall. at the cor
ner filled with all sorts OF p~laythings.
1t is a child's room and Pere handles
the small objects with a love almost
reverential. Signing deeply. he opens
a drawer and searches until he finds
q pair of stockings, when he returns
sadly t. the sitting-room. Hanging
them on the nails driven in the wood
ed maLJel for the purpose, "les clouS
de Noel" as his absent darling had
named them 50 many wears ago, he
takes some packages from his pocket
and begins to fill the gaping legs and
limp feet, trying to prolong his task
By doing and undoing il half a dozen
times, as if TO arrange the bundles
more TO his satisfaction. But it Is
quite finished at last ana Pere sits
down, burying his face IN his empty
arms. How il all comes back to him,
that Christmas eve twelve years ago!
1t was raining, and he had changed
his wet shoes and coat for slippers and
% short jacket. The fire was burning
then as now and Minet, the big NAL
tese, was purring on his cushion near
the hearth and blinking coniidentially
Mt the two apples that Agalice had put
10 roast before the blaze. Papa was
content that night and leaned his head
against one long. bony hand to shield
his eyes from the light. Perhaps he
fell asleep-he always thought not
himself-when Agalice, dragging a
large basket, burst into the room be-
fore he had yet heard the bell ring.
Wake up, Monsieur, wake up! Here
Is some wine for your present." she
cried, all excitement.
He started from his chair nervously,
and was longer than usual finding his
glasses for this sudden interruption.
a rope and labeled with a torn piece
of paper. "A Christmas present for
Pere lie Honheur, the best man God
ever made" But for the name he
would have disclaimed the right of
the gift, so great was his humility. but
while he still pondered the message
Agalice had raised the lid. The first
thing she saw was a fine white shawl.
Removing this, she pa!ed with sur
prise.
my stars, monseiur!" she ~ejacula-
ted. lapsing into English because ev-
erything uncommon was happening.
-They have mex a big misteg! II Is
the 'Foundlings' at the corner they
A1Oh lAACAs IL Is IL Cullu II lNBIcl DtDt
in the wine case?'
NPere peered over his glasses Mt the
wee form cuddled among the bits of
clothes for its wardrobe. As he gaZed
atiny white caskct with a waxen treas
ure. the one pale bloom of his short
married life. hoated before his blurred
eyesight and he kneeled beside this
rough cradle, ~clasping the baby fingers
while the tears believed the little
face. 1t was .he Alteration of the
Mngi. The myrrh, frankincense, gold
Of grief. sacrifice and love!
aAgalice had kept up her idle chat
Ter.
Monsieur, shall / take it TO the
Foundlings'P' she asked the third
time for her master seemed deaf.
a~No, Agalice. no." he answered. gen.
tiy. "One dares o thrust put a
Christ child who knocks on Christmas
eve,"
So little Christa was born in his
heart. She grew there. loving and
beautiful. Morning and evening she
leaned from Agalice's arms to kiss him
oser the low wicket gate. trellised with
r~hineusporum and fianked with two
pink oleanders. How he remembered
he wave of the tiny hand as he left
and the o of delight at his return!
He could yet hear her first call of
~Pere" and see the pretty head tucked
under Agalice's chin i'm modest pride
at such an accomplishment. All, how
sweet was all that baby past! All?
Yes, even that sad day when he learned
beyond doubt that his Christ-child
would be like other children.
Returning home late one spring
evening. Pere found traces of tears on
his darling's face, and taking her on
hfs knee he caressed her till the grief
was whispered between broken sobs.
k-Pere. shall i always be like-thiss
Will never run after butterflies or
pick my own bouquets without Az
sice? Shall ! be different forever and
eyerp"
3+Love. / do not know" he whispered
I'M turn. The dreaded moment had
came. She understood affection. I'VE
will go tomorrow and ask DIR. Pilot
Bat. II 1t Is true. will my darling b
always unhappy" stroking the blonde
hair pitifully and staring hard AZ the
h<iVhf aDriuU shy IN elaar a mist frouS