Western Kansas world., 1886-11-06

her. One of them she particularly loved
pretty, shy Mamie Ferris, with hel
big, gray eyes, her soft, brown hair, and
her quaint, gentle ways. She loved her
for herself and she loved her because she
was Johns betrothed and was to become
his wife before another April She was
only IS and John not yet of age, but
they loved each other, and that was
enough.
At supper time the young men came
in. Honest, hard-working fellows they
were, with rough, red hands and clothes
that had in most cases known no tailor
but the women of their families. But
their cheeks were ruddy with health,
and their manly, hearty ways proved
them to be of the stuff that with the help
of their brave women folks was to hew
out and build up what was destined to
be the most powerful and prosperous
portion of the country. Strong and
broad -chested young men they were.
And they foun great favor in the eyes
of tho vigorous girls whose cheeks, al
ready rosy with the warm colors that
health paints, grew brighter under their
glances.
But, alas! roey cheeks were to grow
pale, bright eyes to become dim with
weeping. War relentless and Unsuitable;
war, dark, grim, awful, heartbreaking,
was lowering over the land. That very
day it thrust it's horrid face into every
home in the nation. Even as that hap
py little company sat around Farmer
Whitethorn's table man rode up to the
rude fence and shouted: ''They have
fired on Fort SumterP'
After that all sorts of rumors kept
coming. Work was almost entirely
thrown aside. Men hurried away at
| President Lincoln's call. The excite
ment and suspense and uncertainty were
intense. There was shadow in every
home, and heavy the hearts that men
and women carried in their bosoms.
Many wife, many mother, many a
sister, many sweetheart would come out
from the privacy Of her own room with
eyes that in vain sought to hide the evi-
dence of tears and voices that would have
been brave as their words.
When, on the 21st of July, the union
army was defeated at Bull Run, John
Whitethorne could bear it no longer
Daring and excitable, he felt that he
must go where bis country needed him.
But there was so much to leave behind
him. His feeble father and his loving
mother, neither of them any longer
young. And that sweet maiden whom
he loved as men love but once in a life,
time. The very thought of her thrilled
him. Could he leave her cling1ng arms
her tender ways, her fresh, bonnie face
her loving eyes, her warm dainty mouth
Could he leave her and go oaway, perhaps
to die in some awful battle; to die, for all
he knew, unknown and not even to be
decently buried? Or, worse thought
could he 60 and leave her to be loved by,
perhaps to love and be won by, some
other man who was Indifferent to his
country's welfare?
But he must 60. What agony it was!
What were all the weary marches, the
ct,ld, the hunger, the physical pain that
followed to the exquisite torture of the
moment of parting?
Days and weeks and months went by
somehow. Let those tell how who have
endured it.
For time John was heard from often.
Then there came silence. Its reason
no one knew, no one conld find out. In
the midst of it John Whitethorne's 9th
er was stricken with a deadly lever.
After few days suffering the lamp OF
life went out, and she was laid away IL
the quiet new cemetery near the little
new church.
And still there was that awful silence
concerning her son, who, if he still lived,
was ignorant of bis great loss.
But few days went by and one day,
out in the field, John Whitethorne's
father dropped dead. Never very strong,
his troubles were too much for him, and
he quickly followed his good, faithful
wife into the silent land.
Still there was no word of John.
Where was he?
It was the night before the battle OF
Charlottesville. A poor, ragged, half
starved soldier boy had made his way
into the union camp. He had escaped
from southern prison. He was faint
and sick and weary, and in few hours
became delirious. With others wounded
in the battle he was sent to Alexandria.
But death had set it's seal upon him, and
he died without having once again shine
in his eyes the light of reason. There
was nothing about his tattered clothes OF
bis worn, emaciated body to tell who he
was or whence he came, except single
sheet of paper, without date or post
mark. on which was written in girlish
hand simple love-letter. It began,
my own John," and it's closing words
were, "From your loving and faithful
Mamie"
I Every effort was made to find out the
dead soldiers history. But all in vain.
So, in the beautiful national cemetery at
Alexandria, he sleeps to-day. And his
grave is marked by q single headstone
on which is cut the one word, "John."
The Work of Thoughtless Boys.
Chicago Journal.
There are couple of boys in Winnet-
ka who have to add to their prayers to-
night special p@an of Thanksgiving
that carry handbag that scatters like
q threshing machine. I had these boys
names down, but the slip is missing.
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