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Show iiilitl e father of Simon. fjH Translated From the French of Guy de Maupas. 1 f ill , sant For Goodwin's Weekly. HI ' SI fi (By Elizabeth Aubrey.) H ? M The clock had just struck twelve, the school ffi 1 M door opened and the boys rushed out pell mell, Wm j M jostling one another in their haste, but instead M ! I fa M of quickly dispersing and going home to dinner, Hi 1i Fi ns was their daily custom, they gathered in groups IH f I 11 tWm am began to whisper. Hi I' II g It was on that morning that Simon, the son of IH VW , '- M Blanchotte, went to school for the first time. Rlil t$M i They had all heard Blanchotte discussed by their IRHff f families and notwithstanding she was well re- j ;I ill ceived in public, the mothers among themselves I ' ,' I treated her with a kind of compassion mingled ! ; i I: y with contempt which the children were not slow y to imitate without exactly knowing the reason ; 11 As for Simon, he did no know then, for he ' f never went out or ran with the other boys through II jfl the village streets, or on the banks of the river, I i '$ so he did not care for them at all. ' jj , I It was with a certain amount of pleasure, 1 1 1 mingled with astonishment, that they received s l i him and kept repeating, the one to the other, I f $ something which a fellow of fourteen or fifteen, A . who seemed to know all about it had said to il ) 'i ' if them wtih a knowing wink. "Oh, you know.... Simon... .well, ho has no papa." j jXj The son of Blanchotte appeared in his turn at III, m j the threshold of the school room. He was seven j)L H or eight years old, rather pale, very neat, but with ! f r i a t111 ar aIm0St awkward. 1 1 y He was on his way home from scholl when 1 1 "I m a cmrades, still whispering among themselves, I'lrlB an InK at him with the malicious and cruel ' Mi'l i expression of children who intend to play a mean : I trick, gradually surrounded him until he was if, if El completely hemmed in. ' i 1 1 He stood there in the midst of them, surprised, , j'l j embarrassed, not being able to understand what I ' iv m I ey were EnS to do to him, but the big boy who i j j 'Jm had brought the news, elated with his success, 1 H saM to him, "What Is your name, you?" He an- I 1 ' I H swered, "Simon." "Simon what?" said the other. j H The child, very much abashed, repeated Simon. J & H The big boy bawled out, "One is called Simon MiV'l 'I IH something that's no name Simon. The other 111 1 H ready to cry, replied for the third time, "My name I 1 il S ls Simon." The bold boys began to laugh. 'If' It iWBi The youth, triumphant, raised his voice: "You 111' I' 'HI Bee' e nas no P311" llllS i''Bw There was complete silence. The children I f Iff j Hi were stupified by this extraordinary, impossible, , il Hi hdrrible thing, "a boy without a papa." Hill il lH They looked on him as though he was a phe- !ir 'I H nomena, an unnatural creature, and they felt that 11 l mm same scorn rising in them (unexplained until i i'6 H now) which the mothers had for Blanchotte. j j I MB As for Simon, he had leaned against a tree l! f I'll IB to ceep from fallmg and there he remained, cast I Mi, i i HI down, dejected by an irreparable disaster. He II 'if' n t HI tried to explain himself, but he could find noth-! noth-! i ' ' Hi ing tQ say to fcnom contradict this dreadful Jj!' ji iJiH fact that he had no papa! I M ' I '''iiiffi Simon was silent, he did not move. The chll- mvr 1 IhH dren lauSued' very much excited. Hfp 'ffH The cnIldren of the fields, more like the beasts, I 'il 1H have the same de3ire as the chickens in the poul- I j It IB try yard who' wuen one of their number is H it laBBi wounded, immediately to make away with him. Hm pi JfH Sud,denly Simon espied a little neighbor, the Hi!' it llfHI son of a wIcow' whom lle had always seen quite ! 1 1 IiHI alone with his mother, lilce himself. f'l Wmi "You also, you have no papa!" "Oh, ye$," re- Mjaili ' m plied.the other, "I have one." "Where is he?" i 'jjj iWm saidXSImon. e is dead," said the child, with a Br H Wml superbjj'alp of superiority. "He lies in the ceme- Hdir1 Wm tery' my papa'" Hrall ' a A murmur of approbation arose from among these little scapegraces, as though the fact o his father "dead in the cemetery" had increased the importance of their comrade, only to crush that other one who had none. So these little blackguards whose fathers for the most part were bad men, drunkards, thieves, cruel to their wives hustled one another, crowding together as though they, the legitimates, would suffocate by a great pressure him who was beyond the pale. One of them who was pushing against him, suddenly sud-denly ran out his tongue and called out in a crafty way: "No papa! No papa!" Simon grabbed him by the hair with both hands and gave him a good kicking, at the same time cruelly biting his cheek. It was a terrible struggle, and Simon found himself beaten, torn, bruised, rolling on the ground In the midst of the little rascals who were applauding. As he got up, mechanically brushing the dust from his dirty little blouse, some one called out, "Go tell your papa." Then he broke down completely. They were stronger than he; they had beaten him and he could find no answer, for he felt that it was very true that he had no father. Full of pride, he tried to struggle against the tears that were choking him. He was suffocated. Then, without a word, he began to sob, and his whole frame was shaken with the effort. Then it was that like savages, a furious joy broke out among his enemies; they took one another an-other by the hand and began to dance around him repeating in a refrain, "No papa! No papa!" Suddenly Simon stopped sobbing, he was wild with rage. There were some stones near his feet; he picked them up and threw them with all his strength at his tormentors. Two or three were hit and made good their escape and all at once he seemed so formidable that he creatd a panic among the others, cowards all as Is always the case when a crowd has to face an exasperated man. They disbanded and fled. Left alone, the little child "without a father" started .to run toward the fields, because a souvenir souve-nir of something that had once happened presented present-ed Itself to his mind, and he made a gerat resolution. reso-lution. He wished to drown himself in the river. He remembered, in fact, that eight days before a poor devil who begged for his living had thrown himself into the water because he had no more money. Simon was there when they fished him out, anil the unhappy old man, who ordinarily had seemed an object of pity, dirty and ugly, had impressed im-pressed him by his tranquil appearance, with his pale cheeks, his long wet beard and his eyes wide open, very calm. The people standing about said "he Is dead." Some one added, "he is very happy now." Simon also wished to drown himself because he had no papa like the poor wretch who had no money . He came quite near to the water and watched it running. Some fish wore sporting in the clear, rapid current, and every now and then made little bounds and snapped at the flies floating float-ing on the surface. He stopped crying in order to watch them, for their maneuvers interested him very much, but sometimes, as during a lull in a tempest a squall suddenly comes up which bends and breaks great trees, then disappears in the horizon, so this thought came back to him with a poignant grief. "I am going to drown myself because be-cause I have no papa." It was very warm and delightful; the water glistened like a mirror and, it was pleasant to sit on the warm ground heated by the sun's rays and dream. Simon had moments of beatitude, of that languor lan-guor which follows tears, in which he would have gladly gone to sleep lying there on the green grass in the sunshine. A little green frog jumped up just at his feet; he tried to catch it; it escaped him; he fojlowed it, and missed catching it three times in succession. At last he seized' it by Its hind legs and began to laugh at the efforts the creature made to get away. It fell back on its long legs; then, with a sudden sud-den spring it stretched them out to their full length stiff as rods of iron.' It had little round eyes with golden rings, and with its short fore paws like hands Jt beat the air. This reminded him of a plaything made of narrow strips of wood nailed zigzag the one over the other, which by a similar movement regulated regu-lated the exercises of the little soldiers fastened on it. After this he began to think of his home and his mother. Then a great sadness came over him, and he began to cry again. He shivered from head to foot, he tell on his knees and said his prayers as he did before going to sleep, but he could not finish, for he ,was choked with sobbing; sob-bing; he could think of nothing, see nothing, only weep. Suddenly a heavy hand was laid, on his shoulder shoul-der and a deep voice was saying, "What is the matter, mat-ter, my little man, what is causing you so much grief?" Simon turned round. A big workman with a black beard and curly black hair was looking at him good-naturedly. He answered with his eyes full of tears and -a choking chok-ing in his throat, "they, .beat me., because.. I.. I. .have no papa." "How's that?" said Jhe man, smiling, "every one has a papa." The child again repeated with difficulty, in convulsions of grief, but. . I. . I. .have, .none." The workman looked serious; he had recognized recog-nized the child of Blanchotte, and although newly arrived? he had a vague idea of his history. "Come, cheer up, my boy, and come with me to your mother. We will find you a papa." They started on the way, the big man holding the little child by the hand, for, to be truthful, he was not sorry to have the opportunity of seeing this Blanchotte whom every one said was one of the most beautiful girls in the country, and perhaps at the bottom of his heart he thought that having once transgressed, she might again. They, arrived in front of a little white house which was very neat in appearance. "Here it is," exclaimed the child, and he called "Mamma!" A woman appeared, and the workman no longer smiled, for he understood at a glance that he could not trifle with such a one. A tall, pale young woman, who stood immovable at her door as if to forbid any man crossing its threshold, there, where she had been betrayed by another. "Here, madam, I have brought you back your little boy, who had lost his way near the river." But Simon threw his arms around his mother's neck, beginning again to cry: "No, mamma, I wished to drown, .myself, .because those boys beat me they beat me because I have no papa." She was covered with confusion, whilst over her face spread a deep and painful blush. The shaft had struck home. She clasped her child passionately pas-sionately to her bosom while the tears fell fast and unrestrained." t The man, much moved; remained") riotJ1 knowing what else to do. - - '" Simon suddenly ran up to- him and said, "Will you be my papa?" ' There was a profound silence. Blanchotte, speechless with shame, leaned against the wall, I her hands pressed against her breast. The child, I seeing-that no one answered him, said: ,lBecause, B it you will not, I shall return and drown my- I self." 1 The workman, treating this as a joke, replied: H "Why, yes, I am willing." I "What is your name?" said the child, "so I that I may tell the others'When they ask me what I It is." B "PhiHp.',' replied the man. B Simon was very quiet for a moment, trying I t0 fix this name in his memory; then he held out I both arms, quite console?, saying: "Well, then, I Philip, you are my papa."" Philip lifted him up and emhraced him in his B rough way and then flq'd precipitately, taking long strides. When the, child, entered the school room next day he was received with a malicious laugh and m after school when the hig hoy wanted to begin I again, Sinion fairly hurled these words at him, m as tlmughthey had been so many stones: "My B papa's name is Philip!" "Howls of merriment were heard on all sides. "Philip who? Philip what? What does that mean, I Philip?" B "Where did you get him, our Philip?" Simon did not reply. Unshaken in his faith, he defied them all with his eyes, ready to he B martyrized rather than to flinch before them. B The schoolmaster came to his relief, and he B returned to his mother. B During the next three months the tall work- B man, Philip, often passed the house of Blanchotte B and occasionally he took courage and stopped for B a little talk when he saw her sewing at the wln- B (low. B She answered him politely, always serious, B never laughing with him, and never permitting B him to enter. However, somewhat vain, like all B men, he imagined that often she had more color B in her cheeks than usual when she talked with B him. B A logt reputation is, however, so difficult to B retrieve .and remains always so very fragile that B in spite of all her reserve people were beginning B to gossip. B As for Simon, he was very fond of his new B papa, and they took long walks together every " K evening after the day's work. B He went faithfully to school, passing his com- f K rades In a dignified way, but never answering- B them. One day the boy who had been the first to attack him said: "You have lied;' you have, no father named Philip." 'Why not?" demanded Simon, very much agitated. agi-tated. ' . The boy,-rubbing his hands, replied: "Because if you had one, ho would" bo your mother's husband." hus-band." Simon was very much troubled by the justice of his reasoning, nevertheless he replied: "All the same, he is my papa." "That is quite possible," sneered the boy, "but, then, he is not altogether your papa." Looking thoughtful and sad, his head down, Blanchotte's little boy went off in the direction of Father Lorizon's forge, where Philip worked. This forge stood almost burled among the trees, and it was eviy gloomy there, save for the powerful red light from the great furnace which brought out in bold relief the faces of the fivo blacksmiths, who with bare arms struck resounding resound-ing blows on the anvil, making a terrible din. There they stood blazing like demons, their eye3 on the red hot iron which they were welding, and their dull thoughts rising and falling with the strokes .of their hammers. Simon entered without being seen, going quickly up to his freind and pulling his sleeve. This one turned around suddenly. The work, ceased, and all the men looked on very much interested. Then, from out of the unaccustomed silence arose the little weak voice of Simon. "I say Philip, the big boy at la Wichaude has just told me that you are not my real father." "Why not?" said the workman. The little fellow, with all the innocence of childhood, answered: "Because you are not my mother's husband." No one laughed. Philip remained standing, leaning his forehead on the back of his great hands, which held the handle of the great hammer which was resting on the anvil. Ho was thinking. His four companions watched him, and poor little Simon, in the midst of these giants, waited anxiously. Then one of the men, whose thoughts reflected those of all the others, spoke out, addressing Philip. "After all, Blanchotte is a brave good girl, and she would make a deserving wife for any honest man." "That is all true," said the three others. The workman continued: "It is not her fault that she has made a mistake. He promised to marry her, and I know more than one who commands respect re-spect to day who has done as much." "That is all true," answered in chorus the three men." He continued: "The poor thing finds it difficult to raise her boy all alone and how many tears she has shed since she stopped going out, save when she goes to church, only the good God will ever know." "That is also true," safd the others. Only the sound of the bellows could be heard, keeping alive the fire in the great furnace. Philip abruptly bent down to Simon and whispered: whis-pered: "Go tell your mother that I am coming to speak with her this evening." He returned to his work, and the Ave hammers ham-mers as with a single blow again struck the anvils, an-vils, and so they continued until night, the strong, powerful blows, of their merry hammers resounding resound-ing on the anvils; but just as the great bell of the cathedral resounds on a fete day and rises above the tinkling of all other bells, so Philip's hammer resounded above the others and fell stroke after stroke with a deafening noise and his eyes brightly bright-ly shining, he passionately forged away, standing among the sparks. The heavens were full of stars when ho knocked at the door of Blanchotte. He was freshly shaved and he had put on a clean shirt and his sj& BIBB Sunday blouse. S? flfl The young woman came to the door and said, ! BHH not without an effort: "It is not right, Monsieur A flHnB Philip, that you should come here in this way to thi' flHH seo me after dark." If flB He would have replied, but could not; he flHfl stammered and stood shamefacedly. She con- j fl tinued: "You know very well that I must never jfjj fll again give the world a chance to talk." IHfl Then he exclaimed: "What does that matter if 1 Hfl you will be my wife?" j, HHI He heard no reply, but ho thought ho heard IH back there in the" dark a slight movement; he '1 B went in quickly and Simon, who was lying in 1 11 bed, recognized the sund of a kiss, and his 1 fl mother's voice speaking very softly. t j H All of a sudden he felt himself lifted up by j" his friend, who held him at arm's length with j 1 B the grasp of a Hercules. "Go," said he, "tell your i fl friends that your papa's name is Philip Remy, j lfl the blacksmith, and that he will pull the ears of t lflfl every one of them if they ever attempt to harm j, H fl On the following day, when all the children H were seated in school and the lessons were about it to begin, little Simon stood up, very palo and 1 trembling, but with a clear voice he said: "My father's name is Philip Remy, the blacksmith, ! H and he has promised that he will pull the ears j ' of any one who harms me." H This time no one laughed, for they all knew H Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and he was a papa ! H of whom any one might have been proud. j 5 , H |