of all this was when he was waked in the middle of the night, dressed up like a little girl, and hurried, half asleep, down to a carriage. 66 "I wonder what he thinks we are doing," said his older sister. "I think we are going to play theater acting," said the bewildered little boy, "because we are all dressed so strangely." Poor little prince! It was a sad and awful drama in which he was to play a part. It began when, in spite of their dressing up, the royal family were recognized, and brought back to Paris. First came more rioting, more bloodshed; then the King and Queen, the Dauphin, and his sister, were thrown into a prison called the Temple. And then it was declared that Louis XVI should no longer reign over France. In his place came what was called the Reign of Terror. The country was governed by a succession of ferocious men. All the friends of the royal family who had So not already escaped were seized and beheaded, the churches were closed, priests, or any persons who dared to teach religion, were put in prison or put to death. many people were killed that the gutters were red with blood. By and by the King was taken out of prison and beheaded; then the Queen. Both met death with the greatest dignity and courage. The bitterest part of it must have been the thought of the lonely, helpless child they were leaving behind them. III The little Dauphin never knew of his mother's death. He had been separated from her, and put in a different part of the Temple, under the care of a brutal shoemaker named Simon, and his wife. Once such people would not have been allowed in the little prince's presence. Now he waited on them, cleaned their shoes, and, in return, was knocked down, beaten, and sworn at. When he thought his tormentors were asleep, he would slip out of bed and kneel to say the prayers his mother taught him. Once Simon caught him at it, and threw a pail of water over him. It was a winter's night, and the child lay drenched and shivering till morning. They hated to see him remain handsome and fearless and courteous in spite of them. They cut off his long curls, and told him wicked, lying tales about his father and mother. This went on for about six months, and then something even worse happened to him. Simon was discharged, and the government saved the expense of a keeper by locking the little boy in a cell. He had a small barred window which let in a dim light during the day; at night there was none, nor was there any heat in cold weather. No one spoke to him, no one knew whether the once bright little mind had not failed under the horrors of solitude and darkness. At last the Reign of Terror came to an end; and, though the wretched child was not set free, he was given a clean room and decent food and clothing. He longed for air and freedom, and begged to see his family. At night they heard him sobbing in his sleep, "Always alone! always alone!" When at last little Louis XVII lay on his deathbed, he said he heard lovely music. No one else heard it. And then, they say, he sat up in his bed, and his blue eyes shone. "Oh! among those voices I hear my mother's," he cried. In that moment of joy he died. He was ten years old, and about a third of his short life had been spent in prison. The heroes are not all six feet tall, SONG FOR WINTER Frank Dempster Sherman OW winter fills the world with snow, NOW Wild winds across the country blow, And all the trees, with branches bare, Like beggars shiver in the air. Oh, now hurrah for sleds and skates! A polar expedition waits When school is done each day for meOff for the ice-bound arctic sea. The ice is strong upon the creek, Or see the polar bear whose fur Let us who want our muscles tough |