The Washington times., 1931-01-27
TOdGy's True
Story

petite, where everyone is rich,
where even ethe laborers live
in palaces, with bathtubs and
running water. We will make a
fortune, you and I. We will
leave this war-torn land that
holds only sad memories for
you and l."
Pierre LaVelle looked down
at the piquant face of the
black-haired, blue-eyed girl be-
side him. 1t was late 1918 and
the horizon blue of Pierre's
poilu uniform was no bluer
than the sky that hung over
the Valley of the Meuse, at
Laneuville, under the frowning
cliffs of Stenay, where only a
month before the batteries of
the crown princes legions had
ceased to roar.
Visions Of the Past
The girl nodded. Her eyes
clouded as she looked at the
ruins Of what had once been
the Maillard home. Visions
flashed before her eyeS-the on
sweep of the gray-clad hordes
four years before, the bayonet-
ing of her father as he barred
the family door against two
unter-officers who came after
her older sister, Jean; the
screams Of the sister as they
dragged her away, her own
shivering fear under a pile of
burlap sacking.
Pierre, yes, we will go to
America, you and your Yvonne.'
She Snuggled down on his
shoulder, smiling through the
mists that swan before her
eyes.
Don't you fret, little cab
bage. everything will come out
all right. Papa will be coming
home one Of these days. We
will have money. We will go
to live in a house with a yard,
and a bathroom of our own.
No one will scold you for not
washing your ring out Of the
tub"
A Manly Chap
Yvonne LaVelle paused in
her sewing to stroke the curly
black head of Little Pierre. He
looked all of his 7 manly years,
but one can't blame a little
fellow for a tear or two when
a cross-patch landlady won't
let him sail his boat in the
bathtub.
Yvonne did not. in her heart,
feel as optimistic as she made
out before the youngster. For
more than a year, since he lost
his Job at the factory, Pierre
had been away. Sometimes
there came a letter. sometimes
with money. The letters never
were from the same place.
Sometimes a far off place call
ed California, sometimes from
Chicago. where Yvonne read
constantly of a new war, with
shootings that seemed to never
cease.
The last one had come from
Detroit, and in it there seemed
to be a hint of fear. Pierre
told of getting away from the
cutter" and of putting a cargo
in at Hogan's Alley" But, Big
Pierre had written, things
were getting tougher, and he
might have to come back and
lie low for a while"
Her Homely Duties
Yvonne went busily ahead
with her needle. That inborn
aptitude for needle and design
that is the heritage Of every
woman of France had been.
most of the time Big Pierre
had been away. the means of
feeding herself and Little
Pierre, of keeping the rent paid
on their shabby little room
facing the river, near the
docks, of buying the goods for
his little clothes, and hers.
When the youngster had
gone to bed she dug into her
worn old trunk and brought
out picture of the man she'd
married, still in his poilu uni
form.
You should not keep secrets
from me, cherie," she told the
face that looked out at her.
If things are not we'll with
you; you should tell your
Yvonne. She loves you, Big
Pierre, with all her neart and