St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1891-08-12
The LITTLE TEACHER.


the first day entered the school-the
pale face. made still paler by the mourn
ing which she wore, the lines of care
which sorrow had wrought, and the eX-
preston of firmness which seemed to
linger about her modth.
Among all the sorrows left by war in
that desolated little town, hers was the
saddest. At home l had heard her story.
The old home in which she lived, alone
with her mother, had been one of gaiety
and wealth. The only sister of three
older brothers, she was the pet OF
household which for miles around was
noted for its hospitality.
Among the many visitors who were
always welcome in the home was Paul
Brandon, one of her brothers college
friends.
Coming at first to see her brothers, he
had found a greater charm, and SuOSe-
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 broth
els. the little maiden had been merci-
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
public. and after several more pro-
tracted visits to the Martin home had
been made by Peul, day was set Tor
the wedding. In the meantime more
potent spells had been at work than
this little every day tale OF romance,
and before the time for the wedding
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 a sisters anguish she felt 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 Wayered
from what she mad written.
So four long years passed. once, IN
battle, 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.
When all was over, and the remnants
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 battle 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.
Itwas with all the enthusiasm of a boy
of eight years that l loved her. and on
her almost daily walks 10 the cemetery
was her constant companion. The en-
trance to the Confederate burying
grounds was under large arch.
| over which ran a prOfuSlOn OF
vines, and across the arch i'll
bold letters was the legend. Tread
Softly Ger Our Fallen Heroes" Every
spring, on the day set apart for Memo
rial 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 greener hue,
and the trailing vines with renewed
freshness ran rank and wild over the
headStOneS and tOmbs around, that lot
was the greeneSt. and the sod which
grew there was the freshest and 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 sfrom the
well to sprinkle the grass and shrubs,
WAS 10 lllG Il MOIh VI lONGs LdIC III Vic
evening we would stay. Then, when
the long summer day would begin to
close around the horizon with its dusky
gray, | would watch her as she
gathered up her wrap and little
basket of tools, and as L would
look at the soft girlish face, so chast-
ened and subdued, but so beautiful
withaI, with the lines of grief merged
into the peace of divine submission to
her Fathers will, as we would walk
silently back through the cemetery be-
tween the Overgrown grasses of neg
lected lots, would put my hand in hers,
and it seemed as if | were walking with
a spirit among. spirits.
In the spring of 1868 the memorial
! services had been unusually solemn and
elaborate. On this occasion Northern
gentleman. since the war true friend
to the South. had been invited to attend
and speak in memory of those whose
valor he had before taken occasion to
eulOgize With him came few friends.
The party had arrived at noon, and pro-
ceeded directly to 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 on their way
home | walked quietly down the path to
MISS MAY lObs NCll lhaO
there | would find the quiet little figure
of my teacher. She was absorbed in her
| thoughts and did not hear my step; so l
| took my seat on marble railing, to
wait until she was ready to go
home. To me the saddest pilgrim
age of all the day was that
| to those three graves; for there. after
every one else. was gone, and when the
sound of the dirge, blow from the band,
was faint in the distance, the slight
girlish figure would lipger, and over the
| graves which contained her loved ones
would pray to the God of battles for
| strength to abide in submission to the
| fiat of His will, even though its iron
| hand had entered her soul.
The spot and the twilight had become
| to me so associated with her and her
sorrow, as l sat and watched her white
fingers deftIy twining the vines over the
head-stones, or pulling weeds from the