New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1917-09-16
lFrom The Spectator, Londonl


German and was driven by the wind
against the door Of the Canine Refuge.
Chatter Of voices, clattcr Of dishes, the
sudden and delicious laughter Of children
these sounds, which seemed TO travel
along rays of light that strcamed through
the carelessly suffered windows. were
heartening in the unfriendly night On
impulse, opened the door and walked INTO
a place of gayety and warmth. The white
washed walls were bright with posters and
the windows with green plants. Three
long tables divided into panels mass Of
vivid color-peihlS in horizon blue. pol,ts
in Algerian scarlet Belgians in crumpled
lhaki, a dragon or two in magnlhcenfly
tailed and glittering helmets, all talking
ana eating heartily. Behind counter at
one end OF the room stout French ladies
heaped plates from vast copper pans OF
fooo, and light-footed serrcUSes, in white
dresses and flowing navy blue wells, took
these up-four and five plates at time
and dealt them round with swiftness and
precision.
In an inner room, a step or two below
the level Of the first, dozen or more chill
dren and some women with infants IN their
arms were having their share of the feast
The sedate little girls with pigtails-one
industriously reading q book propped on
her knee under the table-and the boys, IN
their black blouses, were in the highest
shirts over their PURGE Of lentils and their
in mugs Of beer and water. Their vol
uble chatter was broken by high pitched
laughter that SCARED above the grown-up
voices.
But. withal, the stage was held by
small boy standing on bench against
the wall He was grasping a bowl or
soup between grimy little red hands, and
was on the point, evidently, OF lifting up
his voice. He might have been six years
old. a bullet-headed little peasant, IN
belted pinafore, with rough, bare knees
and hard, red cheeks, and eyes as black as
his thatch of hair. Nobody had taken any
notice Of his regular and urgent calls for
"Simonne." 1t was time to act. Came Shen
roar that reused every Poiiu and directed
all ewes upon him, and with the roar the
infant hurled his bowl Of soup on the
floor and cast himself desolate into the
pool. "Toujous Simonet! the soldiers
said TRANQUILITY, and laughed. a robust
Young woman appeared from the kitchen
and ierked Simonet to his feet with 2
rough hand, smacking him soundly. Up
stairs. then, and TO bed, m6chGnt! she
cried angrily. "Wilt thou never have
dope?" Simonet's howls were ear piercing
as Re butted his head into her apron Ike
n savage little bull, and kicked. Then trey
ceased with alarming suddenness, and ne
lifted a face shining adOringly through
tears and dirt. 1T is that | love you,
Simonne," he said, caressingly. Il cannot
eat nv soup without you. You know 1t
well. Now put me to bed" \ shake was
the replv. He was thrust into place at
The table. with affectOnate violence and
provided with more soup. He ate 1t with
composure. caught last glimpse OF
him that night, toiling with the other can
teer babies up the long, dark outside stair
case that led to the dormitories. SImonet
chung to Simonne's finger tightly, and IN
his smile | fancied there was CLEAN Of
-riumph. By this time | had asked the
directrice if | might come in and help oc-
cagionally. She said, yes" and ] went
daily for the six months that J renamed
in Paris.
CIMUNET was lord Of the canteen by
- right of imperious character, and as
Goyon among the refugee children. His
mother had fled with him from one OF the
invaded villages in the earliest days Of the
war. She had not survived the birth OF a
child following on great hardshlps and
terror, nor had the baby lived, ana 81
monct's father was, Of course, fighting. 30
the canteen adopted him. His real name
was quite long and impressive, beginning
with Charles Frederic, but hrs attachment
TO the young woman who took charge OF
tho children led to his being called in the
diminutive Of her name, and Slmonne be-
came the godmother and foster mother OF
Simonet her torment and her conqueror.
Life was an extreme Of Joy or an abyss
Of woe to Simonet, and hOwls betokened
either state.
\ lie knew no reticences, no shades of eE-
N preston. His personal habits left much to
y be desired; he was graceless, troublesome,
infinitely exasperating. But, bare-lcgged,
bullet-headed little peasant, primitive in
tears and laughter, he had the gift Of all
-ifts the magic of personality You re-
scented his charm. When you had mind
to scold and shame an ill-mannered brat,
it was disconcerting to find grimy paw
thrust into your hand and to hear a voice
Of honeyed gentleness proclaim: Il am
content with mademoiselle." 1t turned the