The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1895-09-06
"Don t be afraid. Here, let's play pick

The cannon poured in broadSlde.
Simon lifted the little girl upon his
shoulders and set her on his mapsack,
and trembling for the first time in his
life, fired his musket, to the great de-
light of Emmeline, who clapped her
hands and shouted gleefully. In due
time a company Of French troops ar
rived upon the scene, and amid frantic
cheering from the spectators the corporal
and his companion are borne off in
safety, but General Roquebert has been
mortally wounded He is carried in
upon a litter, and in his last agony
blesses Emmeline, who is left in charge
Of the old corporal after thousand in
structions and recommendations neces-
sary to the rest Of the piece.
The little innocent, growing and
smiling in the middle of this crowd Of
soldiery, among all these decorations,
this noise and smoke of battle, won
veritable triumph. The public applaud
ed with frenzy, and when some one
spoke of her as an "infant prodigy" the
phrase was caught up and echoed round
the house.
Always "pick back" ON the KNAPP
sack of the old corporal, she was "call-
ed" three times, and ON reaching the
wings was Immediately hugged and
kissed, feted and fondled and crammed
with bonbons and dainties by the ladies
of the company.
"That was a capital idea of mine"
Verniere had said to himself on signing
the engagement of his daughter at the
Theatre du Nord, Capital ="
For hundred nights ''The Old Cor
poral" drew crowds to the boulevard,
and those unable to get inside remained
outside to cheer the "infant prodigy"
Lucette Verniere.
All was going merrily.
At the end of three months Lucette
began to show signs that the strain was
telling on her. Her slim figure and pale
face were growing simmer and paler.
Her eyes were heavy, her look jaded.
The grandmother observed the symp-
toms with alarm. She called the atten-
tion of the parents to the child, but
Verniere would listen to nothing and
contented himself with replying:
Don't make yourself uneasy about
nothing. The Old Corporal's' begin
ming to f1utter. We can t keep him going
much longer, and after he drops Lucette
will have plenty of time to rest"
y
She was "resting" now, little Lu-
cette.
Resting, with q face whittier than the
pillow on which her head lay, victim
to brain fever.
From time to time her wasted little
hand would grasp convulsively, as if
seized with sudden fear, the long, bony
hand of her old grandmother.
Poor old woman, how she suffered to
see her darling lying i'll, and in fury
Of anger she would charge Verniere
with sacrificing the child to his vanity.
"You have driven her beyond her
strength. You've exhausted all her
forces Mauditp'
The father never replied. He knew
that he had done bad business and de-
served all the reproaches his mother
heaped upon him.
When Lucette opened her big eyes and
fixed them on him, they seemed to re-
proach him also. They felt like knives
in his heart.
One afternoon, after the doctors de-
parture, Lucette was taken delirious.
She sat up in bed, staring about her
wildly and crying: "The enemy! Look
there! Forward! Vive l'empereurr
And again:
General Roquebert is mortally
wounded. A doctor-quick-hurry-
there's no time to lose!'
They were phrases from "The Old
Corporal, which were passing through
the fevered brain of the poor child. Yer
Mere and his wife stood at the head Of
the bed, plunged in an abyss of grief.
AS for the old grandmother, she could
scarcely see for weeping. Her heart was
broken.
For few moments the child remain
ed quiet, and the watchers thought she
had fallen asleep, but suddenly starting
up "all of piece" and with an agony
of terror lighting up her face:
"The enemyp' she cried, throwing up
her arms "The enemyr'
And she fell back dead
Three days later the body Of the Gin
FAINT prodigy"-Lucette Verniere-was
laid in the cemetery at Pantin. On the
coffin was placed a magnificent floral
crown, which bore the inscription, "To
Lucette Verniere, artistic, from the The
atre du Nord.'
The old grandmother was too pros
treted to join the funeral procession, but
after the sun was down, the figure of
the poor old creature might have been
seen bending over the still open grave,
and her voice heard calling softly, so
softly that she seemed afraid it might
awaken the little sleeper who lay be-
low: "Lucette, my child; my darling
Lucette. 1t is /. Do you hear me? am
coming to you.
Next morning the gravediggers found
upon the grave of the "infant prodigy"
the inanimate form of the old grand
mother, smiling in death upon her we'll
beloved grandchild Lucette. From the
French.
The Burgomaster's Ready Wit.
rHH