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MERE VAUCHARD'S CANDLES.

BY THE WAY.

USING THEM UP.

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A SCOTTISH CANTEEN.

THE WOMAN'S PART.¡

FOOD TOPICS.

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MERE VAUCHARD'S CANDLES.

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(Continued from column 1.) wondered how she had fared, whether she j was still in the village, whether she had any news of her absent son. As soon as he had seen his company settled in their t, billets and reported to his Company Com- rnander, he made his way towards the church to seek out the old lady. Suddenly a figure sprang out from a house beside the road, and pinioned him by both arms, j He found himself vigorously kissed on each cheek by a bearded French soldier in horizon blue uniform. C'est iui, Pierre," cried the voice of Mere Vauchard in the background. It is he! It was indeed Pierre, the long-awaited i ,v Pierre, the prisoner son. Bobbv heard their story, told in alternate gusts from mother and son. Pierre had lon» planned his escape with a comrade gunner. All his plans were complete, and it was arranged to make their attempt on Pierre's birthday—the day might bring them luck. Fortune favoured them. Not Fortune (interrupted the old mother), but the Holy Virgin herself, who has listened to my prayers—thanks to the candles which the brave English captain had placed at her shrine."

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