Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1899-11-13
'-rno Lltsls Ono Is An ulghA-
(Mary A Bensou

(Mary A. Bensou.)
 We'll bury her just ..s we Gld thS other tNo," were the words we heard on nearing a 1ittIe eabin-boat on the edge of the sand bar that the tow water had left in front of the village Rowing our heads, from necessity as we'll as reverence, we entered the nar- low, iow-framed door, near which was small, rude coffin, resting on two broken chairs. dark. steTn-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 sace more defiant than sorroWfs1, arose em he bed in the corner, kicked an
 :. ack jug to one side, and con-
 raDiad us.
 ss aat do you want here, anyBeW2' sald he. sThe little un'l1 get a40ng an right. When the two others died, we didn't have no church fol $ around nor preacher, nor funeral business. We just dug q hole an put ,em in t, an' they didn't have no $60 collins, neither We'll do the same with this un, an we don't want none O you rich folks around us. You wouldn't caro if we was staryin'; you call us river rats you make fun of us if we go near your 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 OIL the keel of bis floating house. Very gently We assured him that o%r gympati y was with all the sorrowing; that our little village was famed for It's kindness to strangers, it's care for the sick and the suffering, it's substan- tiai help to all who were in need.
 Don't b'iieve nothin of the sort" retorted he, walking backward and forward with heavy tread that rock ed the boat to and fro. We was tied Up 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 b'lieve in nothin', nohow. I've lived up'ards of thirty year on this old Mississippi river, have been over TOO miles of it, up an down. an never bothered nobody. s'pose if you're boun' an determined to haul the little un away, an put it in the ground funeral-like, you=can do it, though tWould be just as well, 'cordin' to my 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 an'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 a plain of furnished gold. Afar off, from a al tower, Easter chimes were ioyously vibrating on the sweet spring air. Birds were singing merriIy from the budding branches on the river banks, and all the visible world seem- sd 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 "ehurch folks" stood by the parents, as 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 hiie in the soft air of the calm Easter morning the defiant father's words echoed more pleasantly thas before, '1he little UT is all right"
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