The Lamar register., 1912-09-25
He kADYl0'a@.;A|f<}
heMOUNTs}fEj::53c~5t43 A
by FREDERIC s: ISM lsIl e. ,n
@AUTHOR Of TIE S1ROL[ERS DHD[R TIL KO0L TIC
ILLUSTRATIONS BY R74/ WINTERS
q 100 BY IltE BOBBY -l1ERRILl G

sudden ebullition in the pot.
Left to his thoughts, the boy stepped
to the window; for some time stood
motionless, gazing through a forest
rift at the end of which uprose the
top of an Aladdin-like structure, by
an optical illusion become a part OF
that locality; a conjuror's castle in
the wood!
THE Mount looks near tonight
Sanchez"
"Near?" The man took from its
hook the pot and set 1t on the table
Not too near to suit the governor
perhaps!"
And why should 1t suit him."
drawing stool to the table and sit
ting down.
because he must be so fond OF
looking at the forest"
And does that-please him?"
'How could it fail to? Isn't it
nice wood? Oh. yes. I'll warrant you
he finds 1t to his liking. And all the
lands about the forest that used to be.
long to the old Seigneurs, and which
the peasants have taken-waste lands
they have tilled-he must think them
very fine to look at, now, And what
hubbub there would be, If the lazy
peasants had to pay their metayage
and fire-tax and road-tax-and all the
other taxes-the way the other peas
ants do-to him
What do you mean?"
Nothing" The mans jaw closed
like a steel trap. The porridge is
burned"
And with no further word the meal
proceeded. The man, first to finish
lighted his pipe, moved again to the
fire. and. maintaining n taciturnity
that had become more or less habit
ual. stolidly devoted himself to the
solace OF the weed and the compan
ionship of his own reflections Once
or twice the boy seemed about tc
speak and did not; finally, however
he leaned forward. a more resoiute
light in his sparkling black eyes.
You never learned to read. San
chez?"
At the unexpected question, the
smoke pulled suddenly from the mans
lirs. Not L."
Nor writer"
Nor sail to the moon!' he returned
derisively. Read? Rubbish! Write!
What for? Does it bring more fish
to your nets?"
"Who-could show me how to read
and writer"
Your" Sanchez stared.
why not?"
Books are the tools of the devill"
declared Sanchez shortly. There
was a black man here today with a
paper-a writ | think he called it
or a service OF some kind-anyhow,
1t must have been in Latin" violently,
for such gibberish, never heard
and
The boy rose. People who can't
read and write are low and ignorant!"
Eth? What's come over your"
My father was a gentleman"
Your father!-yes-"
And a Seigneur!-"
"A Seigneur truly!"
And 1 mean to be one!" said the
boy suddenly. closing his fists.
"Oh, oh! So that's it?" derisively.
You, Seigneur? Whose mother"
who could teach me?" Determined,
but with trace of color on his brown
cheek, the boy looked down.
"Who?" The man began to recover
from his surprise. That's not so
easy to tell. But if you must know
well, there's Gabriel Gabarie. for one,
a poet OF the people. He might do 1t
although there's talk of cutting OH
his head"
What for?"
For knowing how to write"
The lad reached for his hat.
Where are you going?"
ITO the poets"
AT this late hour! You are in
hurry"
IF what you say is true, there's no
time to lose"
well, if you find him writing
verses about liberty and equality,
don't interrupt him, or you'll lose
your head" shouted the man.
But when the sound of the boys
footsteps had ceased, Sanchezs ex-
preston changed more bent, more
worn, he got up and walked slowly to
and fro. "A fine Seigneur!" The
moldering walls seemed to echo the
words. "A fine Seigneur," he NUT
tered, and again sat brooding by the
fire.
In the gathering dusk the lad strobe
briskly on. A squirrel barked to the