The National tribune., 1901-10-31

| to all current events, but now the hours
seemed long between the midday trains,
| and its coming was awaited lmpatlently-
| Around the station house and all along
the platform were gathered representa-
| tives of every phase of village life. The
| old squire pOmpOus and dignifel in for.
mer days, now stood side by side with
| the most uncultivated woman of the town.
/ He even stood aside and tried to curb
his impatience while she counted out her
dingy pennies and received her paper first
Theirs was a common cause, for in the
long list of casualties the name of the
only son of the Squire might stand side
by side with the only son of the widow.
| There was little or no attempt at mirth
every face had a strained, anxious look
and every heart thrObbed with the great
| iron horse that shrieked and changed as
| if it gloried in its mighty strength, defiant
alike whether the news it brought be good
or evil. The low, half sob and "Thanb
God rs the head lines were quickly
scanned, or God help us, there has been
Il great battle"
| Mr.. GOodspeed was always first at the
station. He had no son, neither near rel
atiye at the front, but heart and soul he
entered into the great issue. Georgiana
with like enthusiasm, strange in one SO
young, read with and to him, and ably
seconded all his efforts to help and care
for the families of those that had gone.
She had read and written many letters
for the village women, and helped fill and
pack many box to he sent to the loved
ones of others, for i'll all Of this GeOrgiana
had no lover, neither possible young men
around which there might be thrown a
halo of romance or the least bit of Senti-
ment.
In truth, the village could boast of
very few young men, for the possibilities
of the great West had lured the most of
them from their narrow acres and over
filled places.
And now Georgiana had letter all her
own, but she did not know if she were
glad or sorry. Had she been unniaidenly
Oh, how she wished for her mother to
tell her, to comfort her, if she had done
wrongl
She hurriedly brought her father his
glass Of cool buttermilk, and waited 4
little impatiently while he drank.
Did you get any mail. Gcorgiana?'
For answer she put the papers in his
hand and hurried to her room.
The letter was not long, but well writ
ton, and she read it over and over again;
then, not because she thought it wrong to
keep a secret from her father, but be-
cause she wanted some one to share her
pleasure, she carried it to him, and gave
the necessary explanation.
He read it carefully twice, and the
name aloud, Joseph j. Linden. y very
good name, GeOrgiana, and a very good
letter. You had better answer il soon"
Little use to add this, for already the
skeleton of her reply was framed in her
mind.
This was the beginning, but not the end.
Letter after letter, each way. followed,
and after some months Joseph Linden,
resplendent on tin-type. He had no need
to be tall and handsome, for did he not
wear the magic blue, and was he not a
soldier?
4 soldier in deed and in truth, sol
der who laughed little cOntemptuously,
n little pityingly, as he recalled the boy sit
ting that night-how long ago it seemed
at his tent door, actually crying for his
mother. But now, not only had he stood
in front of the battle amid the thunders
of artillery, the screeching of bursting
shells, the incessant rattle and rain of
musketry. the very earth seeming to shake
beneath him-but the long and weary
march with blistered feet, through mud
and rain, heat and cold, almost fainting
by the wayside from thirst, days without
food and nights without sleep-the lonely
picket post.
Home had grown farther and farther
away; the minor details of home life, so
interesting at first, were rarely thought
of; the business, the sowing and the reap
ing, seemed things of another time; war
had become a profession, the camp his
home, and his cOmrades-his father,
mother, sister, friend. His letters, even
to his mtther, had grown less frequent
he shrank from giving her in any detail
the hardships he endured.