The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1896-07-15

thev'd make such nice grandfathers for
me, If you think they wouldn't object.
| Do you? | want some dead relations
sol' The nearsighted eyes were dim
with tears.
"Who are they2" asked Miss Mehit.
able
zone is Captain Jonathan Martin
and the other is Lieutenant Thomas
Edmunds, and they died before 1900"
"No," said Miss Mehitable, in an
swer to the child's inquiry, the Mar
tin family are all gone, and the last
Edmunds moved West years ago. There
is no one living who would care, and as
for the dead--I don't think they'd OBJ
jectl But what good will they do your"
"Aud," said Louetta, with fervor,
they will be such comfort TO me
nights / can make stories up about
them after l go to bed, and l can take
care of their graves and put wreaths on
them on their birthdays, and perhaps
you will have the headstones straight
ened, and will clean and scrape them,
and then on Decoration day they will
put flags and flowers there, and | shall
feel so proud and $3.50 respectable!"
So with Miss Mehitable's consent
and aid Louetta Louella adopt ID her
grandfathers.
All through April the child worked
every pleasant day after school hours
patiently digging up witch grass and
weeds from the neglected mounds and
the graveled walk that ran beside them.
Miss Mehtable had the sagging head
stones Strengthened, but it was Louetta
who laboriously scraped and and cleaned
than fill tho old inonrintinno ani-
BILE.
There, too, the first wild flowers were
carefully transplanted, and on Sunday
often walked there, and the child
showed with delight the Improvements
made during the week.
81 gave Grandfather Martin all of
the cowslips, for he was so fond of them,
you know. Grandma says he always
kept bowl of them on the sitting-room
table while they were in blossom"
The child lifted her eyebrows signifi
cantly and whispered, Make believe"
"But Grandpa Edmunds liked violets
best, so I've given them all to him"
The child ran on, full of mythical
tales of those pseudo grandfathers who
had died nearly 100 years before.
RJyton, like many old towns in New
England, was rich in Revolutionary
lore, and 10 her graveyard were buried
several of those, who, by dying, had
helped to make the nation. But there
was 80 much holy zeal felt for those
who had died to save the nation that
the Revolutionary soldiers were neg
lected, and Royton almost forgot that
the blood shed in 1776 was the seed
that brought that eternal crop of glory
in 1861.
There they lay, in an obscure part of
the old cemetery, out of the line of
march on Memorial day, out of the line
of mems thoughts. The sound of the
fife and drum stole over the hill once
year, and the odor of blossoms strewn
on patriots graves, but they were not
for theml
Because of Fort Doneson and Get
| tysburg the glory of Bunker Hill and
Saratoga had grown dim.
Louetta worked 80 faithfully that
when Memorial day dawned her grand
fathers graves were in perfect order,
and nothing remained to be done but
to decorate the front of the shop. Miss
Mehitable's bunting and flags were the
best she could find in Boston, and as
she impressed into her service any
competent man who passed there was
no lack of help.
Around the awning posts Louetta
had tied punches of lilacs and fresh
green boughs, and pitcher, without a
handle, filled with snOwballs, was
placed on the town pump opposite.
Soon the entire population had trust
fully put their keys under their front
doormats and were quietly vending
their way to the cemetery, while the
Grand Army post fell into line-at
least those who were able to walk, for
poor Silas Mason lay on his invalid
chair in the grocery wagon, and the
old squire drove Tom Carter, with his
crutches, in his own buggy.
1t was very different spirit from
that which animates a Memorial day
crowd in great city. There was much
less pomp, less noise and oratory, but
there was seriousness, a depth of
feeling, LONELINESS, about the affair
which made the spectator feel that here
the ceremonies were no perfunctory
matter. Their dead were their own,
not the indiscriminate dead of the
cities.
A sense of security and contentment
filled Louetta's heart as, with her hand
in Miss Mehitable's she walked to the
soldiers monument. She belonged to
some one. She had name, home, a
mother, even two dead grandfathers,
and her cup of bliss was full.
The little procession, with muffled
drumbeat and tolling bell, came slowly
to the soldiers monument, where the
townspeople had gathered Tomorrow
the veterans might be carpenters, shoe
makers and farmers, but for to-day they
were heroes.
The church choir sang, the minister
made prayer, and then came the roll
call.
: Before Miss Mehitable realized it
Louetta had slipped her hand away and
had run up to Captain Townsend, the
officer in charge, with bit of paper in
her hand.
"If you please, sir" she said as she
handed it to him, won't you call the