Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1899-10-22
The LIttls Ono Is An Right" (Mary A. Benson

l " II paA nCI Juok &S We AlQ lnS
 other two" were the words We heard
 on nearing a little cabin-boat on the
 edge of the sand bar that the low
 water had left in front of the village. Rowing oul heads, from necessity as well as reverence, we entered the mar row, low-framed door, near which was small, rude coffin, resting on two broken chairs. A dark, stern-visaged 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 face more defiant than sorrowfpl, arose from the bed i'll the corner, kicked an old, black jug to one side, and con- fronted us.
 What do you want here, anyhow p. said he "Tbe little unll get along ah right. When the two others died, we didn't have no church folAs around, nor preacher, nor funeral business. We just dug hole an put 'em in it, 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 care 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 his floating house Very gently we assured him taat ogr sympatI Waa with all tie borrowing; that our little village was famed for it's kindness to strangers, it's care for the sick and the suffering, its substan- tial help to all who were in need.
 Don't b'lieve 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 blieye in nothin', nohow. I'ye lived up'ards of thirty year on this old Mississippi river, have been over 700 miles of it, up an down, an never bothered nobody. I spose if you're boun all determined to haul the little un away, an put it in tbe ground. funeral-like, you can do it, though 'twould be just as well, 'cordin to my thinkipg', if we was to roll 1t LID an drop it into the river. Your singin' an prayin' can't hurt 1t, nohoW. no more,n they can do it any good; 'cause you see, don't you, the little ms 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 d plain of furnished gold. Afar off from a cathedl Il tower, Easter chimes were joyously vibrating on the sweet spring air. Birds were singing merrily from the budding branches on the river 5anks, and all the visible world seem- ed 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, prayer was offered and the wee grave was covered, then the quaint funeral procession wound around the hills and into the valley again. Lille in the soft air of the calm Easter morning the defiant fathers words echoed more pleasantly that. before, "9he little UT is all right"