The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1891-05-21

80, q ne mOunteQ TO ht1 Accu4tomed
perch on tho fenec, afters g. military
salute to his companions, Mosley laid
his scheme before them.
Now. Mosley knew full well that in
taking his boon companions into his
confidence from the first, the most Of
people would think that he was
beginning at the wrong end of the
social scale; but he reasoned it in this
way: The young minister who preached
once each month in the schoolhouse
was not due in the village for three
weeks II he were to- be in town, Mos
ley felt sure he could count on his aid
in carrying out the plans; but he would
be week too late. In the absence of
the minister, Mosley knew that the
other two men of influence-the doctor
and the lsquire-would oppose it be-
cause they had not thought of it them
selves. f~
So he nnfolded his plan to his init
mates and it met with hearty approval,
shown by words and winks and deluges
of tobacco juice. After a spirited dis
cussion as to q suitable programme of
ceremonies, it was@v voted by all that the
school-teacher would be the proper per-
son to approach for cooperation, and
Mosley appointed himself a committee
OF ono to wait upon that young lady.
As he walked up the street with all
the Military dignity he could muster, it
occurred to him that he should first
visit the cemetery to find something of
tho lay of the land. The "burying
ground" as they called it, was at the
fsrthest end of the main street, which
street contained the store, the post
Office and schoolhouse, and most of the
residences of the village.
1t was a desolate looking place. The
weeds and tangles of wild vines made
1t picturesque enough, but natural
picturesqueness looks neglected and
lonely in a graveyard. That is the one
place where it is relief to see neatly
cut grass and cultivated flowers and
things orderly even to stiffness-for
even if it offends the artistic taste, it is
comforting to see that some one comes
often to the spot.
Mosley stumped about among the
unlkempt mounds. There were only
three of them the graves of soldiers.
The little village had sent many of her
sons to the fore-but the most of them
lay under southern skies. One grave
was marked with marble headstone;
it was that of Mosley's old captain, and
the veterans heart swelled as he
thought of the gallant man who had
led his men through many a bloody
battle.
The next grave which he sought was
easily found by it's wooden slab, which
bore the name of a comrade, but the
third was harder to find.
Mosley remembered how they had
buried poor young drummer lad just
at dusk one afternoon-way back in the
sixties. The grave must be sunken
and hollow, but there were so many
sunken graves that the old man
stumbled from one to the other as he
sought some mark to identify the last
resting place of the little drummer
boy.
He shut his eyes and tried to recall
the route which the little procession
had taken through the burying ground
as they had borne. the light coffin on
their shoulders. They had come in the
gate and turned to the right, he. re-
membered tripping over the root of the
big willow-then they had crossed-oh,
he knew now-and he crossed to a little
grave, hollow, but fresh and green and
with a carefully tended rose at the
head.
"Why, who tends this ere, wonder?
~ e-N1