Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1889-07-25
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.


Bonnie to his country, that not a father
in all this broad land made SO precious a
gift-no, not one. The dear boy only
slept minute, just one little minute, at
hio post, know that was all, for Bonnie
never dozed over duty. How prompt
and reliable he wes! / know he only fell
asleep one little second; he was so young,
and not strong, that boy of mine! Why,
ne was as tall as 1, and only eighteen!
And now they shoot him because he was
found asleep when doing sentinel duty.
Twenty fonr hours the telegram said
only twenty-four hours. Where is Ben
ME now?"
eve will hope, with his heavenly
Father" said Mr.. Allan, soothingly.
eyes, yes let us hope; God is very mer-
cifui!'
'''I should be ashamed, father Benie
said, when am a man, to think I never
out so proudly before me-'for my country
when it needed it, Palsy rather than
keep it at the plough"
Go, then, my boy, l said, and God
keep yoa." God has kept him 1 think, Mr.
AIanw and the farmer repeated these
words slowly, as, if in pite of his reason,
his heart doubted them.
Like the apple of his eye. Mr.. Owen,
doubt it not"
Blossom sat near them listening, with
blanched cheek. She had not shea tear.
Her anxiety had been so concealed that no
one had noticed it. She had occupied her
self mechanically in the household cares.
Now she answered gentle tap a5 the
kitchen door, opened it to receive from a
neighbours hand letter. "It is from him. !"
was all she said.
Ii was like message from the dead! Nj.
Owen took the letter but could not break
the envelope on account of his tremb bling
fingers and held it toward Mr.. Allan with
the helplessness of child.
The minister opened it and read as fol-
lows:
"DEAR FATHER-When this reaches you
| shall be In eternity. At first it seemed
awful to me; but I have thought about it
SO much low, that it has no terror. They
say they will hot bind me, nor blind me;
but that may meet my death like man
| Thought. father, it might have been on
the battlefield, for my country, and that,
when fell, il would be fig hitting gloriousIy;
but TO be shot like dog for nearly be
traying Ito die for neglect OF duty! O,
does not kill NE! But shall not dis
grace you. am going 20 write you ali
about it, and wheE | am gone you may tell
my comrades. I can not now.
"You know 1 promised jennie Carr's
mother would look after her boy; and
when he fell sick, [ did all could for him.
He was not strong when he was ordered
back into the ranks; and the day before
that night [ carried all his luggage, besides
my own on our march. Towards night
We went in on double quick, and though
the luggage began to fee very heavy
everybody else was so tired too; and as for
Jennie, if [ had not lent him an arm
now and then, he would have dropped by
the way. I was all tired out when we
came into camp, and then it was Jemmie's
turn to be seEt try, and l would take his
place; but L was so tired, father. I could
not have kept awake if a gun had been
pointed at my head; but did not know
it until-well, until it was too late"
God be thanked" interrupted Mr..
Owen, reverently. 81 knew Bonnie was
not the boy to sleep carelessly at his posi-"
"They tell me today that have short
reprieve, given to me by circumstances
time to write you, our good colonel says.
Forgive him, father, be only does his duty;
he would gladly save me if he could, and
do not lay my death up against Jennie.
The poor boy is broken-hearted, and does
nothing but beg and entreat them to let
him die in my stead.
81 cannot bear to think of mother ard
Blossom. Comfort them, father! Tell
them die as brave boy should, and
that, when the war is over, they will not
be ashamed OF me, as they must he now.
God help me; it is very hard to bear!
Goodby, father! God seems near and
dear 30 me; not at all as if he wished ne
co perish forever, but as if he felt sorry for
his poor, sinful, broken-hearted child, and
would take me to be with Him and my
Savior in better, better life"
A deep sigh burst from Mr.. Ovens heart.
"Amen" he said sOlemnly, Amen"
Tonight, in the early twilight, 1 shall
see the cows all coming home from past
ure, and precious little Blossom stand on
the back stoop, waiting for me; but l
shall never, never come! God bless you
all! Forgive your poor Bonnie"
Late that night the door of the shack
stoop" opened softly and little figure
giided out, and down the footpath that
led to the road by the mill. She seemed
rather flying than walking, turning her
head neither to the right nor the left,
looking only now and then TO heaven, and
folding her hands as if in prayer. Two
hours later the same young girl stood at
the mill depot, watching the coming of
the night train; and the conductor, az he
reached down o lift her into the car,
wondered at the tear-stained face that
was upturned toward the brIgh lantern he
held in his hand. A few questions and
ready answers told him all. She was on
her way to Washington TO ask President
Lincoln for her brothers life. She had
stolen away, leaving only a note to tell
where and why she mad gone. She had
brought Bennie's letter with her; no good
kind heart like the presidents could re-
fuse 10 be melted by it. The next morning
they reached New York, and the con5uc
tor hurried her on TO Washington. Every
minute, now, might be the means OF saw
ing her brothers life. And so IN an in
credibIy short time, Blossom reached the
capital, and fastened Immediately to the
White House.
The President had but just seated him
| self to the task of overlooking important
papers, when, without one word of an
| nouncement, the door softly opened, and
Blossom, with downcast eyes and folded
hands, stood before him.