Wauwatosa news. [volume] (Wauwatosa, Wis.) 1900-1948, 1900-05-19
TRIBUTE TO THE FLAG.

TRIBUTE TO THE FLAG,
From him that hath Rot shall be taken
away even that which he hath.
1t is O'Clock in the afternoon, and a
blaze Of scorching sunlight is beating
| down on the cracked yellow plaster
walls Of the hotel. The brown leaves of
the vine that chambers over the lattice
like roofing of dried reeds which shades
the stone terrace below are crisp and
brittle with the heat. The little blue
| waves are tapping softly against the red
of Jutting rocks and the sharp white line
! of the landing place belonging TO the
| opposite villa. 1t seems as though the
landscape, in Il fit of that frothy French
patriotism of which we hear so much,
| has turned itself red, white and blue,
IKE the dlnsy old flag which hangs ut
! the door of the cafe.
The dingy old flag is not there today
and the care is deserted. \ few skinny
| fowls scratch about among the stones
/ and hard-baked earth. \ dragon tiy
| darts like green flame across the sun
! shinc, and down toward the peacock blue
/ bay.
| DO you want to know why the eternal
/ trlcolOr has been taken from the cafe
| door! | will tell you
MY story begins years ago, on Il bare
| hillside blotChcd here and there by a few
| crimson vine leaves clingng still to the
| stakes which had held M the grapes. IL
! was as desolate Il spot as one could very
| well see, though the sky which hung
| above IT was blue and the bright Medi-
! terranean waves glittercd below. People
talk of the giety of this Southern land
/ people who walk in their hest clothes ON
! thc promenade DIES AnglaiS or the Bou-
! leyard de Ia Crosctte. They are mis-
! taken. They have never seen the South
! IN all It's sadness, i'll all its uuuttcra bic
| drsOlation-the South. silent and desert
ed, with its tracks of fertile land left
| Implanted, sacred to the hymn of that
| monotonous little sun worshipper, the
| ccaa
Here. on the hillside, beyond the dad
| belt Of the vines, someone had built a
| queer little shanty--bnlt of broken
| stones, of split bricks, of all Kinds of
/ odds aud ends--~-Tubbish. 1t hfTf Trtn
! erected very long ago. for there were
holes i'll the walls, into which had been
/ thrust punches Of dried reedS-the tall
/ reeds whose fedthery heads wave over
| the little river below, like the crcSts Of
| ghoStly knights and paiadinS in some old.
! forgotten romance. Here was no snug
| garden plot. gay with yellow marigolds
| and naSturtiums, and fenced round with
/ hedge of scented privet, such ms we see
! before the door of a country cottage in
/ England. The earth was all baked and
/ beaten down before the door. and Il little
| yellow grass showed in Sickly patches
/ upon the burnt soil, from which the CT
| calais Sprang mp in clouds at every foot
step, twrling their blue and red petit
| coats in the sunshine like innumerahle
different colored ballet dancers.
| On the day | remember a woman was
| standing by the door Harvesting a small,
| dusty-looking donkey to a broken down
kind of cart. In the cart was supply
! of milk bottes-the neat tin can Of our
| civilized areas is here Il thing unknown.
| The donkey had a weary, patient air. ~
though he had never known thoroughly
rested bones or a thoroughly satisfied APP
petite. The woman, with her shabby
| dress, of which no atom of distinctive
color remained beneath the fierce on
| Slaughts of the sun, and her big country
hat tied about her ears, seemed Il Great
ure of labor, thing Of endless and hope
less toll
Yet | remember when I spoke to he,
she had the quick cheerfulneSS Of her
race, and all its childish disposition
toward lettering gossip, les-she lived
| there She was the milk woman OF the
| district. driving down ut Is o'clock everT
morning to the little toy station By tht
hotel. more than a mile away. and Their
climbing all the sloping heights around
TO carry milk 10 the tiny huts. or some
times villas perched upon them. She cot
very little by this mode of living, she
said. in her breezy. cheerful way, II,
though il hardly mattered To her, Ev
eryouc was poor, She had almost nj
ways enough for the children and hel
husband. and she did not look for more
OF herself she did not speak, and ! f"a
/ that there were times when she ana II,
dusty, patient donkey Kept their fas
together.
Then She opened the door Of her little
Shanty and showed me the interior =
strange dim place. which had a poverty
stricken wCirducSS of its own. \ para
/ lived man, some years her senior, wa,
sitting near the tiny slit of window, witt
the light falling on his pale face and va
cant ewes. This was the husband Of
whom she spoke On the A0nr "A hoy al
3 or was eating Wild tgS, and playing
with a battered tin trumpet. This wa,
her youngest child, The other, som,
years older. was gone Ia pick mushrooms
As She spoke he came in his basllc
trimming with gampignanS, as he cQllo,
them in his queer childish pltoiS. Thcs,
children hardly understood civilized
French They were small and pale. lik,
all Southern children, with an under
FED mir. and big, sad eyes They sar
munchjug their figs and handling The toy
trumpet with a strange. old-fashonet
SOlcmnity.
. Yes she said they would he a help 1,
! her 10y and by when they had done thei
service and como back 10 their old home
They could get work in the quarry owe
the hill, and. when she was too old. on,
Of them could help her with the milk
odd. simple dream Of rest and content
Only to leave of trudgiug mp the rough
8 hjllSideS whore the cart could no, go
3 only to drudge a little less bitterly In ol,
axe than she had dome in youth, 70 81
In the sun sometimes aud stare at tn,
blue sky. and the sea and he at peace
what little thins II seems. VIII,