The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1864-01-15

the vail" It may be months or wears
since, but still they hear at nightfall the
echo and re-echo of the low "good-by -
the last sound of distant step-the death
like stiffness that shall never more be
broken.
1t was in August that he went, and her
life with it's tentold loneliness went en- as
in the old days before they were engaged.
Only his letters came-full of love and
courage. She would sit up till late every
night, and cramp her already tired fingers
to answer them; writing in her timid, low
ing way, putting in few words of endear-
ment, except his name. She loved to
write that often, and sometimes she would
kiss it shyly, or drop tear on it perhaps,
and then try to wipe it off so he should not
see the mark. 1t was curious to see her,
when she took out his little picture and
looked at it with her large reverent eyes !;
and when a distant step was heard in the
house she would start as if guilty, and
with burning cheeks hide it away Yet
you could not laugh at her. You would
have felt more like crying, perhaps
AS the pile of Johns cheerful letters in
creased, and still he was safe and perfectly
well, she herself grew more trusting, and
began to sing little at her work. Per-
haps he would come home after all.
One night she heard the newsboys' shout
of a great battle, and saw an unusual
crowd around the bulletin. She stopped
to read the rumors of the Maryland battles
with sharp pain at her heart. But Johns
regiment had not drill enough yet to fight;
she would not be anxious. Yet her lips
We're compressed, and her eyes feverishly
bright all day.
Then came the news which stirred the
North with glad surprise-of a victory at
Antietam. The seamstress thanked God
for it as heartily as the gladdest; but
every morning she searched the list of
killed and wounded; and every day, as no
letter came for her, she grew paler, and
the lines of her face sharper with pain.
At last she saw that Johns regiment had
been in the fight, but nothing more.
Still the golden days fled away, and the
skies were warm and hazy, over that far
OFT Southern river, but the pale faces turn
ed toward them, saw them not. The
birds sang with willful merriment, and
the gay autumn flowers grew and smiled
in soil that was soaked with human blood.
The sparkling hours would pause,in their
sport to sing no dirge for the dead and to
pity no mourner
Ruth waited, and the mornings bright
ened, and the evenings faded, but the
columns of the papers, though full for
Others, brought nothing to her.
One day she sat sewing in her room in
the afternoon warmth. The sound of
carriage wheels without grew less and
less /; there were no voices about the
house !; strange, oppressive stiffness fell
suddenly upon her. She laid down her
work and clasped her hsnds, straining
every nerve to listen for she knew not
| what
A step on the stairs, and some one
knocked. Size said ''Come in," for she
could not rise. A man entered and touch
ed his hat respectfully Ruth recognized
him as one of Johns company she had
seen him at camp.
els this Miss Mason ?''
She bowed her head, and pointed to
/ chair; then clenched her fingers again,
and sat looking at him with sort of fierce
courage that surprised the man.
"I've just come home on furlough to git
my arm cured up" and he pointed to the
sling he wore; "thought mother could do
it better than those doctors. Now it's
better, and-and l come to tell you that
to tell you-well, he's gone John Rog-
er's gone; he got shot at Antietam on
Wednesday, just two weeks ago, poor fell
low"
She uttered long, low cry, and pressed
her hand to her heart. Then she sank on
the floor, and hid her face in the chair in
a crouching, helpless way, moaning plain
lively.
The man passed his rough hand over his
eyes, and moved uneasily in his chair.
''POor creetur she's hurt pretty bad.
Hard work this; rather be under fire any
time" he muttered to himself
There was an innate sense of delicacy
in the man, coarse looking as he was,
which forbade him to speak; he only sat
looking at her in puzzled way, waiting
for her to look up. She did so at last
Her face was very white; she shed no
tears but there was such beseeching
look in her dry eyes, such crushed, hope
less pressure of her lips as was pitiful to
see.
"Tell me about it," stretching out her
hands in pleading way.
"Why, you see, Miss" began the man,
che was long with Burnside down by the
bridge, in the thick of the fight, when a
shot hit him in the breast, and he dropped
down just by great tree that's nigh the
bridge, and lay there pretty nigh three
hours, I reckon, afore they could get him.
When I'd been off the field myself with this
ERE arm while some one brought him
up, and the surgeon he laid him by me,
and says he, Poor fellow he wontnever
get we'll; , and when John heard that he
just shut his eyes minute, and l heerdhim
say, Ruth, RUTH l didn't quite under
stand him at first, and thought he was
talkin' about the pain: so I called out and
told him 'twouldn't last long, and he kinder
smiled and said 'twarn't that, but said
he, it's Ruth Mason; and if you get bet'
ter, as the doctor says you will, when you
go home tell her how I died praying for
her, and take her back her letters, and tell
her Til love her inst the same in the other