The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1879-04-09

threw around upon us all quick, bright |
glance, which would have been bold had not
its audacity been tempered by such an ex- |
quisitely truthful innocence.
"They don't know came," she went on,
laugh we had heard on the hillside. II crept
out underneath the tent after Captain Ned
had put me to bed. wasn't afraid to come,
cause / knew you were soldiers, and soldier
wouldn't hurtsa little thing like me-. And
good Mister Yankee men want some ofyour
bacca"
'You want some OF our 'bacca, do you?
That's queer thing for little glrl to want"
somebody said, amused at the child's earnest
| ly anxious manner
so, I wouldn't use It," she cried, in childish
disdain. II want it for my boys! It's been
| days and days since they had any, and it
| makes 'em so cross. Even the old Colonel
swore to-day Che swears drefful, and it makes
| me sick) he'd give a leg for good pipe full
like the Yankees had over on the other side Of
| the hill here. So I've been tninkn' all day
how could come across and get some for my
poor boys"
She looked so sweet and innocent, and her
great lustrous eyes had so pleading an ex-
preston as she spoke that many a rough
grimy face worked strangely in response to
| me LnrllllnG OF INC coro VI cOmEOn DrOtncr-
hood, WI ch this baby's hand had touched.
| "Come here" said the last speaker, a
grizzled Kentucky giant, with a paw like
bear; "hold out that big apron OF yours!"
She lifted the corners of little dark calico
! apron she wore, which was about the size of
preached the kentuckian. Char he con:
| tinued, throwing in a large chunk of fragrant
Lone Jack, 'that's half of what I've got; Jake
that to your 'boys!"
The sweet little voice rang out again and
again in childish delight, for every man Of
us followed the Kentuckian's lead, and we
heaped the tiny apron full
II smelled it before I saw you, way up on
top of the hill," she said, her dark eyes spark
ling with pleasure, "and then knew hadn't
lost my way. And the music was pity, too.
1t made me laugh, and knew my boys would
be so pleased when I got back and told 'em
where I'd been. can sing, too" she added
naively, slightly dropping her sweet gypsy
face.
"Then give us song to pay for the 'bacca,"
cried Hawkins, the kentuckian.
She looked up into his face with her bright,
dark eyes. 20, Pm going to bring it back,
sure, just as soon as ever we get some more.
But I'll sing, too. if you like"
We lifted her up on the tall stump of a tree
near by, and the little creature began to sing.
She had not much voice-no child of five or
six has-but it was wonderfully sweet, and
her powers Of mimicry were marvellous.
Some one, perhaps the Capt. Ned, of whom
she had told us, had composed the song for
her, and she gave it Thoroughly in character.
Doubtless she had sung it hundreds Of times
before to similar audience, so that she was
in no wise embarrassed when we applauded
vociferously.
Our appreciation pleased her, however, fol
she laughed gaily; but she soon skipped MIN
bly, down from her impromptu pedestal, and
went round among us, holding out her tiny
| 70 :,,f ;pH~ 70 :ofo
tile dignity and grace: 1.-THE boys would
, miss her" she explained, 'if she stayed away
too long" When she reached the sergeant
he suddenly stopped down to her, caught he1
in his arms, and kissed her full on her sweet
rosy mouth.
) drew himself up again, and his voice was
husky with emotion. We gave the little crea
} ture escort across the stream, ane
watched her. disappear among the thich
shrubbery which rose beyond.
, 1t was only quarter of an hour or SO af
} terward that we heard hoarse shout arise
E from the enemy's camp on the other side o
t the hill. It was the welcome which those
poor half-star7ed rebs were giving to the lit
e tie heroine and to our tobacco! We never
stopped to think, but with hearty three times
! three we sent back the cheer, till the wood
! and rocks re-echoed the sound far off to tn
f distant mountain range. And then we looket
8 sadly round at each other to think how baby
e hand had spun this slender thread whicl
e stretched between brothers divided by suc]
a wide sea of blood and suffering.
4 don't know whether it was the remem
8 brance of the child whose appearance hal
|, touched him SO deeply or a presentment @
t what was to come, but from that night Ram
e son seemed to lose his bright spirits. Eve
S his promotion, which came the next week
; failed to rouse him from the detection whic
d seemed to take possession of him. When n
l. was made lieutenant, of course I ceased
e share his tent, and believe he felt the loss q
n much as did. At any rate when he wa
II wounded and taken to the hospital he begge
d that might be allowed to,wait on him. An
g perhaps because was more gentle than tn
e other men the request was granted and stat
le with him through the three days whic
elapsed before he died. For he did die, br
e not before he had told me part Of the paint
II story which he had always shrunk from al
e preaching in his days of splendid health.
IS He had married young, he said, and yer
it foolishly. His wife had been a Brilliant
Is beautiful, vain, capricious girl, and both ha
e been too young to realize the responsibilities
d and cares that were to come with marriage
leI had born him one child-a baby daughter
n He was of Northern birth, although living i
IF the South, and when the war broke out hi
e married life had already been SO unhapp
that it. was scarcely an added pain when sh
* refused to live with him on account of hi
le the child bound him in any way to the beat
ID tiful, intractable mother. He went to her q
her fathers house and begged, for the SAX
OF Of the child, that she would return to hin
as The father seconded his request, but the gil
r. was like adamant. She would never shar
20 the home of a Yankee, she protested. Tn
" only comfort that the wretched husban
X could extort from her was the promise t
1e write of the child's welfare.
of Then came terrible days in the Soutl
lie Months passed, and the once fair and ric
III plantations were devastated, ruined. Ramso
or came North, and in his wretehedness foun
It, the army the most fitting place to drive ava
he the recollections that haunted him. He kne
lg the child was safer in its grandfather's hon
a than it could be with him, and beside thi
the brave soldiers heart was yet too tendt
p to strike the mother by claiming the chill
lg But one day came letter from his wife tel
H. ing him the babe was dead, and after this tn
IT. episode of his married life was as a close
re page to him, to which he never or rare
a turned, This was all his story and he told