New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1917-12-09

In simple little phrases, such as one
Uses who has repeated the same thing
over and over again, the woman in
mourning was telling her story to a
seighbor during the intcrmission at
the moving picture show. In these
war times one makes acquaintance
very easily. Any one individuals suf-
ferings are but a part and parcel OF
the sufferings of the community at
large.
Eyes, madam, lost my husband two
Gears agony husband that was to be,
the father of my little boy. We were
to be married in the autumn. lie was
killed at once-at the very beginning
of the war"
"If he had to 60, il was better that
1e shouldn't have suffered the hard
ships of the trenches for couple of
ears"
perhaps, yes; perhaps, no. For, at
least, we should have seen him again,
and he would have written. While this
ray- My little son here, who IS
nearly seven years old-he hardly re-
members his father Think Of it. Ny
husband was modified among the very
first. He was not yet twenty-six. Al
ready for eight days he had told me:
IL will be war. You will see.' But,
like so many others, | wouldn't be-
lieve it.
zone evening, returning from his
btfice, he said to me: 1t has come. |
am off tonight / wanted to make
him up a bundle of clothing, with some
linen. But he wouldn't wait. He
scarcely listened to me. AT such n
time one could almost believe that
nothing counts any longer with man!
| had just put the little one to bed. lie
kissed the boy, he kissed me and then
he made for the street on the run. In
the street he turned TO wave me
goodby and then jumped into a cab.
It was the 31st Of July. Since then
have heard no news of him. without
doubt he was killed in one of the first
battles. | know neither where. nor
how, nor even whether they were able
to find and bury him. Not one thing"
perhaps he is prisoner! How can
anybody tell? | have known persons
who have gotten news after many
months"
ooh! | no longer have any hope. 1t
Is more than two years, remember.
Well, that was TO be my fate. At any
rate, have my little boy; he helps me
TO live. Poor little fellow! A child
hood like his is not very cheerful To
see always about the house a sad figure,
with redeemed eyes! Until recently |
didn't care to go out. Then | decided
to take him to the picture slows in
order to amuse him. The picture show
is not like the theatre. One can go TO
it, even if one is in mourning"
The electric bell sounded The peo-
pie took their places again. A soldier
passed by. He wore military medal,
the Croix de Guerre. The child, lean
ing over TO his mother, asked:
as he like that. my papa?'
She stroked his hair softly.
Eyes. my dear"
with medals like that. too?"
For child brave soldier ought al
ways to have medals. The mother an
swered:
"Yes, dear"
With his head turned. his hand in his
mothers hand, the child gazed eagerly
at the soldier.
title appeared on the screen.
"The War in 1914"
"Are we going TO see the war;" asked
the child.
eyes, my dear. Look"
At first streets were shown-a chaos
Of half-demolished houses, besms
smashed, walls shattered, a mass Of
black ruins almost without form.
- 4 l.. .k L
~ village"
"That a village? There Is nothing
there"
But a dog ran about among the ruins,
and u little boy also, who stumbled
over the stones. Then came wide
plain. The shells had dung enormous
holes in it and along the road as far
as the eye could reach-even TO the
horizon, where heavy clouds Of smoke
gathered and then dissolved-one could
see only the big trees, RACED almost to
the ground, tumbled right and left
among the fields. On the trunks, al
ready dead, some leaves still futtered
in the wind.
"And that? What is that?" asked
the child.
"Thc country, my dear"
as that the country! Inere Is hoth-
ING there"
1T was beautiful once" said the
mother, trembling THE Germans have
destroyed everything"
The boy gave a sidelong glance at
the soldier.
But already, in another film, troops
defiled. In a heavy rain cavalrymen
.trotted along the roads bordered by
ruins, field artillery guns were dragged
at q gallop, iolting. rolling, plunging
into and rising out OF the ruts. In
passing one saw the artillerymen laugh
and the officers lift their arms, turning
~ their saddles.
"What is thGt?" asked the boy.
"The pursuit, my dear" murmured
the mother, pressing him close against
her.
"Arc they running after the Boches
to capture them?"
Eyes, my dear"
And behind the cavalrymen appeared
the infantrymen, spattcred with mud,
ghcir shoulders sagging under their
Aenyy packs.
Are they going to hghtl" the child
asked.
"Ycs, dear
To her all the soldiers were like he-
poor, missing husband. In their ranks,
andcr each helmet, in each movement,
it vas he wlom she saw. And the little
fellow. more collected. more grave,
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