Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1891-05-30

lnassers iegs ana croucned there.
trembling.
81 am sorry, madam, responded the
old soldier gravely. that he kiiledyour
hens, and VIII pay you for them, glad
". He deserved tho beating, and
hope you'll excuse my testiness, but You
see that dog and my 'colored boy, Tom,
are about the only friends / have In the
world, and I don't like to see n of
them hurt"
Pay for her hensl AS IL she waited
his money, indeedi The widow was
thoroughly angry. TITS not the value
of the hens care about, she snapped.
81 don't like to see their heads eaten
off by great, roaring cannibal" The
captain could not help smiling little,
which exasperated her the more. "And
I'll make bold to tell you, Capt. Mayed
don, :" she added, that It shows poor
spirit for man to claim he has only
dog and niger for friends. when he
might have
Here the widow Marjorie felt herself
giving way. With q last wrathful look
she darted within her door and slammed
1t.
After that, when she passed the cap
tain she looked across the street and
pretended not to see him. The captain
continued to salute her gravely, as be-
fore. In-this way things went on for q
month or so.
There was q certain annual ceremony
that the widow Clark never neglected.
In the little cemetery, eight miles away,
lay her two boys-twins, of seventeen,
they we're when they left her on that
bright morning, OIL so long ago. She
never saw them alive again, and they
rested there now, under the soft grass.
The husband and father who had
brought them home lay there also, now,
and when Memorial day-that most
sacred, perhaps, of all American days
came around, the widow laid her bios
SONS and wreaths on the three mounds.
Every year, as the day came around,
she hitched mp the chunky old mare to
the crealxy buggy and drove down
the tree-lined road to the place
where the dear ones slept. This year
she was little late. The sun had gone
down behind the hills when she drove
down the smooth graveled road. The
turf looked fresh and inviting. She
strewed her flowers on the mounds
precious task-and sat there for an
hour, thinking Of those who had rested
there so long and so silently. She felt
no grief now; a calm gladness, rather,
that she should be able to care for their
sleeping place so well.
A feeling Of loneliness came over her
as she rose to go. The dusk was
gathering over the deserted city Of the
dead. Slowly the old horse toiled up
the incline. Suddenly the reins We're
frightened. The woman who was driv-
ing gave little gasp of establishment.
She peered through the shrubbery.
The stalwart man sitting upon moss
covered stone with his white head
bowed upon his hands was - Capt.
Mageddon.
The old mare stopped. She stood
stock still for five minutes. The man
never moved. The dusk grew deeper
and the moon peeped out.
Moved by an impulse she could never
afterwards explain, Mrs. Clark slowly
descended from the buggy. She moved
noiselessly over the grass. She ap-
preached the STOPPING figure. excuse
me, Capt. Mageddon," she said, soft
", "but will not you let me give you a
ride home?" 49,
He had risen at the sound of her
voice. '"This is indeed pleasant sur
prise, Mrs. Clark" he said.
The traces of tears upon the stern,
strong face sent q pang to the good
woman's heart. Captain" she asked,
softly, fare there dear ones of yours
here, too2"
"My boy lies there" answered the
old warrior, pointing to a slim marble
slab. HE was too young to face that
hell of war. But he rode by my side
like hero in that last mad charge at
Gettysburg, his young face aglow and
his fair hair streaming in the breeze.
can hear his splendid cry.of triumph,
that he gave as the ball struck him,
ringing through my ears now. Strike
home, father he yelled, as he rolled
from his saddle, and saw him no more
until afterwards. Poor Nedl 1t killed
his mother. Icame to your town to be
near him, Mrs. Clark. You must ex
cuse an old fellows weakness" And
the veteran covered his face once more.
Captain" said the lady, with almost
motherly tenderness. "There are two
Of NV dorlinus s1eaninr over there