The evening world. Newspaper, June 12, 1916, Page 13

distance, Long after h were 80 much snow, and he but they were not cats, the fire, ‘was loft ajar. To the child this seemed a great piece of good fortune. door, just so far open ROMANTIC TALE OF FRANCOIS VILLON, POET, LOVER AND ADVENTURER. By JUSTIN HUNTLY McCARTHY | ‘Copyright, John Lane Company, CHAPTER I. Cats. HE earliest recollection Francois could conjure up was of great stretches of white with little black spots upon them in the far compared this impression to a piece of ermine on a great man’s hood, Actually the great white spaces took the little black spots to be cats, Little Francois had crawled from the room and nd crept out into the black passage and down the staircase, whose timbers squeaked and winced in their craziness even under the imposition of #0 light a weight ay the pressure of a child's footsteps. The street door There was the to show a thin, white slit like the edge of a sword —even at that age little Francois knew what a sword was like—and the small boy pushed his sinall fingers into the aperture and widened It slowly till it yawned big enough for him to slip his diminutive body across the threshold where the fine, dry powder was more than ankle deep, Just where the child stood and stared the street ran straight enough, with but a few houses to finish it off untidily before it lost Itself in the fields, On the surface of those Francois saw the moving black spots and took them to be cats, The hand of his mother, who had suddenly missed him from the little foom above, and had pelted down the stairs, now grabbed him firmly, In @ll hie life Francois never remembered rough deed or rough word from that dearest of illiterate gentlewomen, For a gentlewoman he later always swore her to be, albeit she was of humble birth and could not read the prayers she prayed so sturdily, Now she clipped him fast and asked Kindly but decidedly, what he would be at to give her such a fright, him, not un- Yor Q@newer little Francois pointed to the white counterpane before him, and the distant fields that were pitted with those fascinating, pathetic black spots. “Bee, mother,” he cried, “the poor Shall we go and play eats yonder with them Mother Villon gave one quick glance toward those distant fields and then clutched her boy to her bosom. “Cats!” she cried, “My God, those are not cats!" And as she spoke she dragged the reluctant, struggling Francois within the shelter of the house. “Mamma, the cats!" he whimpered, “Cate!” ah reamed, “cats! Those cats, child. Wolves.’ And even as she spoke she gave a dry aob and bugged we boy to her bosom. After they had cuddled each other a little and the woman had gasped thanks to Heaven, they climbed the flight to their room, It was not so Bigh a flight as it might have been, for they Were not #0 poor as they Were to prove hereafter, and the steps, narrow and black and twisting, Seemed ,othing to her, Mother Villon, &@s they climbed, rejoiced to have her child by the hand, out of danger of those skulking forms beyond, which the child's innocence had baptized cats, She knew how the ferocity of sach a winter drove ferocious crea- tures well within the walls of Paris to pick what wretched pillage they might glean from the tail ends of straggling Parisian streets, But they could not make their way through barred and bolted doors. So she mounted the high stairs with a light heart, and forgot all about the Bur- gundian ruffian that had his lodging over her head Indeed, thourht of the Bur. mundian ruffian ax little as she could hetp. fer he had disfavored her with glances of ulmiration- she being at that time still a comely woman—a widow that had no mind to marry again, ‘Therefore, as she went her way up the stairs, singing to herself and tugging lier little boy by the hand, she was bliusfully {gnorant that in shutting the door she had shut out the Rurgundian ruffian to the sndw— and the cats, Now this was the dreary time in Parts, for thoae that held by King Charles, and damned King Henry, when the English ruled in the good clty and no citizen might co his foul his own who was not on good terms with the yddams," as John the Mald had nicknamed them CHAPTER II. The Burthen of the Bur- gundian. HE Burgundian soldier came along in good time and soon realized a part of his mis- adventure. He followed the stivet none too steadily, arolling the burden of a ballad which every now and then weakened @# into a wail like a Miserere, While Nie right arm hugged lively grape- $ice in a jug, his left arm nureed a lump of living flesh that was made up tightly in a bundle of old rags, out of which a small face showed ail blue with the cold and as still as if @odden with sleep. There had been no thought of @ child in the Burgun- dian’s mind when he had gone out to ther a fresh load of wine at the Fircone,” and when the child was, fae it were, thrust upon him, te was neither glad nor sorry, but muddled into a mixture of wonder and duil- ness that troubled his wits His immediate desire was to get in- doors out of the cold and drink him- self into appreciation of the new thing that had come into his life, So it was somewhat of a cross to him when ho saw that the door which he had left agape no longer stood open. At first he thought that it had been dlown to by some draught; but when, after placing his flagon very carefully upon the threshold, he pressed against it and pulled at the laten, he found to his chagrin that it was, indeed, firmly bolted from within, He cursed glibly as he rattled; then he began %9 bang lustily at the door with his Mlenched fist, and finding this una- Vailing, to kick furiously at the panels with alternate feet. As it chanced, ie house was almost empty. Mother flilon and the Burgundian, though gach was unaware of the fact, had the houge all to themselves The man hammered « some seconds before he rousing the attention 0 Certain black spots on t for hth tant snow had grown bigger, had come nearer, and presently some eight lean, hairy creatures broug thelr gallop over the snow to # paus: and huddled together at the mouth of the street, watching the soldier with red eyes, The soldier, drawing back from the door to jook up and see if any one in the house was com. ing to his aid, saw, and, seeing, felt @ ebill at his heart and a sudden soberness. As the soldier looked at the staring creatures, they shook themselves from their quiet and came trotting slowly down the street, snit- fing and snarling as they went.’ Then the soldier set his living bundle be- wide the flagon of wine on the thresh- old and drew his long sword When Mother Villon looked out of the window she saw the Rureundian q@rouohed below her, wilh his back to the door and his great sword gripped in both his hands, Hurriedly she closed the casement; hurriedly she called to the boy, and in a swift whisper instructed him. ‘The moment she left the room he was to shut and bolt the door after her, and was not to open it again until he heard her voice calling upon him to do 80, This was her thoughtfulness for his life, If, when the street door ‘was opened the wolves should get in, they might make an end of her, but the boy would be safe. And though she hated the Burgundian, she knew that she had to go to his succor Now while the two hostilities faced each other, the door behind the Bur- gundian opened a little. He could hear it creak, and through the crack came a woman's voice; he could hear At whisper. “In God's namo,” cried Mother Villon hoarsely, “be quick. The door is open behind you.” Whether it was because the Bur- gundian had swallowed so much strong drink, or because he was mind- ed, finding safety behind him, to play adocio, all that he did was to Ling just as he was. But he spoke wor “Woman,” he answered—for he knew the voice for the voice of Mother Vilion—-"‘woman, there is a gallon of good wine on the doorstep. Take it in ere it freezes, As Mother Villon glanced down toward the detestable pitcher of wine, she saw the other object that luy there helpless on the threshold, the bundle that her instinct knew tn a moment to be living flesh, She caught up the sleeping child and dragged it Babe Re eer With one hand, while w e other she caught up the Pkeher of wine, oa Pay “Ie it safe?” asked the Burgundian in a low voice, as his ears caught the faint sounds she made. He referred to the pitcher of wine. “It ts safe.” Mother Villon whis- pered back faintly. She referred to the child, “Come tn, fool, come in.” The Burgundian laughed an almost noiseless laugh. “Wait a bi he commanded, Still his swordpoint moved slowly like # hand on a clock face, and while it moved Mother Villon, full of wonder and fear, stood behind him in the dark passage, peeping through the tneh-way of open door and seeing a strange sight, CHAPTER III. Man and Wolf. HEN the alert Burgundian knew that his charges were in wafety, he seemed re- solved, instead of instantly beating a retreat by the way which Providence and Mother Villon had opened for him, to strike on his own account against his ag- Sressors, Thus it was that Franogis saw him make a sudden spring for- Ward toward the semicircle of beasts, Most of the animals scattered to right and jeft; one, that seemed the leader and the fiercest, made a leap at bis assailant. This was what the Bur- gundian seemed to eapect, for even as the wolf rose in the air the soldier gave a sudden turn and sweep to his jong sword and cut the beast in two, and its halves fell apart upon the rapidly reddening snow, Then with a ckward spring the goldier ro- gained the threshold and banged to the door, knocking Mother Villon headlong as he did so with the child in her arms The Burgundi n jammed the bolts home briskly, listened for « few wec- onds with a grim smile to (he whining of the wolves, and then turned to his preserver to set her dexterously upon her legs, le patted her upon the back too, kindly enough. After all, che had saved his life, if she had dis dained his addresses, He was In- clined to call the account quits. Mother Villon stood there sobbing huskily, quite dry-eyed, her thin hands pressing the sleeping child against her thin bosom. The Burgundian picked up his He offered the fug to the woman, but she shook her n the man tilted the v el to is Ups and drank long and gladly, while still outside beyond the th kness of the w there came 2 whimpering I scratching of futile paws. A the RBurgundian rank, ther Villon collected herself with the an effort and began to ascend stairs, ‘The Burgundian, huge! 8 j followed her lumbe y. The y commanded by danger jad lessened with that mighty pull at t tankard, He began to sing in a hic- voice a snatch of a song, ume on you, base fellow,” suid the woman sharply, “that can make #0 swinish « noise, and was 50 near your death but a minute ago." When they came to Mother Villon landing the woman turned and faced the Burgundian. “1 want to hear your story," she anid, "f Want to hear what this child means. If 1, thot have saved your life, ask you inside iny room while you tell your tele, will you swear to behave like u decen tan mar “Have no fear, be Bossip, Like ¢ key You ARE ACCUSTOMED ‘To SLEEP NO USE ARGU! I HAP Sue Tries th” 1€38 (Tt Joun ! Cone HERE Quick f 12, 1916 “SHE” F HEARD A BEAR WALKING ON THE PORCH WN THERE ARE NO BEARS ARound. HERE Go To SLEEP AND You WON'T! HEAR IT AN EAGLE IS FLYING ARROUND THE PIFFLE! IT PROBABLY WAS 4& NOTH JOHN GINE NE BACK MY BED IT'S RAINING ON THE PORCH Red Gate, hard by the Tower of St. Jacques, ‘facing the church of St. Hoit; that he was reputed wealthy and that be had influential friends. irancots lost no time in making @ pilgrimage to the neighborhood of the Tower of St. Jacques, and informing himself of the precise whereabouts of the Canon's residence, It impressed his youthful intelligence favorably. After a little while, Francois, lean- ing against @ wall and watching the Canon's hous saw a stout clerte, with large, amiable face and portly body. Francois was all of a Ungle instantly. Was this bis uncle? Th portly ecclesiastic had passed into the Canon's dwelling, and even as Villon ran across the street, the door was shut in his face. He crept to the ortal with beating heart; his band Was almost raised to atrike upon the panel, when the sound of footsteps Inside the house startled him, and he skipped nimbly across the street walt- ing on events, The door opened and an old woman came out with @ Mink on her arm. She drew the door behind without quite closing it_and went her way down the street. When she was out of sight, Villon nimbly crossed the road again, and sing against the door, pushed tt on and, greatly daring, popp d through the opening and peeped in. He saw a small hall and a flight of stairs leading up from it. ‘Tempted beyond restraint, Master Francois slipped into the ball; then holding bis breath and tingling with excitement, be began very gingerly to ascend the stairs, pausing in’ an ecstasy of fascinated terror when an: of them happened to creak benea! his feet, aud the thing happened often, When he came to the first landing he found a passage with geveral doors opening from it. He looked into o1 of these and saw it to be the Canon's bedi He tried another, opening it softly, and found himself in a email comfortably furnished room, with @ [number of books agaiust the wall and table in the middle, at which portly old gentleman sat and wrote. swered. “I will be as good us gold, aud pretend to myself that you ure a ugly as sin, and so we shall talk af~ fably und part good friend: Mother Villon, reassured by this promise, tapped’ softly at her doo Francoig opened it at his mothe nons and etared with wide, child- as he saw his mother enter with a bundle in her arms, followed by the big Burgundian with his wine pitcher. While the Burgundian buddied himself against the stove and sucked out advantage from his jug, and while Francoig sat on the floor and stared at him, Mother Villon popped behind the ragged quilt bung on a cord that served to screen off a sieep- ing corner. In a few minutes she came back with the news that the child Was a baby-girl, seemingly over three years old, that it was alive and warm and might yet, with God's help, do well. It had been in some way drugged to eep, and so warmly swathed thi the cold had not struck too hard at its vitality. Then Mother Villon turned to the Burgundian “Tell me,” she asked, “how did you become possessed of this poor babe?" The Burgundtan laughed coaraely. No, no, gossip,” he protested; one of your suspicions of my honesty, The child ix no by-blow of mine, nor have I turned Egyptian and pilfered. I found it just by chance, as you might say.” “Tell me what nas Mother Villon dryly, self out of the stor: “I was coming from the ‘F he narrated, ere | had pasyed a pleasant hour or two with pleasant company—Jjolly lads and jolly lasses. T had not got v far on my home- ward Way and I had not taken good note of a hillock of snow that lay in my path. I thought no more than just to plough through it, but lo! and behold, it. proved tougher than Tf guessed. [ was making to Kick the Snow-heap asunder, when what should I find but no other than the body of a woman.” "Oh!" erled Mother Villon, and hid her face In her hands, The man shrugged his shoulders "She was lying on her face,” ho went on. “The snow had shrouded her, She was stone cold and stone de | turned her over to see {If she had any money about her, and there 1 found my missy yonder swaddled in flannels.” Ah!" sighed appened,"* said ve your- ‘and le Mother Villon, hug- K the baby, "the poor little mite.” ‘The brat was alive and asleep. It had lain under the woman's body pro. tected from the cold, sheltered fr suow. It seemed to be fast asleep and [ thought it was just numbed with cold: but it may be that what vou say is true about it being drugKed She iwoked ich a pretty, silly little piece of foolish flesh that [ just Wicked her up, without a thought of the trouble she might prove to me. And what happened thereafter you know as well ag myself, goody.” Mother Villon shook her head in reproval of the fellow's callousness, but she cooed over the baby girl and fondled her, and the child, beginning to emerge from Its torpor, made faint 1 feeble responses that delighted woman. “And what ure you going to do 12" she asked, Bureundian — shruy his 1 shoulders, He was ne a indistinct of n and speech m his repeated libations, pake her to the gates of Notre Dame,” be waid, and lay her ia the foundling’s cradle for whoso chooses to take.” “That sceins a sad thing to d murmured Mother Villon, as she gentiy hugged the infant. Nay,” said the Burgundian, with @ retohing jaugh; “you would not have me go tramping the world with a gnivelling poppet on my back, 1 am off to Burgundy jn @ day or two to see if the Duke has any need of my services, And what would his Grace say If | came before him like an Egyptian with # human ape on my shoulder?” f you will leave the child with ine,” Mother Villon said softly, “I will take care of it.” “You can tend the brat and wel- com he assented grudgingly, “but ‘tis your own choice, and you must not look to me for subsidy.” Mother Villon nodded her head, and eo it was agreed. Mother Villon said nothing to the soldier about a small silk bag which she had found round the child's neck when she undressed it. The little bag contained a piece of folded paper with writing upon it and a painted shield. Mother Villon could not read ecript, nor blazoning, so she transferred the bag with its contents to her own pocket before she returned from the sotni-privacy of the quilt curtain. And thus fortune supplied small Francois with a smaller playmate, to his great satisfaction, and in a day or two the Burgundian went his way back to his duchy and the louse was quiet again. CHAPTER IV. Girl and Boy. T Is not easy for a house t be quiet in which there are two children, one a baby- gitl and one almost @ baby- boy. Mother Villon had taken a new care upon herself and had to work the harder, that she Might bear the burden without falling by the way. The shift that the girl-child wore on the night when she was brought to the house by the Burgundian, ia the teeth of the wolves, was ox ceeding fine linen. So wiuch was 'ap- parent to Mother Villon's sight, to Mother Villon’s touch. Also, it bore about the neck of it, worked in very fine stitches that asserted clove Reedlery, a single word that was 4 ingle name, Therefore, as soon as the Burgundilan had taken his de- parture, she went to one of her neik! bors that was reckoned a grat scholar, Tho learned neighbor looked gravely at the embroldery, and averrad, without the slightest hesita tion, that the lettera that were worked upon the little garment represented in their total the name “Huguet!s,” Mother Villon nodded her head. “Huguette,” she murmured. “That is no doubt the name that her po: mother gave her and that she wishe her to bear, and Huguette, therefor the child shall be for me and tain And I thank you kindly, neighbor, for your painy and grace.” Slowly the boy and girl grew up to- gether for a few brief years. ‘The children played together and also hed together, for Mother Villou made shift to have them taught their letters, As little Francois o n later years, the H tiat date wasa taking ebiid, very fair and pale and yellow-haired, who was a! wa idin a blue gown ‘The end of ai) tous Lureery pi eames ness came with the sudden and unex- pected return of the Burgundian ruffian. He was more drunken and more ruffaniy than before, and ho took up his old quarters aa if he had not been away for @ fortnight, and Mother Villon disliked him even more cordially than she had before. Thereafter he laid claims to @ guardian's authority over Huguette which Mother Villon did not dare to deny him, and in the exercise of his claim he practically put an end to the playfellowship between the girl and Francois. The Burgundian was not always good humored, and sometimes in his cups he would drub the girl till she But when the distemper passed way from the man he would fain make amends with some cap for the child's curls or kerchief for her throat or shoes for her small feet, and these gifts always consoled the girl for her skelpings, and she peahenned itn her frippery as proudly as if she were Balkis, Queen of Bheba. Francois mar- velled at this, wondering that fine feathers could soothe a smarting back, But |t was very plain that the girl loved fine feathers, ‘ It was not long after that the Vil- Jons lost sight of the tragic pair. The Burgundian quitted his lodgings destinely, taking the girl with and never heeding to waste time or breath in saying farewell to his hum- ble acquaintance. And this was the end of him and his as far as Francois and his mother were concerned for many a long day CHAPTER V. Mother and Son. \T did not occur to little Fran- cols in his early days that his mother and he were poor, He took ft for granted that all mothers and sons wore patched and shabby raiment, ate little and siept hard, and so made neither the best of it nor the worst of it, But gradually he was aware that other folk ate more than they did, were better housed; that children ike himself went about in gally painted clothes, were scented with mellifuous essences, and waited upon by respectful varlets. As he bad been curious about the animal wolves, so now he became curious about the hurnan wolves, and would question his mother |n many conversations “Mother,” he would say, folding hin little fingers over his little folded knees, “why that we lave holes in our coats and often go hungry, whi other people in. the big how warmly clad and have lots to eat and drink? Be iuse,"’ Mother Villon would an ‘we are poor, my little son, and folk in the next street are rich.” there would silence, presently broken by the amall votce of Francois, piping thus Mother, tell me something about father, “Richard Villon was your father, of an honest, well to do vurgess house her was landlord of the ‘Golde: in those days’ moth what happened Then? Oh, then E married him." Ww you happy ever after, like ne princes and the sses in the Mother Villon shoow her head and winiied wistty o, little one, not exactly, not al together Your father is good « qual aw ever Lived, bul be was out very well fitted for the rough-and- tumble, workaday world, He loved dearly ‘to eat and drink and make merry with his friends, and ho ould do & humber of things quite pleasant- ly, though, to be sure, no single thing very well, But any discomfort irked him sorely, and it vexed him that his family would have no commerce with hin after hin marriage.” hy.” queried Francois, “would his family have no’ He halted, puazled by the word his mother had 4, and his mother answered hin; The Villons were well lo do, my child, and resented his marriage with a tavern muid, L was very proud of iy Richard; he could read and write as easy 4% Kiss-my-hand, and he was proud of ime, for all my humbie sta- Uon; but his family's disdain hurt him ‘and urged dim to drink, and so he pined away and died, poor lamb! His fwmily came to his funeral, but they hover spoke a word to me, even ta God's Acre, nor [ to them,” She saw tis dejection and strove to conjure tt away. “Bless you, my babe, t had cunning fingers and could make lace and did make lace, and you and 1 have lived ‘on it, and none too badly neither, “Mother,” guid the boy, after thoughtful pause, “what became of all daddy's proud kinsfolk?" “1 think they came to little good for the most part,” the woman said bit- terly, “and little good did they deserve to come to, But there waa one of them that poor Richard liked well jougi, and that was his brother Guillaume, and he, aa | hear, has done well enough, entering the Chureh and being now a fat canon, no less, in one of our Parts churohes. “Mother,” he would have a rich kinsman, never pay us a visit?” Because he dows not know of our existence,” Mother Villon would an- swer, flercely. ‘I have taken care of that, I thought they might want to take you away from me, my ewe- lamb, because you are a Villon by the man’s side, and so 1 have aver hidden “if we doer he say, why Apart since your poor father's death that they might not come at me" “Rut, mother,” the boy would plead, ‘4t may be that my uncle is a kind ‘nan, and one that would wish to play fuir with his kindred. “He may wish to play fatr, he may wisn to play foul,” said the we an; “1 care not. I seek no. friendship with the man that abandoned his brother because his brother would not abandon me.” CHAPTER VI. Uncle and Nephew. iT did not seem to the prema- turely sharp wit of the little Villon that there was any- thing base or unreasona in making, us it were, sig nals of distress in the direction of an eminent ecclesiastic who happened to be a near relation, It med to the all boy that the attempt had to be ade Warily and y be set about his self-appointed task, ‘Phe boy was not 1 equipped for his enterprise, Al e knew his Paris very weil ssed Where to go to And in There was the beadle of 4h ochureh w so Little ois had made acquaintance, deadie Little Fr was Car ‘ Benoit, w ert “in happened Villon iw a Bhe Louse calied be lived the 2 | mild ‘where Francois stood and twittered, In the portly old gentleman Villon recognized the ecclesiastic whom he had seon enter the house. lo Francois had slipped ly that his entrance had not ate tracted tbe attention of the writer, and he stood for an appreciable space cond’ staring and beating his ) brains for some telling form ddress. Presently the Canon, ap- in search of a word, lifted his eyes (rom his paper and ‘turned moon face in the direction The Canon stared at Francois and Francois stared back at the Canon, d for a moment or two neltber of n spoke. What do boy? Francois was a and forward Knee uh you want hore, little quick-witted child found an inspiration, He ran and flung: himself on his by the side of the Canon, @x- ming in a volce of such well-cal- culated emotion as only childhood desirous of favors can commane Unele, dear uncle, L want you “God bless my soul, boy, what do you mean Francois began to answer him glib- Jy, having now no fear of the man and finding his nerves in steady or- 1am your nephew, dear uncle,” he continued. "My na is Frapcois of Richard tone tine ‘anon pushed back his chair from the table and looked at the boy 4 little wildly, fad Hichard aloud, mo a child?” he said e as if he were speaking than to the child Knéeling so demurely at lis feet, But Fran- coils took the question as addressed nimaelf and an: red promptly: Yes, dear uncle,” he said, “though my mother told none of you about me for fear that we should be separate: The Canon put his hand under the boys chin and turning up his face studigd it thoughtfully for several moments, Then he released it with @ sigh. “Poor Richard!" he #atd. “I had not seen him for many @ long day before he d Pride parted us and pride kept us apart, and afterward it was too late for earthly reconcilia- tion, [ think you are Indeed my nephew, for you have much of my brotlers looks in your face.” He wae silent for a few seconds, Then, “le your mother alive?” he con- tinued “Yes,” the boy answered, “T quarrelied with your father,” the Canon went on, “on her account, and likely enough’ | was wrong in the duarrel and it fe thne to make amends.” His glance wandered over Fran- cois, who had by this time risen to his feet, and showed him the wretched Jition of his garmenta, You are meanly clad,” he sald sym- pathetioally re you and your mother In need? ndeed, uncle,” Httle Francots re- plied, “it's rarely that my mother and I know what {t fs to have enough food to eat, fire to warm us and clothes shield us from the air, My mother works hard all day at the meking of lace, but those she sella It to give her but Uttle for it, and ther s nothing [ean do to help, When fam up It will be an- other thing,” and be awelled his chest proudly; "but meanwhile there is very little in the larder, and I cannot remember when it was that | had this jerkin new, so long ago it is” Ile held up the edge of the @ar- ment he spoke, and his words c in his own ears The unded 80 pad that his eyes Milled with tears. good Canon found th pathetle too. He ross and took the boy by the hand Tome, child.” he said, “you must bring me at once to your mother.” Mastor Francois felt very proud of himself as he trotted through the streets of Paris, holding his excellent uncle's hand But Francois'a exaltation Master ved a wir heck when he ar iwelling place and non up the nar rived at bis own CEEDEROOVOD NOY MONON Modern Fiction does not contain a more wonderful TALE of MYSTERY and ADVENTURE than SHE By H. RIDER HAGGARD NEXT WEEK'S COMPLETE NOVEL IN THE EVENING WORLD Who was the strange, beautiful creature of marvel- ous power and almost endless dwelt in the Caves of Kor? ASCINATES THE MIND ars that Wie row stalrs that led to Mother Vil- Jon's garret. When Mother Villon saw the Canon and the boy enter the room hand in band, sho uttered a sharp cry. Then, darting forward, she seized Francois by the shoulder, and retreating into the room, she ranged her boy by her side and faced the visitor with hostile eyes. “What is your business with Your Keverence?” she inquired frost ily, dropping a curtsey, which ehe made plain to the Canon's coat and not to him in-law,” the Canon “My dear sisi began in an agitated voice, with an apologetic smile upon bis honest countenance. But Mother Villon, not to be mollified, interrupted him brisk- ly: “Who are you calling dear eister- in-law?” she questioned fiercely. “You are mistook, good sir; this ie not the house you seek; there are no kith nor kin of yours to be found here.” As she spoke she gripped her eon so tightly on his shoulder that the pressing fingers hurt him. The Canou was embarrassed, the Canon was dis- tressed; but he felt that be deserved ho better receptivn, and be would pot admit defeat. “Wo were at fault," he admitted, “sadly at fault, and I for my part have always regretted {t.” \ Mother Villon only sniffed derisive- iy Indeed,” persisted the good Canon, “I made efforts to trace you, after I came into my canonship, uu had vanished as if you had never \d “You may keep,” said Mother Villon decisively, ‘your breath to cool your porri have better use for my breath, he assured the angry woman with a sinile, “I mean to use it for the un- folding a sober truth to you. Here we live, you and I, in @ world that is divided into great people and little people. You and I, good sister, be- long to the little people. “You, indeed!" commented the wom- an scornfully, as she glanced over the Canon's well-clad, well-fed figure. Still the Canon smiled. Pa Ud Pate ep ag 5 et am indeed of the little people, yet I am weil set-up in, worldly goods, And why am I so set-up? I will tell yo There are but two ways by which we of the little people can so climb to rub elbows with the ane le. They are the pathway of the jureh and the pathway of the Law. 1 walked the pathway of the Church to my physical ell as my spiritual advantage. Others as humble as m; self have walked with like success along the pathway of the Law. Do egin now to see my drift?” Mother Villon said nothin but Francois thought and hoped that her frown was relaxin, “Think, woman,” said the honest Canon, with an eloquence that was underlined by genuine emotion, “what it may mean to this, your son, if | am permitted by your favor to extend to him such poor patronage T oan command, I can make @ learned man of him. 1 can place him at the pert- ing of the two ways to fortune, the Chureh and the Law. Who knows, it you live long enough, you may see him, if 1 have my way, @ bishop on the one hand or a judge on the other. Have you, 1 ask in all sincerity, any saulvalens advantage to offer the oy ‘The good woman sighed, The Canon saw that bis words we: having their effect, and he made haste to press his advantag Already the good woman had been ue tee ha \ won over, Thus, rom being the very eof obstinacy, she suddenly softens’ her countenance, surrendered at all points and found herself, to her pat- ent astonishment and private eatis- faction, clasped in the arins of a stout CHAPTER VII. “Train Up a Child” — HE Canon was better than hia word. He invited his aister-in-law and her son to dwell with him thencefor- ward at the Red Gate Part of this favor the woman was etub- born to refuse. For her son's eake she would #0 far awallow her Pride as to close with the Canon's offer to find little Francols in roof and food and raiment. But for herself she cherished her independence and her right to resentment against her hus- band's family. The Canon was radiantly happy. He had taken a great fancy to Fran- cols, It was settled that on certain days Francots should visit nts mot the Canon assuring her that she would find a welcome at the Red Gate whenever she pleased. But she nee did please. rhus early and auepictously was Francois Villon set upon the. path that was to lead to fame, fortune, felleity. It is to be feared that from the toe-mark he was temptable to wander from the path. To Francols, from tho time when he was able to reason at all, the world about him wae the book be liked beat to read on. ‘The streets were lis scriptures, the squares hie classics; the folk he jostled or dodged on causeway or kennel meant more to him than all the ancients of Gr or the ven- erables of Rome. When he came to Guillaume Vulon, he was a lover of the city, and the life of the city; if he knew little else, he knew his be- loved Paris by heart and by heel. Francois was housed, fed, taugh| sedulous uncle smoothing the way to the University and the tragedies of the Trivium and Quadrivium, The lad Was quick to learn where he liked his lessons, leas quick where he did not like, His uncle, being @ mood Latinist, made the language @ eollo- quial pastime for him, but logle and theology found him less pliant, ¢! h he was from the beginning nimdle- w.t enough to seem to know more than he knew, (To Be Continued.) PEA SS 5s Gee eS ee NOE ee ean es