The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1918-06-15
GOLD AND SiLvERSMIT-
90 east Sixth Street

1Ol the neaVy work OF the vineyard. |
The uncle, who had never had a /
days illness in his life, and his equal |
ly strong sons, regarded Jean with |
sort of goodnatured tolerance not I'M
mixed with contempt, and confided to
him all the petty tasks of the farm !
and household, ... "A
fGive that to Little JEAN came tod
be, the sighting comment on someaI
thing easy. Or La la, don't ask Lit
tie, Jean to, do that! 1t would scare
him to DEATH"
And as they all regarded him, SO in
time the boy came to regard himself
"a. state of mind, which had been ag-
gravated the previous spring by long
spell of sickness, low fever which
had chung to him for months and from
which he was only now convalescent.
''He is not fit for any exertion, much
less for the rigors of camp life or
war; the. Cure ruminated sadly as he
went home to his frugal supper
Julie noting his depression, served up
the last remaining jar of cherry con-
serve; for, Tomorrow she an
nounced cheerfully, Il start again to
fill my empty jars
The Cure nodded absently. His
| troubled thoughts were far away
with Little Jean on the march
Little Jean. six feet, it's true, "but
| fiat. even as this knife" he thought,
| holding up that useful implement with
shake of the head How shall he
stand the marching, and the hard
roads, and the rains, and-eh bien!"
turbing reflections. Il must leave
him, like the rest, in the hands of the
good Cod" ..
But the days passed, and ) the
months, and the news that filtered
back showed that Little Jean was at
least holding his own, but from him
| self there came never line, even to
the Cure. Autumn succeeded sum-
mer, and then the winters frosts, but
no word from Jean. The Cures heart
was heavy
1t was Christmas night. The Cure
/
dren must be made happy and the
sick and lonely visited 1t was the
birthday of Little Jean, day he had
always spent with the Cure, accom-
panying him on his visits and help
ing him in all that he had to do.
How valuable his help had been the
Cure did not realize until he was gone,
for Jean had way with the children
and the old people loved him, too, for
his gentle and respectful ways. So
the old priest had missed him sadly,
and at night, disturbed and restless,
for he could not sleep, his thoughts
were with the boy Where was he
!, how had he stood the strain-what
was he doing? Beset with an over
whelming sadness qthe Cure took his
heavy cape and slipped out into the
quiet, frosty garden. There was no
moon, and through the dense dark
ness sounds that he knew meant can
nonading came clearer and more dis
tinct as the moments passed
The Cures beads slipped through
his fingers as he walked back and
forth. Several times he thought he
heard a noise as of a stealthy step,
but he gave no heed until there was
a louder rustling and on it's heels the
sound as of body falling. He start
ed, listened; then, his heart beating
heavily, began to make his way eau
tiously in the direction of the sound,
calling softly as he neared the end
of the garden; who is there?
What is it? Speak, 1t is I, the
Cure!"
4 A long drawn out moan was the
only answer; and straining his eyes
through the darkness the Cure de-
scribed the outlines of recumbent
figure beyond the cherry tree.
Speak" he repeated as he bent
over the figure. who is it" But
even as he spoke he knew! 1t was
Little Jean whose claw-like hands
were grasping his and from whose
parched and blackened lips began to
issue the most heartrending gasps
and means and fearless sobs, every
one of which seemed to threaten the
remnant of life in the emaciated body.
"Jean!" It was Mortified whis-
per. little Jean!'' What is it
what is the matter?" Then as the
truth struck him, What are you do
ing here?"
The tense horror in the sibiIant
whisper checked the boys sobs for a
moment.
Il know" he made answer gasp.
ingly, 1T is-terrible; you will hate
me, mon Pere-but could not stand
tit was so awful! The killing
the notes.-the blood-the fearful
ldead-Ah!" He raised himself to a
sitting posture and took his head in
his hands you do not know the
: awfulness of it. Kill me if you will