Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1901-05-28

young and fair again; she recalled a
handsome, happy go lucky face she had
loved many years ago-the face of the
ne'er do well Of the village; she heard
again his voice as he said goodby to
her: when l come back, I'll try to be
different. I'll make man Of myself,
and then-Hetty"
She remembered how she had an.
swered that question. Again the lone
ly little old maid felt strong arms In.
fold her and the pressure of young lips
on her cheek. But he never came back
to claim her, and he lay now alone, for
gotten by his former neighbors and
friends-by all save by one faithful,
sad old heart.
Twilight deepened into night. Miss
Hetty rose and, lighting her lamp, sat
down to read, as was her evening GUS
tom. Tonight she picked up a volume
of old verse. 1t was one William Bond,
private, had given her when they went
to school together. The first poem
that caught her attention was:
How sleep the brave who sink to rest
BY all their country's wishes blestf
By fairy hands their knell Is rungi
BY forms unseen their dirge Is sung.
There Honor comes, pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay.
Miss Hetty sighed, turned over a few
pages and read:
On Fames eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards with solemn round
The bvouac Of the dead.
"Their silent tentsw The words rang
In Miss Hetty's ears. She pictured the
tents of the living-a vast forest or
snowy canvas, the white tents Of an ar
my. From the corners Of her fancy
came suddenly the crash of splendid
brasses. She saw flags futtering, heard
sharp commands, the tramping and
neighing Of horses, the Jingle Of accou-
terments, and then bugle call cut the
silence of the lonely little room.
The scene suddenly changed to the
tents of the silent-those low, green
tents whose curtain, as the poet has
said, never outward swings. And one
low, green tent on the summit OF a
lofty hill and away in the depths of q
solemn forest especially appealed to
her. Miss Hetty dropped her book and,
leaning back in her chair, closed her
eyes and fell to musing in her simple
fashion on what she had read.
No matter. she thought II all the
world forgot William Bond. private.
Honor, a pilgrim gray, at time repaired
to his green tent to bless the turf that
wrapped his clay, and Glory guarded
with ceaseless round the bivouac OF the
dead soldier. And she? She would not
neglect her duty. Like Honor, a pill
grim gray, or like Glory, the loyal sen
tinel, she would not forget she would
not forget. :,
And so It came. about that when all
Brokenstraw and the dwellers In the
country round from the flats to Tatei
hill, headed by the Waytown brass
band and the orators and the citizens
In carriages, took their blatant and re-
splendent way to the East cemetery
the fragile, bent, old figure trudged
wearily in the opposite direction. be
fore sunrise Hetty Pringle had broker
her cherished sprays Of white and pur
ple lilacs and gathered the early violeti
and primroses at her kitchen door
From her house plants, too, she nae
picked some gorgeous fuchsias, gera
NUNS and gloxinias. The willow bas
ket she carried on her thin arm was
quite overfowing with color and per
fume.
"Hello, Hetty! You're goin the wroni
way" many said who met her walking
slowly westward. She only smiled gen
| -tly and shook her head. No; she knew
| she was going the right way.
As she climbed the long, steep bill
/ the strains Of the band In the valley
| mingled with roars Of applause as BIO
kenstraw greeted the orator OF the Gay
| .6oated up to her. She stopped, listenes
and smiled. It was all right She wa
| glad Brokenstraw was enjoying Itself
An her little world was down there.
But Miss Hetty did not feel alone OF