Pierre weekly free press. (Pierre, S.D.) 1889-19??, 1914-06-18

1lIS, IS LeaIu HIS HlOlueI SlilS do SIN
moved about; he lifted his head and
saw her through the open window, in
a bar Of misty sunshine. The world
seemed bright; surely when there Is
sunshine and the smell of good earth
and the smell of good food, when n S
mother sings-then the world is bright.
Francois fell to whistling A lecole du
Roi, the old chanson which his mother
sang.
Into this contentment came, Sallop-
ing gloriously, hoof beats of a horse.
The busy spade, several sizes too pig,
stopped, and Francois leaned his. chin
on the handle, the boy out of drawing
for the tool.
He stood, like a quaint little old work
man, watching to see the general pass,
the general on that apotheosis of horse
flesh, Lisette. But the general stopped,
which was a heavenly surprise to Fran
co.'s each time that it happened.
Good morning. Marshal. How goes
the fighting? The colonel, your father,
is in the field. is he not? Will you ask
the lieutenant colonel, your mother. If
l may speak to herr"
And the general, flinging titles about
him.. sprang to h ground. "All mar
shahs to stay inside" he shouted after
the boy. Council of war excluding
field Officers above generals"
Mother. mother, the %seigneur wish
es you, Francois whispered piercinsly,
but Claire was already on the little
front walk by the new garden.
In a moment she stood at the gate in
her fresh calico dress, with a white
fichu over her head, and the big man
lowered and groWled sentences friend
lily Francois. obedient in the cottage,
gazed earnestly from the window out of
earshot, injurious, admiring. Long
years after he remembered the picture;
the little boy. whose life was being
settled, gazing from the humble house
at the old soldier who opened a loo for
that small life into large possibilities;
and the mother who loved him and saw
the first step for her boy on a lader
that mounted above her.
Then the general trotted with jing-
ling stirrup down the village street and
Claire stood with yes following for a
moment. When she turned she was
smiling yet. but Francois vaguely
wondered at the movement which
twisted her mouth for a second as she
looked at him. She put her arm around
his neck and kissed him, which was
pleasant but eemed Impractical.
What did the %seigneur say, my
mother?" he demanded, struggling
away. Did he say l might come to the
chateau tomorrow? May I? Am l to
know what the general said, my mo-
ther?"
For he considered the seigneur his
property; he was a bit injured at being
excluded from the council of war, he,
the marshal.
After his father came home to din
ner he knew. He vas to go each NOR
ming to the chateau and do work in
copying for the general. The general
was writing a book, nothing less than
a history of Napoleon himself. The
boys great dreamy eyes glowed. What
luck to help in such Il glory! How glad
| he was thai he wrote f3EtpCt and most
accurately of all the boys in schools!
And the general was to pay him six
francs a week-it was dazzling! That
would make the hoard mount beyond
anything he had dared to hope. That
would be a real help to his mother and
to his father-''Is it not, my father?"
And the father said yes, proudly.
And neither mother nor father sug-
gested that there was even more to his
great future.
So the little lad. in his clean, patched
peasant clothes, went up to the chateau
the next morning serious and IMPORT
ant, and was given a table and a cor
ner in the library and words to copy
which thrilled his soul For the very
first was about the battle of Auster-
ltz and the sunshine and the frozen
river; it seemed a fate big enough for
any life to sit there in the quiet book
lined room and write out such things
Nil q ilStl WHO idu seen llo01.
1t came to be the spring OF the year,
and day after day Francois trod the
path down the village street past his
old home, which he resolutely looked
away from, n across the arch of the
old Roman bridge. From there he
glanced up always to see the first
broad view of the red castled roof with
the gray towers below. vague through
the trees. There We're nuts by the
thousands in the stately beech woods of
the castled park. out Francois was too
busy a man to stop for nuts in the
mornings. Straight on he marched to
the little side door. and there can
Philippe Moison, the son of Jean Phil
lippe Moison of Delesmontes, now a
footman at the chateau and the wearer
of very beautiful purple and gold
clothes, opened the door and let him
in.
Day after day, week after week he
labored with all his might at the piles
of manuscript: when it was a question
OF battle, murder n sudden death he
was 81 happy boy. and also he some-
times made mistakes for joy of the
story; but when descriptions of the
emperor's policy came, and lists of
PROVISIONS and such things, then, ma
turally, one was at times tired. Yet
the work followed the bent of his in
clination, for all that concerned war
and soldiers concerned this lad of -.
World after worl6 opened before him
as he worked In the big room at his
table. set into the window slitted into
the deep gray w.. A bookcase stood
out at the angle there; one would hard
~ see the still little figure, the thin
ankles twisted about the rounds of
the high chair, the slim shoulders bent
over the sheets of writing. Often the
general talked to him.
En- blen, there. the marshall" would
come laundering from the great table
across the room; and the scribe would
drop his pen and scuttle over the dim
wide place.
here
Listen then. my soldier. I am un-
certain If this that l have written is
OF Importance: 1t is interesting to me,
because Gaspard Gourgaud was there,
yet l do not wish to ram Gaspard
Gourgaud down a readers throat. So
listen, you marmot. as an officer of
rank, n as a literary critic. and say
truthfuily il you find it interesting"
squatted On a stool exactly
IN front of the general, with his knees
together and his elbows on them, his
chin in the hollow of his hands. His
leye We're glued on the generals face