Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1899-07-23
The Litsls One Is All R,Sst.
lMary A. Benson.

tMaTy A. Benson.)
 We'll bury her just as we 5id the other two" were the words we heard on nearing little cabin beat on the edge of the sand bar that the low water had left in front of the village Rowing our heads, from necessity as well as reverence, we entered the nar- TOW. low-tramed door, near which was a small, rude coffin, resting on two broken chairs. A dark, stern-visageG 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 sorrowfnl arose from the bed in the corner, kicked an old, black jug to one side, and con- l 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 $60 coffins. neither. We'll Go 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 fine churches, an We don't want noth- iH' of you, nohow." The old man stopped. and running both hands through his shaggy hair, seemed to listen to the dolefuI plashing of the water on the keel of his floating house. Very gently We assured him that our sympat y was with all the sorrowing; that our little village was famed for its kindness to strangers. its care for the sick and the suffering. it's substan- tial help to all who were in need.
 Don't b'1ieve notnin of the sort retorted he, walking backward and forward with a heavy tread that rock cd the boat to and fro. We was tied up at Portage for six weeks, with the children sick with the measles. and not 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. l don't blieve in nothin. nohow. I've lived up,ards of thirty year on this old Mississippi river, have been over TOO miles of 1t, mp an down, an never bothered nobody l s'pose if you're boun' all determined to haul the little m away, an put it in the ground, funeral-like, you can do it, though 'twould be just as well, 'cordin' to my thinkiro', If we was to roll it up an drop it into the river. Your singin' an prayin' can't hurt it, nohow, nc more'n they can do it any good; cause you see, don't you, the little uu's 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 furnished gold Afar off from a cathed Il tower, Easter chimes were joyously vibrating on the sweet spring air. Birds were singing merrily from the budding branches on the river banks. and all the visible world seem- cd 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 cur silent village on the bill. A dozen or more church folks stood by the parents. as hymn was sung, prayer was offered and the wee grave was covered. then the quaint funeral procession wound around the hills and into the valley again, N hile in the soft air of the calm Easter morning the defiant fathers words echoed more pleasantly than before, "The little un is all right."