Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1899-10-05
~Tae Little One Is All Right"
Mary 4. Benson.)

(Mary A. Benson.)
 we'll bury her just ss we did the other tWo," were the words we heard on nearing little cabin-boat on the edge of the sand bar that the low water had left in front of the village. Rowing ou heads, from necessity as well as reverence, we entered the mar row, low-framed door, near which was 8 small, rude coffin, resting on two broken chairs. A dark. atern-yisaged woman who was frying bacon on a little stove in the center of the room, looked up scowlingly at our entrance, but said nothing An old man, whose long gray hair and beard framed a face more defiant than sorrowf1l arose from the bed in the corner, kicked an old, black jug to one side, and con- fronted us.
 What do you want here, anyhow" said he. The little unll get along all right. When the two others died, we didn't have no church fol $ around. nor preacher, nor funeral business. We just dug hole an put 'em in it, an they didn't have no S60 eofins, neither We'll do the same with this un, an We don't want none O you rich folks around us. You wouldn't care if we was starvin'; you call us river rats; you make fun of Us if we go near your l fine churches. an we don't want noth- in' of you, nohoW The old man stopped, and running both hands through his shaggy hair, seemed to listen to the doleful plashing of the water on the keel of his floating house Very gently we assured him taat oGr sympat y was with all the sorrowing; that our little village was famed for I its kindness to strangers, it's care for the sick and the suffering, it's substan- tial help to all who were in need.
 Don't blieve nothin' of the sort, ]" retorted he, walking backward and l forward with a heavy tread that rock ed the boat to and fro We was tied I6p at Portage for six weeks. with the children sick with the measles. and not 9 woman came a-nigh Us the whole endUrin' time Folks is all alike, most ly, an we'd rather they'd stay away from us The little un is all right, without any of you; an as for me, don't bIieve in nothin'. .nohow. I've lived upards Of thirty year on this Hold Mississippi river. have been over TOO miles of it. Up an down, an never bothered nobody. pose if you're boun an determined to haul the little un away, an put it in the ground, funeral-libe, you can do #. though ,tWould be just as well l.3cordin' to my thinking, if We was to roll it up an drop it into the river. Your singin' an prayin' can't hurt it. nohow. no more'n they can do it any good; cause you see, don't you, the little ans all right
 The cloudless sunshine of the Easter morning crept= over the bluffs, touch ing the river waves with crystal. and making of the brown sand bar plain of burnished gold. Mar off from a cathedral tower. Easter chimes were ioyously vibrating on the sweet spring air. Birds were singing merrily from the budding branches on the river banks, and all the visible world seem ad joining in the Easter chorus of the Resurrection and the Life. Two or three wagons were on the sand bar near the cabin-boat, and with gentle hands the tiny coffin was covered with flowers and carried from it's water tossed home to our silent village" on the hill. A dozen or more church folks" stood by the parents, as a hymn was sung, a prayer was offered and the wee grave was covered, then the quaint funeral procession wound around the hills and into the valley again, W hile in the soft air of the calm Easter morning the defiant fathers words echoed more pleasantly thaS. before. '1be little un is all rght."