St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1898-11-09

rested on a chair, and it was the first
thing Lory saw when he entered. This,
then, explained his wife's pallor, her
embarrassment. He understood it all.
"Christian is here ~ he cried furious
", and, taking down his saber, with
gesture of rage rushed behind the stove,
where the zouave, pale and sobered,
was crouching, leaning against the wall
for fear of falling.
The mother threw herself between
them.
"Lory, Lory, do not kill himI' she
cried. at was | who wrote him to re-
turn - that you needed him at the
forge"
She chung to her husbands arm, and,
sobbing, dragged him back, and in their
room the weeping children could hear
their parents wholesome full OF tears,
the other of anger, SO changed that they
could hardly recognize them.
The blacksmith stood still moment
and looked at his wife.
"Ah, it was you, was it, that made
him return? Very well. He may 60 to
bed. | shall see what | will do in the
morning."
The next day Christian awoke after
sleep full of nightmare and terror to find
himself in the room where he had slept
when a child. Across the little lead
framed panes grew a hop vine in flow
er, and the sun was already high in the
heavens. Below the hammers sounded
on the anvil.
His mother was at his bedside. She
had not left him during the night be-
cause she feared her husbands rage
might return. Her husband also had
not sought his couch, for until it was
dawn he had walked about the house,
weeping, signing, opening and shutting
the drawers of the presses, and now
that it was day had quietly entered his
son s room, dressed as for journey,
with high CATERS, large hat and car
rying an iron ferruled mountaineer S
staff. He came up to the bed, saying
only, "Get upp
The boy, trife confused, started to
put on his zouave uniform.
"Not that" said his father sternly.
"But he has no Others" his mother
interposed
"Give him mine, then. I shall moi
need them any more"
While his son was dressing, Lory
carefully folded the uniform, and, max
ing a package Of it, hung it by its stral
over the end Of his stick.
"Now come down stairs, he said a
: last and the three went down to tn
forge without speaking. The below
roared, the men were at work. Th
, sight of the open shed door reminder
the zouave of his childhood, how he hal
3 played there so long between the warn
I road and the door where the sparks Q
3 the forge shone in the black coal dust
5 A feeling of tenderness came over him
. desire to have his fathers pardon, Blu
S when he lifted his eyes he encountere
! an memorable glance. At last the black
a smith spoke:
"My son." said he, "here are tn
9 anvil and the tools; all are yours. An
: all this, too" added he, pointing to til
n little garden, full of the sunlight, an
+ the humming of bees, framed in the b.
!, smoked doorway. 1.-The hives, the vine
/. the house. all belong to you. AS yc
have sacrificed your honor for the
}. things it is only right that you shoul
s. take care of them. You are master ov'
all here. AS for me, | am going ava,
!, You owe five years to France, and | a
+, going to pay them for you. p"
10 "Lory, Lory, where are you going!
s. cried his poor wife.
"Father!" wept his son.
But the blacksmith had gone, wal
1s ing away with great strides witho
In turning once.
a At Siddi-bel Abbes at the garris'
'k of the Third zouaves, not many ola
re later there was enrolled among tho
g. who had enlisted as volunteers O
be whose age had passed half century
ey five years. From the French of 4
at phonse Daudet For Short Stories