The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1906-12-14

The child was lying stretched out
in his little white bed, and his eyes,
grown large through fever, looked
straight before him, always with the
strange fixity of the sick who already
perceive what the living do not see.
The mother at the foot of the bed,
torn by suffering and wringing her
hands to keep herself from crying,
anxiously followed the progress of
face of the little being. The father,
an honest workman, kept back the
tears which burned his eyelids.
The day broke clear and mild, a
beautiful day in June, and lighted
up the narrow room in the street of
the Abessess where little Francois,
the child of Jacques and Madeleine
Legrand, lay dying. He was seven
years old and was very fair, very
rosys and so lively. Not three weeks
ago he was gay as sparrow; but
fever had seized him and they
brought him home one evening from
the public school with his head heavy
and his hands very hot. From that
time he had been here in this bed and
sometimes in his delirium when he
looked at his little, well-blackened
fully placed in corner on a board,
he said:
You can throw them away now,
little Francois shoes! Little Fran
co.'s will not put them on any more!
Little Francois will not go to school
any more-neyer, never!"
Then the father cried out and
said: wilt thou be still" And the
mother, very pale, buried her blond
head in his pillow so that little Fran
co.'s could not hear her weep.
When they wished him to take
some medicine, some syrup, or lit
tie soup, he refused. He refused
everything.
"Dost thou wish anything. Fran
cois?"
mo, wish nothing!"
I'VE must draw him out of this"
the doctor said, This torpor fright
ems me!-you are the father and the
mother, you know your child we'll.
Seek for something to reanimate this
little body, recall to earth this spirit
which runs after the clouds!"
Then he went away.
Seek"
Yes, without doubt they knew him
we'll, their Francois, these worthy
people! They knew how it amused
him, the little one, to plumber the
hedges on Sunday and to come back
to Paris on his fathers shoulders
laden with hawthorn. Jacques Lee
grand had bought some images, some
gilded soldiers, and some Chinese
shadows for Francois; he cut them
out, put them on the child's bed and
wildered eyes of the little one, and
with desire to weep himself he tried
to make him laugh.
'Dost thou see, it is the broken
bridge. Tire. tire, tire! And that is
general! Thou remembered we
saw one, general, once, in the Bots
de Boulougne? If thou takest thy
medicine we'll I will buy thee real
one with cloth tunic and gold
epaulettes. Dost thou wish for him,
the general, say?"
No." replied the child, with the
dry voice which fever gives.
"Dost thou wish pistol, some
marbles-a cross-bow?"
NO." repeated the little voice,
clearly and almost cruelty.
And to all that they said to him.
Tn all tho i'm An -soo oh IN oil ~
balloons that they promised him. the
little voice-while the parents looked
at each other in acknowledgements
mo. No. MOI"
But what dost thou wish, my
Francois?" asked the mother. LET
us see, there is certainly something
thou wouldst like to have. Tell it!
tell it to me! to me! thy mother!"
And she laid her cheek on the pillow
of the sick boy and whispered this
softly in his ear as if it were a Sc
cret. Then the child with an odd
accent, Strengthening himself up in
his bed and stretching out his hand
eagerly toward some invisible thing.
replied suddenly in an ardent tone.
at the same time supplicating and i'm
perative:
81 want Boum-Boum!"
Boum-Boum!
Poor Madeleine threw frightened
look toward her husband. What did
the little one say? Was it the de-
lirium. the frightful delirium, which
had come back again?
Boum-Boum
She did not know what that meant
and she was afraid of these singular
words which the child repeated with