Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1893-07-29
THE LITTLE THIEF.

"Ah, the scoundrels!' exclaimed the
old guard, planting himself before q
tomb.
He had never witnessed such de-
struction. For several days it had
been going on, and it had confounded
him, and filled him with indignation.
And yet it was but a little while ago
that he had made his official rounds
through all the silent avenues.
This had been Father Johns duty
for thirty years. He had quilted his
regiment only because Of severe
wounds but, thanks to his excellent
constitution, he recovered from his in
jurcs and had obtained the modest
place of forester in the cemetery Of
Ivry.
An old man without family, he found
himself alone after leaving his COM
radeS, and without friends, save those
who loved him for the military medal
which he wore upon his breast; and
so he grew to have veritable love for
the tombs which were confined to his
care.
His tombs were his family, his
friends, his regiment; and his days ran
on in happy calm. But his satisfac-
tion was beginning to disappear. Sud-
lultl lllt DScu pOlsOitu
Grief positively tortured him, filled his
heart with indignation and made his
blood boil. Some one was stealing
from the tombs.
The shock was heavy one. The ar
tistically carved Christs, the golden
medallions, all the objects of value
were disarranged. On one tomb, re-
splendent with bouquets Of choice flow
ers, in which We're put notes saying
that those who remained did not for
get some sacriligious hand had pro-
famed the pious souvenirs, tearing up
the pretty flowers, and in a corner
nothing but the note remained, SEEM
ing to say, "A thief. A thief"
With hands wide spread Father John
stood before the tomb; he could not
withdraw his eyes. The evening be-
fore it was so beautiful, and surround
ed by real garden-as lovely spot
as was to be found in the whole place
A devastating hand had passed that
way, dragging up the most beautiful
roses, leaving behind havoc and de-
vastation. His pent-up wrath mounted
to the old mans head, and flushed his
face with a deep red. But q single
hope remained-"to surprise the male
factor and'-
He did not finish, but with his arms
extended, and shaking his fists in the
air, he menaced the unknown author
of the mischief. Then he resumed his
walk, saying at each step, as if 1t We're
refrain which contained all his
wrath: What can induce anybody to
become such rascal!'
Suddenly, on turning a corner, the
old soldier saw a little girl trotting
along with uncertain steps. Her dress
was a mere rag, through which could
be seen her rosy skin. The scanty
robe was covered with mud and her
arms, red with the cold, sought to hide
under her fringe of tatters From
afar the forester followed her.
Probably" he thought, "she is one
of those little beggars who hang about
the grounds-poor little vagabonds sent
by their parents to beg aims of the
VISITORS
But quickly his eyes burned with
anger. He wished to shrek, but, suffo-
Gated with wrath, he could not. He
saw the little girl stop beside grave
and seize with both hands rose bush,
which she shook with violence, and by
a final effort uprooted. She bore the
shrub in her arms, and ran right be-
fore him, stumbling at each step, and
bruising her naked feet without note
of complaint seeing nothing, and not
even hearing behind her the Wheeling
breath of the old soldier, who followed
closely, saying between his clinched
teeth: "Ah, little thief l have you! You
are doing good business"