The Tomahawk., 1917-02-22

~ in Country Life.
Even in peace-timc the life of the
village moves slowly, he says, but
since the tOcsin sounded wars alarm
it merely crecps along. Outwardly
nothing is changed very much; the
small white houses with their bright
| red roofs catch the smile and froWn
of every passing cloud, the pOplarS
| sing and murmur us they always have,
the little gray church shows an open
door and up the broken pavement OF
it's aisle stray lightsome sunbeams,
fallen leaves and dogs of more or less
sober reputation, us well as women
with heavy, anxious hearts who go to
pray. The cure, kindly man with
more human understanding than dog
matte principle, welcomes those who
come and refrains from Gliding those
who stay away.
| Old women in blue handkerchief
| caps lead their cows to Craze along the
green roadsides, and younger women
go down to the stream to wash clothes.
In the fields work elderly men, women,
soldiers home on leave and 4 few
children. The long strips Of cultivated
ground which make the hillSidps look
like n patchwork quilt pass through
the usual yearly processes of filling,
sowing, reaping and gathering in the
fruits Of labor. Poppies, cornflowcrs,
ragged robin, blue birds eyes, the
cuckoo flower and Il hundred others
come in turn and throw their beauties
to the right and to the left with that
prOdigal generosity which Is natures
splendid way. The birds are as gen
erous with their song as the flowers
with their beauty, and among this
pageant of Joy and loneliness walks
the slow-moving, thrifty French peas
antry.
All tho Younger Men Gone.
The war has drawn from the village
all it's younger men, and already 80 or
them have paid the supreme sacrifice
as against ten in the war of 1870.
Others have come home lame and
manned, others still are fighting. In
one of the little white cottages with
garden renowned for it's strawber-
ries and asparagus you will find a we'll
built young woman with straight dark
brows and mouth which tells or both
temper and tenderness. She Is busy
patching an old pair Of blue overalls
such as French WOrkmen wear. OPP
posite her sits an elderly man with
fine sensitive eyes and a strong beard.
He is reading the Petit Parisien, the
favOrite village paper: "AnOther at
tack on Mort HOmme." The young
woman's heart is sick within her at
the words She is not married, has no
son Of her own, but she has been
mother to her five brothers since she
was fourteen. They were all mob1l-
lied when France went to war. one
has been killed, one has lost two OF
his limbs, two are in services more
or less safe, and the youngest, the
BENJAMIN, her baby, IS at Mort
HOmme. She is not q religious WOin-
an, but that no stone may remain I'M
turned TO secure her boys safety, she
now goes to mass regularly and prays
before the blue-robed Virgin whenever
she has time. The boys face is al
ways before her eyes, handsome, gay,
the very pride Of her life. She never
speaks Of him, but her father knows
what is passing in her mind, and their
common silence is more painful than
any words.
At the end Of the village street
stands q little farm; tumbledOwn
white house set in yard where COWS
and pigs and poultry have it all their
own way and no one ever Sweeps
up." In q field near, very old horse
is working under the guidance OF
thin old man whose admOnitions to his
patient, fcur-footed companion are
more picturesque than effective. But
the old horse goes gently on in his
own way, as If he realized that man