The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1904-02-04
BABET'S SACRIFICE
BY VIRGINIA LEILA VENT.


Babet Have they not each other, and
nave they not their little brown thrush
to cheer them? But, beyond doubt,
they are very poor.
Our roses are adorable this sum-
mer, adorable-it it not so, my Pierre ?"
Babel accompanied her quickly sum
moned smile with the CHEEKY remarks
as the old man turned round after his
bird-feeding. The thrush had con-
tinued it's warbling and was again
sending forth flood Of song.
"Oh, listen father! Did you ever hear
such singing?" 1t was a child who
spoke, and she clutched at the mans
sleeve to arrest his attention. The
man was an English artist, who had
just rented for the summer a pretty.
coquettish French chalet two miles be-
yond. Did you ever hear such sing
lngE repeated the child enthusiast
cally.
:, The man confessed that he had not. In
the woods of Senart, near the chalet they
mad taken. there were choirs of thrushes
plackplrdS and other songSters but not one
OF these free warblers could be compared
for fullnesS of melody to this captive bird
hanging up there among the vines. The
TWO strangers remained on the road lis
tenlng for some seconds; then the man
walked up toward the cottage, made the
acquaintance of the old couple and asked
thrush. -.
No oh, no. monsieur said Pierre de-
out Chrysostome
But Babel did not speak. AT first a
rather blank look came over her face
nm, rms blankness quickly gave place to a
look of agitation, of distress. She clasped
hef hands nervously and worked her fin
gers. A vision Of Burgundy and other
dainties for her Pierre had suddenly
Hoated across her vision.
L would give a fair DIipa for 10
D1rd, the stranger went on. II would
like to have it for my little daughter. In
1aGt, you may name your own price"
Pierre was about to repudiate the Of
fer again when he caught Babet's eye
She was already speaking:
Ana monSleurs little daughter would
De very good to the bird?' She lifted up
her worn, gentle face, and eyed him anx-
iously. Poor Pierre hesitated and Stun
bled little before he was able to stam-
mer vaguely:
YOU are going to sell our Chrysostome,
Babet?'
Yes, yes she said, decidedly. But
she gave her head sort of helpless nod,
and looked down at her blue apron
The artist paid double the sum named
and said he would send servant that
afternoon to claim his purchase.
When the servant arrived at the chalet
with the bird, the cage was placed in a
large window in one of the drawing
rooms; The window opened to the sun
and the fragrance and greenery of the
from the melancholy thrush. 1t dropped
and hung its head as If moulting. They
fed. they Whistled. they coaxed; but it re-
manned motionless and moping.
The artist was indignant He had not
really pressed the old people to sell
their bird; he had given them double the
sum named and now 1t was not in his
nature to be suspicious, but it certainly
looked as If another thrush had been
palmed off upon him in place of the mag
nificent songster he had heard that morn
ing.
However, he gave the bird several days
trial AT length, patience was exhausted.
and he sent for its late owner to remon-
strate with him upon his deception
When Pierre finally came, the artist
happened to be in his drawing room hang
ing up pair Of fine antlers. In the center
of the room stood round table, on whose
black marble surface lay huge bunch of
ferns. The artists little daughter was
arranging them for various vases, and the
sunlight which flickered in through the
Venetian blinds played upon her pretty
white hands and made the green ferns
look golden.
Carolyn said the man, who was just
putting the finishing touches to his serious
business Of antler-hanging. you may go
out and bring the old peasant in. and I'll
give him such talking to that he won't
venture upon another dishonest dealing
with an Englishman in a hurry.
Pierre trudged heavily into the room,
hat in hand, and the artist turned around,
armed with some righteous rebuke.
but QelInef ne nor HleITe was aIlOWeQ
to speak; for no sooner had the old man
made his appearance in the room than the
thrush leaped down from it's perch, tapped
it's wings joyously and burst into so tri-
umphant a song that the whole room
seemed to vibrate with its melody.
What, Chrysostome, le jolt Chrysos-
Tome said the old man. going up close to
the wicker cage, you haven't forgotten
Forgotten him, indeed! The bird ex-
tended its slender body: expanded its soft
chest and filed it's little lungs. It's song
the splendor Of invisible color and the
artist found himself thinking. And all
the while it kept moving from side to
side in the cage-dancing with joy, one
might say.
Yes, there could be no doubt about it:
it was the same bird that had so charmed
the ears of the artist and his little daugh-
ter at the foot of the hill near Champro-
say But. like the Hebrew captives, 1t
had not been able to sing Its songs in a
strange land.
you can have your bird, my old man."
the artist said with smile. And then,
to Carolyn:
I'VE would not part with loving friends
for boxes of bon-bons, would we, dear?''
So off together they trudged. happy
Pierre and Chrysostome Chrysostome still
in full song. And Babel wept for joy at
their return.
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