The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1899-05-26

the dreadful war should deprive ner
of her lover, without calling him to
fight against instead of for her?
How clearly he could see her as she
stood then on the low, wide steps, a
slim, girlish figure clad in clinging
white. Her cheeks were flushed and
her mouth tremulous, but the chin was
firmly set. All through the war he
had carried in his heart the memory
framed by the stately pillars OF the
gallery; while he, with despair in his
heart, but a logged determination In
his eyes, turned, when half way down
the broad avenue of live oaks, and lift
ing his union cap murmured, GOD
keep my southern sweetheart"
How often he recalled her words.
He could almost hear them now. 60.
You are traitor. l never want to see
your face again"
The old man shook his head sor-
rowfully No, she would never forgive
him, not even now after all these
years. Well, he would go back north
on the morrow, so what matter?
He and the Ralston boys had been
college students together. He would
pay visit to their last resting place.
He opened the gate and slowly made
his way among the flower covered
mounds. When he reached the Raj
ston lot, he looked about him sorrow
fully. He felt sadly desolate. He
alone was left Of all those merry,
laughing fellows.
Presently his eye wandered to a
grave somewhat apart from the rest.
The scarcity OF its flowers drew his at
tention to it. He wandered idly to-
ward it, thinking, Some poor friend
less chap"
He started and then dropped upon
his knees in his eagerness to read the
simple inscription on the headstone. 1t
ran:
MERRILL FREMONT"
Born 1888. Killed at Gettysburg,
1868"
"Why, that's my name!" and the
old man looked about him in a dazed
doubted his identity.
eyes my name is Merrill Fremont
and was born in '38, but though l
was wounded l did not die at Gettys-
burg. A union soldier in a confederate
graveyard. All, that accounted for the
lack of memorial flowers" and he
smiled grimly. But I'm not dead,
and he thumped his cane vigorously
upon the gravel path.
He leaned his hands on his stick
and stood gazing intently at his own
name.
at isn't me-but it is some union
soldier buried for me, and he shall
have some flowers. Yes. I'll deco
rate my own grave" and with a
chuckle Merrill Fremont started brisk
ly down the path.
AS he neared the gate it opened, and
a tall. slender figure clad in black en-
tered, followed by an old negro fairly
staggering under the weight Of mag
nolia blossoms. Something familiar in
the two figures made Fremont pause.
But they did not notice him. The lady
turned up side path and walked
quickly toward the end Of the grounds
Merrill had just quilted, followed more
slowly by the old serving man.
Merrill faced about and watched
them. He was certain now that the
woman was Erma He expected her
to enter the Ralston lot, but she only
nausea. waved her hand toward the
fiower-hidden graves, said something
tn her attendant and passed on her way
until she stood beside the undecorated
grave.
Fremont rubbed his eyes and stared
The lady motioned to negro to lay
his fragrant burden down.
Merrill FASTENED up the path. He
was near enough to hear the well-re-
membered voice say, You may 60
Uncle Sorney; I'll arrange the flowers
myself"
The servant shuffled away down the
path he had come, while his mistress
knelt to place the blossoms.