Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1899-07-19
orho Little One Is All Right"
(Mary A. Benson.

ID6 AlLtlo OnB IS All RtSnlsts
 (Mary A. Benson.)
 Well bury her just as we did the 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 our heads, from necessity as we'll as reverence, we entered the nar- row, loW-framed door. near which was /. small, ruds coffin, resting ca 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 a face more defiant than sorrowful, 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 unlI get along all 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 $50 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 starVin' 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, nohoWa The old man stopped and running both hands through his shaggy hair, seemed to listen to the dolefal plashing Of the water on the keel of his floating house. Very gently we assured him that our sympati y was with all the sorroWing; that our little village was famed for it's 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'lieye 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 1 children sick with the measles. and not a woman came a-nigh us the whole endurin' time. Folks is all alike. most l ly, an we'd rather they'd stay away 1 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 1 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 s'pose if you're boun' an determined to haul the little un away, an put it in the ground, l funeral-lfke, you can do it, though
 twould be just as well, 'cordin 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 un'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 cathedral tower, Easter chimes were ioyously vibrating on the sweet spring air. Birds were singing merrily from . the DHadIuS DidAEAAGo Ou lIe IIRGI banks. 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 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. nile in the soft air of the calm Easter morning the defiant fathers words echoed more pleasantly than before, .The little un is all right