The Hocking sentinel. [volume] (Logan, Ohio) 1871-1906, 1901-05-30
CROOkSIE.

0oE had never known any other
III name than Crooksie Peters. though
~ there was a rumor afioat in the
| tenements that he had once been called
| Jerome. or Gerald-they had forgotten
| lust which. What did it matter anyway
Crooksie was far more appropriate, for
the only straight thing about him was
the pair of little white pine crutches.
His memories of home We're vague.
There was a misty outline of n big, red
faced man, who stumbled in late, and
went to sleep in the broken rocking chair,
with his mouth wide open. There was a
woman, too. Crooksie was more afraid
of her. She had eyes that burned you,
somehow, and straight. black hair, with
gray in it. Nance. people called her.
Once the man went away, but the wom-
an stayed at home, and kept the door
locked and the old rickety bed against
it, too. One day, just at evening twi-
light-that interval of lull before the
noises of the night began, two horses
came down the narrow street and stop
ped at Crooksic's door. The windows
in the court were raised and grimy faces
peered out.
pened; but there was loud talking, and
then the door gave in, and two men car
ried Nance, kicking and screaming. down
the stairs and drove away. And jake
Bollinas had sat until dark on the curb
ing singing over and over, in drowsy
monotone, "Crooksie's Nance has gone in
the patrol wagon. Crooksfe's Nance has
gone i'm the patrol wagon
All this was long ago when Crooksie
was only child. He was nearly II now.
Other tepements had opened their doors
to him, and there had been a great deal
to do. There were babies to mind, and
errands to go, and ever SO many other
things besides. As for Nance, he had
never seen her again.
Il say, Crooksie, does yer want ter go
out ter the graveyard tomorrow ask
ed Jake Bollinas one evening. Jake
sold papers and was authority on the
news of the day.
There's goin' ter be big time out
there-bands playin', an speeches, an
real cannons, an everybody in their best
clothes! It's Memorial day, for the
herors. Yer know
What's them?" questioned Crooksie.
of his hat was missing; that was con-
yenient at times.
Well" Jake answered re1ectively.
"them's fellers what-what fights, or
somethin, an then goes an dies. an
every year the people goes out ter the
graveyard an takes flowers. an sings, an
prays, an gifts hollerday. It's nifty
Let's me an You GO
The first ray of light found Crook sic
awake the next day. He knew just
where in a neighbOring court milkweed
had opened some fuzzy yellow blossoms,
and the heroes should have them, every
one.
1t all seemed beautiful out there in the
cemetery. In the tenements death meant
black box for those who went and a
black bottle for those who were left be-
hind. But this little world of grass and
sunshine where the birds sang and the
flowers bloomed was different.
The exercises had already begun, and
the eager. surging throng pushed and
crowded On its way to the soldiers plot
Once the boys were pressed almost under
the feet of big black horse.
The lady who was driving drew the
rein sharply and stopped. The boys star
ed hard at her.
''Ain't she a pretty one, thought
whispered Crooksie. and jake nodded.
Sure he said.
There was something in the little bent
figure, and the pinched, pain-scarred face