Rutland weekly herald. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1859-1877, 1867-05-09

| pcuhui II Couiu smut the eyes OF Tue IOt
the night, II little Pat was squazed up
SO; and / can't stan IT,"
So forgetting the paint, and knowing
full we'll that Mike had lost no Pat and
would not help him, the Irishman lifted
the coffin almost reverently as If the
tears which were glistening in his eyes
made 1t look holy to him, and carried 1t
| out.
Mike stared, but offered no resistance;
nor was 1t till he heard him going down
the stairs, knocking the coffin as he
went, that he thought of following
him.
Ruth, still holding the flowers, was
standing on the lower floor, waiting for
the men to come down; but when she
saw them with the coffin, she thought
they were carrying Eddie away, and for
moment the whole scene seemed to
grow dark and fade from her sight; but
in another her hand was on Pats arm,
and she said quickly:
"Do not take him without his flowers;
dear little Eddie, he loved them so"
ave hain't got him, miss, It's moth
ing but this box. An sure, it's not fit
for him, nor those swate flowers; but
Well be coming back presently, with a
coffin that's good for prince, and We'll
make him comfortable and pleasant like,
if it takes every cent Pat has"
Ruth looked at him but only saw
Pat kneeling before his little temple and
there was comfort to her in the sad face
and misty eyes, which showed how rev.
erently he knelt.
AS they were going out of the door
the police officer met them. He stopped
them, and Pat told the story. Not a
word of its touching pathos did it lose,
as his rough voice trembled, and the
tears rolled down his cheeks.
"You see, sir" he said alphabetically
as he wiped them away with his paint
stained hands, 81 couldn't do it, My
Pat would have been calling, Father
father !! until this t'other little fellw had
some comfort like. I'll spend the last
shillin' first, sir; indade | will, sir"
The police officer hesitated moment,
then he said
you're a good fellow, Pat, and
won't forget you. You needn't come
back again. will see to matters up
here" and he pointed up the stairs.
can it's God Almighty that will bless
you, sir, said Pat, quickly, "You won't
be forgetting the little girl, and the
swate flowers. Eddie loves them, sir ;
she says So"
mo, Pat, won't forget anything"
"Ten thousand blessings on ye, sir, "
and the city express received its load,
the horse trotted briskly away, and for
this once the pauper child had escaped
its heartless death doom.
The officer understood well what to
do. There are some few ladies in the
city known to those into whose hands
come any unusual cases of sorrow and
suffering.
To one of these he told his story, and
was assured everything should receive
proper care.
Before noon of the same day soft steps
were heard upon the stairs leading to
the widows room, and a lady knocked
at her door. 1t was as If God had seut
His angels to open the shutters toward
the east, and bring this family once more
into the light.
At the close of the day small band
Of decorous mourners had gathered
there. Black dresses, neat and warm,
took the places of the old, worn gar,
ments, and on the table, which was con-
cealed beneath snowy damask cloth,
stood a simple casket, satin lined, ribbon
trimmed.
In it lay little Eddie, his emaciated
face almost hidden beneath the wreath
of white buds which covered his pillow.
In his tiny hand he held bouquet,
Ruth's gift; and at his feet lay a flower
made cross. Precious cross. Dear en-
blem; but never more precious, and new.
er dearer in its foreshadowing, than
when, as now it tells OF suffering and
sorrow passing through deaths dark
portal.
1t is not pauper child that is borne
to the church, but the dead soldiers
boy; and carriages follow the little wea-
ry sleeper, and the clergyman prays, not
for the peaceful dead, y no; but for the
living that God would put it into the
hearts of his people to remember those
who have given their best for them.
This story is almost trite. Pith it's
tits true. The families of our dead SOL
diers What place can we make for
them? Meek suffering women, children
homeless, breadess ; what an army of
them gather around these snow covered
graves We have buried their husbands
and fathers with their nations flag
wrapped around them; walled over them
sad death marches, and uttered euogies
upon their undying greatness; but do
not let US forget that dearer than all
this pageant to that still, brave heart, is
the vile and the little ones he has left
behind, and what he asks Of US now is
to lead them out from the darkness with
which his death has covered them, into
the light.-Watchtnan and Reflector.
Selections.