Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1891-02-06

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and ride 20 mile for a doctor, and never
think what I'D become of 'tother one.
There amt no freer- hearted people under
the canopy"
drew long breath of relief. After all
was not among wolves,
We drew up at an exceedingly pleasant
house, standing in the middle of sweet
old-fashiOned flower garden, which was
almost surrounded by blossoming orchard.
An old lady, in a neat black dress and
snowy apron, smiled welcome from the
vine-covered porch.
! We left the wagon at the barn and then
entered the house by another door. which
led directly INTO the kitchen. long, low
room, looking out upon the orchard Heavy
spikes of lilac blossoms nodded at the open
windows, and light stand near the door
was gay with scarlet geraniums. we'll
filled bookcase and supply OF papers and
magazines showed that Mr.. Worden had a
taste for reading and SUCH" if his neigh
bors had not
The room was neat but not too prim
looking. Mrs. Worden's work basket stood
on the bare white floor by the side of
light rocking chair, and a kitten was play
ing with a newspaper that lay on the
chintz-covered lounge. The table, daintily
spread fol s--rpe., stood .4oa. sAe door.
''This is Reed Hanson, mother" said
Mr.. Worden. Hes a wanderer from
home, like myself and hope you've got a
real New England supper to cheer him up"
Mrs. Worden came forward, a sweet,
gentle old lady who must have been very
pretty in her youth. But now the silver
threads in her hair far outnumbered the
brown, and her delicate face was deeply
lined with age or care.
Il have neither Goldfish nor BEANS" she
sail smiling. "But perhaps you will find
something to remind you of home"
glanced at the table as took my seat
Light bread, cold boiled ham. fried chicken
and poached eggs were directly before us,
and reserve of baked apples, rhubarb pies
and raspberry jam adorned the other end
of the table. 1 smiled my thanks, as Mrs.
W orden handed the bread.
al ana so tired Of corn pone and soda
biscuit, ! said. "And it's so good to see
ham and eggs that are not friedl You'll be
astonished, Mrs. Worden, if you never saw
a hungry boy before"
She smiled again, but rather sadly, l
thought, and Mr.. Worden said "You see
my wife studied up Yankee cookery just to
please me, and now she likes it better her
self"
''Then you are not from New Englandf'
l said looking at Mrs Worden. NO"
she answered. ~ was born in this State"
The pleasant meal was over, but we still
sat chatting inte1mittently in the fading
light, when sudden thought impelled me
to say, ''This seems the very abode of
peace, now, but suppose you had trouble
some times during the war"
was looking at Mr.. Worden as spoke,
bat, instead of answering, he glanced
hastily at his wife, who at that moment
rose and left the room. Then he said
hurredly, ave never speak of the war
here. III tell you why another time"
was deeply chagrined and muttered a
confused apology.
Its all right, my boy he answered,
his voice trembling little. "You didn't
mean any harm"
When Mrs. Worden returned to the room
her manner was outwardly calm, but her
dark eyes were pitiful in their sadness.
What lovely night" said, rising and
standing in the doorway. The moon was
at its full, and the pink and white apple
blossoms looked glorified in the brilliant
light
at is that" said the old man, joining
me rs pose We look round a little"
assented with alacrity, and we walked
down by the long rows of vegetables, and
finally passed out under the fower-laden
boughs.
/ had noticed small grove of ever
greens at the end of orchard, and as we
drew near the spot, l saw that the trees
were within small enclosure A neatly
trimmed hedge of sweetbrier and wild
roses surrounded it, and there was small
white gate at one corner. This the old
gentleman held open for me and l passed
in, raising my hat involuntarily, as if
were entering a church. 1t was a resting
place of the dead.
-Four tiny graves were clustered to-
gether at one side, unmarked save by rose
bushes and sweet flowers. But near them,
close together were two long mounds,
marked by double headstone. This was
the inscription ON one side: "To the
memory of Lionel Bryce. Died August 20,
1864, aged 10 years" Opposite was the
name of Ernest A. Worden, his age, 20
years, and the date of his death few
weeks later than the other. Under both
names, engraved the whole length of the
stone were the words, '"They shall beat
their swords into ploughshares, and their
spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not
lift up sword against nation, neither shall
they learn war any more"
The old man stood for some minutes,
silently, with bowed head, while !, bend
ing down, read and re-read in the bright
moonlight the inscription, wondering why
it had been chosen, and noting the beauty.
of the flowers which adorned the graves.
On one side of the stone was a climbing
rose and on the other honeysuckle. The
long green sprays, reaching upward, had
met and twined together in many places,
so that, but for the difference in form of
the fresh leaves, it would have been hard
to say from which root they sprang.
''This is my boys grave" the old man
said, at last, "and there lies one who was
almost as dear, the son Of my wife's only
sister She died when he was child, and
left him to our care. My son and he loved
each other as few brothers do. AT work or
play they must always be together al
ways"
The old mans voice broke. He paused
for minute and then went on, but falter-
ingly:
"When Ernest was 16, he wanted to be
doctor. He was quick lad, fond of book
learning, and I'd given him the best
chances / could. l never had much my
self, but always meant to give the boys
fair show. And when the war broke out
my boy was up North at q medical col
lege.
'My wife was Southern raised, and
naturally she felt with that side. | didn't
blame her, nor she me, though she knew
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