Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1899-07-11
'rhe Little One Is Ali Rlent :,
 Mary 4. Benson

I II. ]
 We'll bury her just as we aia .
 other two,' were the words we s 'le
 on nearing little cabin-boat neala i edge of the sand bar that tba 'as
 water had left in front of the vind ,Os
 Rowing our heads, from necessita
 we'll as reverence, we entered tbe =. aS
 row, low-framed door, near whieb ss'- m
 small, rude coffin, resting m aas
 broken chairs. A dark, stern-visoaao
 woman who was frying bacon on 's
 little stove in the center of the roa
 looked up scowlingly at our entrosaa
 but said nothing, An old man wha,s 1 long gray hair and beard framed
 face more defiant than sorrowfnl aro.s from the bed in the corner. kicked ss
 old, black jug to one side, and con- fronted us.
 What do you want here, anyhowq said he. The little un'll get along all right. When the two others died ws
 didn't have no church fol $ aroma
 nor preacher, nor funeral business w.
 just dug hole an put 'em in # an, they didn't have no $60 collins. neitbar
 We'll do the same with this un an, We don't want none O you rich folks around ns: You wouldn't care if we was sSagvin'; you call US river rats, you make fun of us if we go near your fine churches, an we don't want notb- in' of you, nohow.' The old man, stopped, and running both hands through his shaggy hair, seemed to listen to the doleful plashing of thA water on the keel of his floating bouse Very gently we assured him that our sympat was with all the sorroWing. that our little village was famed for 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 blieye nothin' of the sortn retorted he, walking backward and forward with a 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 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. I 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. l 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 we'll 'cordin' to my thinkinq', if we was to roll it up an drop it into the river Your singin an prayin' cant hurt it. nohow, no more'n they can do it any good; cause you see, don't you, the little ur's aIi 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 eathed. Il 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 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 wit6 flowers and carried from its 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, while in the soft air of the calm Easter morning the defiant fathers words echoed more pleasantly than before, The little un is all right"