The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1913-04-18

from the field of his ancestors.
Sanchez. the man, buried him. and.
having dutifully performed this last
task. walked away from the grave
and out of the army.
During this while the son by the
peasant woman, intrusted to an old
tlshwife who had been allowed TO
usurp pitch OF his fathers lands.
received scanty care and attention.
wen when the stipulated fees for his
maintenance had continued to come;
but when. at the Seigneur's death,
they ceased. any slight solicitude on
the caretaker's part soured to acri-
mony An offspring OF dubious par
entage. she begrudged him his bread;
kept him from her own precious
brood. and taught them to address him
as brat" 'pauper," or by terms even
more forcible. Thus set upon. fire.
quently he fought; but like young
wolves. hunting In packs. they wor-
ried him to the earth, and, when he
continued to struggle, beat him to un-
consciousness, II not submission.
One day, after such an experience
at the hands OF those who had par
taken OF the Seigneur's liberality. the
boy. all bruised and aching, fed to
the woods, and, with the instinct OF
an animal to hide, buried himself In
its deepest recesses. Night came; en-
compassed by strange sounds, I'M
known terrors, he crept to the verge
OF the forest. and lying there, looked
out across the distance toward the
scattered habitations. visible through
the gloom. One tiny yellow dot or
light which he located held his
glance. Should he return? That
small stone hut. squalid as II was.
had been his only remembered home
But the thought OF the reception that
taTe: the stars coming out. seemed to
lend courage TO his resolution. and.
with his face yet turned toward the
low long strip of land. sprinkled with
the faint, receding points OF light. he
fell asleep.
The earliest shafts OF morn. how
ever, awaking him, sent him quickly
back into the dark forest, where all
day he kept to the most shadowy
screens and covers. fearing he should
be followed, and, perhaps, captured.
But the second night was like the
first the next like the second. and the
days continued to pass with no signs
o. pursuit Punched by hunger, GER
tain OF the berries and roots he ate
poisoned him. until in time he profited
by his sufferings AID learned to dis
oriminate in his choice OF the frugal
fare about him. Not that his appe-
tite was ever satisfied, even when he
extended his explorations TO the
beach at night, digging in the sand
with his fingers for cookies, or prowl-
ing about the rocks for mussels
Yet, despite all. he Rugged to his
breast a compensating sense OF lib
erty; the biting tooth of autumn was
preferable TO the stripes and tongue
lashings of the old life; and, If now
frugal repasts were the rule. hunger
had often been his lot in the past. So
learned not TO fear the animals and
they, to know him; indeed. they
seemed to recognize him by that
sharp unsated CLINT OF the eye as one
of their kind. When the days grew
bleaker and the nights colder, he took
refuge in corner within the gray
walls of the moss-grown castle OF his
ancestors, the old Seigneurs. No
cheerful place, above all at night.
when the spirits OF the dead seem to
walk abroad, and sobs, means. and
fierce voices fill the air! Then. creep
ing closer to the fire he had started
in the giant hearth. wide-eyed he
would listen, only at length through
sheer WEAKNESS to fall asleep. Never
theless. II was shelter. and here.
throughout the winter. the boy re.
NAMED.
fTO pE CONTINITED1