Feliciana sentinel. [volume] (St. Francisville, La.) 1877-1892, 1892-03-05
ONE OF THE MISSING.
An Old Soldier Who Wandered
Back to His Boyhood Home.

An Old Soldier Who Wandered
Back to His Boyhood Home.
A man was walking along the high
way that belted with white the green
expanse of Connecticut meadow.
Little puffs OF white dust rose at each
football, and hung behind him in a
lengthening wall He came heavily,
slowly. the imperscnation Of weari-
ness, yet steadily. There was that in
his gait which associates itself in the
mind with bodies Of men in column. He
seemed the material part of an invisi-
BILE whole. His gaze was fixed ahead.
ms though on the back of o front-ranlx
file, and the momentum of marching
comrades swept him along.
Yet the meadow farmers and the
dwellers in the village. whose church
stceptc rose beyond fringe of trees,
distinguished him only as one of that
irregular army of foragers- against
whom, as reputable citizens, they were
arrayed. They would have given no
attention to such fine Individual dis
tinctions even had their critical quality
been educated to it, and 1t was not.
Thirty years had gone by since they
had been enlivcncd by the presence Of
the military; and then it had been for
but a few days and their materializcd
patriotism marched away in blue to
the southern war. No. Tramps were
infmical to good order and to safety Of
life and property. And to be in very
bad odor in the village, a stranger had
but to present himself travcl-stained
and tattcrcd.
He marched up the road in that un-
seen column, IL man of defeats. Some
simcs he-lenned SO far forward that his
balance became uncertain, and he
svavered TO the plumb. Men at work
nteld leaned on their hoes as he
passed to regard him with hostile eyes.
With some his unsteadiness was the
occasion for dtrisive mirth. But the
elder ones grimly forecast his deten-
ton in the calaboosc, the cost of his
maintenance, the tax it brought upon
them, and resumed work with fierce
sense of personal injury. And the
tramp. after each wearied lapse, COM
pellei himself to attention, and
marched on.
White, snug farmhouscs stood now
and then along the road. AS he came
abreast OF one n woman appeared at
the door, but, seeing him, she hastily
reentercd and fastened the door. The
tramping man turned into the door
yard, but he halted as the woman ap-
pearcd at a chamber window, fIutter-
ing her arms as though soaring chick
ems. She called 10 him. nervously, ap-
Prehcnsively:
Go right away. I've got nothing
for YOU"
At once he turned and took up his
line of march along the dusty road.
The woman observed the heavy, me
81, H. IL =. L
successfully forward, his arms hanging
like sticks of wood at his sides, and
felt pity for him.
I'm almost sorry l sent him away"
she said. But she did not call him
back, and he passed out Of her sight,
leaving. however, the cadence Of his
nonotonous, sing-song step, to which
her mind set itself for the rest of that
day.
In another house, as he approached,
= girl was singing shrilly Sunday
school song:
"But sweeter than the lily's breath.
And than the rose more fair,
The tender love of human hearts
Upsprfngtng everywhere"
Then tho. song broke off, and the
singer called, warningly: Mother.
there's a tramp coming up the road!''
And the voice of the mother came
sharply out to him: "Sec if the front
doors locked"
He plodded past, watched furtively
from behind window blinds. He swung
along painfully. for his joints were
merely worn out, rusty hinges by
which his limbs hung. The hot sun
sweltered him; the fine dust choked
him; his heart was gone out of him.
Still lie went on, like tired soldier
expecting the welcome Halt! Restl"
until he reached tree by the roadside.
On the grass beneath he stretched him
self, and lay motionless.
Slowly his fatigue lessened. By and
by he sat up. The dust of the march
had settled thickly in the deep lines
and wrinkles of his face, and gave it a
drawn, sharpened look. His mouth
was firmly set, and his dim eyes looked
out resentfully at the bright world.
He felt the utter friendliness of a lone
ly man, and he talked to himself:
They think me capable of any
thing" said he, bitterly. Its not
what have been, it's what l am
a tramp-they judge me by. A war
record don't count, nor three more en-
listmepts, nor knocking about in the
mines I'm a tramp
Thirty years ago. when we marched
out of this town, there were cheers and
wayings. There's wavings enough
now, and they mean 'go,' same as then.
ONLY there's a curse with it now, in
stead of cheer"
He pulled a square of hard bread
from his pocket, moistened it in the
1unlet a. the foot of the tree. and bit it