The Wichita daily eagle., 1891-10-03
THE LITTLE TEACHER,

I remember her so well, rs she looked
the first day entered the school-the pale
face, made still paler by the black mourn
ing which she wore, the lines of care which
sorrow had wrought, and the expression
of firmness which seemed to linger about
her mouth.
Among all the sorrows left by war in
that desolate little town hers was the sad
dest. At home | had heard her story. The
old home in which she lived, alone with
her mother, had been one of gayety and
wealth. The only sister of three Older
brothers, she was the pet of household
which for miles around was noted for ita
hospitality.
Among the many visitors who were al
ways welcome in the house was Paul Bran.
don. one of her brothers college friends.
Coming at first to see her brothers, he
had found a greater charm, and subse-
quent visits were made by love under the
cloak of friendship. Where there were so
many eyes, the disguise was soon perceived,
and long before Paul had even admitted to
himself that he came more to see Mary
than her brothers, the little maiden had
been mercilessly teased by the whole fam
lily. But though they teased, Paul had no
lack of silent encouragement, and one day
when he left for his distant home, he left
as the avowed lover of Mary Martin.
When the betrothal had been made pub
lie, and after several more protracted vis-
its to the Martin home had been made by
Paul, day was set for the wedding. In
the meantime more potent spells had been
at work than this little everyday tale Of
romance, and before the time for the wed
ding came round, line of bayonets bristled
between the two homes, the Martin boys
had marched to the front, and Paul had
enlisted with the enemy.
There was no direct break between them,
but when her youngest brother was
brought home from the first great battle,
dead, with his company's flag wrapped
around his body and the joy for the great
victory was gloomed by death, in sisters
anguish she felt that her lover was more
than an enemy, and he could but accept in
silence the letter which came to him
through the lines from the home where
he had been ever welcome-written by the
bier of his dearest friend. And after the
letter was sent, Mary sat down and cried
her eyes almost out-but never wavered
from what she had written.
So four long years passed. Once, in bat
tie, Paul and Arthur Martin met, hand to
hand. And the comrades of neither ever
understood why they flinched and turned
pale that once in all their fighting. 1t was
in breastwork attack, and by an instant,
but tacit consent, they sprang back and
turned in opposite directions.
Ill =
came marching home, there were three
green graves in the old cemetery, and three
soldier brothers lay sleeping side by side.
And before the winter had passed, the
father joined his boys, and Mary and her
mother were alone.
1t was then that letter came from the
north asking if Paul might come He
pleaded earnestly; but with her sorrow
fresh in her memory she felt that she could
not give her hand across those graves, and
no answer ever went
1t is then that first remember her, as
she would go by in her daily walk to and
from her school, She had begun the bat
tie for life bravely and had opened a school,
and those who had known her in better
days admired her brave little heart, and
her school was soon full
1t was with all the enthusiasm of a boy
of eight years that loved her, and on her
almost daily walks to the cemetery | was
her constant companion. The entrance to
the confederate burying grounds was un-
der large arch, over which ran a profu-
sion of vines, and across the arch in bold
letters was the legend Tread Softly Ger
Our Fallen Heroes" Every spring, on the
day set apart for Memorial Day, the
grounds were strewn with all the blossoms
that the season gave as to the muffled notes
of the Dead March" the whole population
of the little town came to the foot of the
tall shaft which crowned the highest knoll
to commemorate the fallen dead.
After her mother, her heart lay In those
graves. No hand but hers ever kept out
the encroaching weeds from that lot, and
In the spring, when the cedars and pines
took on a greener hue, and the trailing
vines with renewed freshness ran rank and
wild over the headstones and tomhS
around, that lot was the greenest, and the
sod which grew there was the freshest aud
softest TO be seen in all the rolling space Of
the soldiers graves.
To help her in this work, TO carry her
flowers and bring her water from the well
TO sprinkle the grass and shrubs, was to
me work of love. Late in the evening
we would stay. Then, when the long sum
mer day would begin 70 close around the
horizon with its dusky gray. would watch
her as she gathered up her wrap aud little
basket OF tools, and as would look at the
soft girlish face. 50 chasteued and subdued,
but so beautiful withsl, with the lines Of
grief merged into the pesce of divine sub
mission 20 her Fathers will. as we would
walk silently back through the cemetery
between the overgUown grasses OF neglected
lots, / wouldput my hand in hers, and il
seemed as If were walking with a spi1ii
among spirits.
10 the spring of 1865 the memorial serv
ices had been unusually solemn and elab-
crate. On this occasion northern gen
tleman. since the war true friend 70 the
south, had been invited TO attend and
speak in memory of those whose valor he
had before taken occasion 10 eulogiZe
With him came few friends. The party
had arrived at noon and proceeded directly
10 the cemetery. where in speaking and
other services the day had been far spent
When the sun was almost set and all the
great crowd were well on their way home.
I walked quietly down the path TO Miss
Marys lot well knowing that there l