The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1902-06-28

ar WAS A circular grass-covered plot
on the outer edge of the cemetery,
and the low stone wall surrounding
1t was defaccd and sunken in many
places. An ohlong tablet, supporting
two monumental urns, rested in the
center. and it was heaped high with
Wreaths and blossoms, the tribute of a
nation to it's honored dead. The in
scription bore the name of one of the
most famous generals of the civil war,
but Lucinda Randall, sitting idly on
top of the rough coping. surveyed the
memorial stone with gloomy eyes. At
tnat moment she was wondering as
she had wondered many times before
/" her twenty-five years, if life We're
all that she had been led to believe that
she would find 1t. In spite of her fixed
belief in the general correctness of the
scheme of the universe. she could not
refrain from thinking that there We're
some things that she would have ar
ranged differently. That very morning,
in Respondent mood. she had con.
lronted her cares and troubles, drawn
up before her in formidable array, and,
after a severe struggle with her COM
mon sense, had finally owned herself
defeated. Usually. Lucinda was per-
son on whom the perpleXities of life
sat lightly: but about every six weeks,
as she put it. she was ablged to think,
and the result was always disastrous.
1t was in this mood that sitting there,
the fresh, strong wind. straight from
the ocean, whipping loose strands of her
black hair from their fastenings, and
buifeting her slight figure like live
thing, she withdrew her gaze from the
Wave-washed horizon, and looked again
at the stone.
"killed. while sallantly leading for
lorn charge" she said, aloud. "rhat I
can understand. The heroism of the
moment. the wild charge in the glory
and blaze Of battle; sudden, swift ex-
tinction. eXulting in the face of death,
that is a glorious way to die: but to
wear out ones life in the tragedy of the
commonplace. ones worst foe oneself,
that is dying by inches; it is worse-it
is a living DEATH"
Her eyes suddenly widened as she
perceived a figure on the other side Of
the mound silhouetted against the sky.
1T was that of an old man, bent and
shrunken with age, but Lucinda mo-
ticed the square set of the shoulders,
the attempt at carrying them we'll set
back, and general air of alert brisk
ness, which. to her Observant eyes, pro-
claimed him an old eX-soldier. He
climbed the wall stiffiy, his eyes fixed
upon the sunken grave, with the flow-
ers piled high above it, and the flutter-
ing flags at either end. Wheeling sharp
ly, as he reached the spot, he stood
erect, and gave smart military sa-
lutte. with q precision evidently born of
long training: then, STOPPING, he placed
on the grave Il small bunch of dande-
Lions that he carried.
Then he turned to Lucinda. smiling
cordially,
Il reckon you think this kind of
strange" he said, speaking with
Western accent, and laying one hand
tendcrly ON the stone, but I've saluted
the general every Memorial Day for
twenty years, Miss: I've followed him
in many battle, and l don't forget;
and somehow / can't think that the
does, either" His shining eyes
looked across the tablet at the girl.
Maybe he did you Kindness too,
Miss?' he asked, sympathetically He
did many a one In his day, III be
bound"
The girl flashed pleased look at
him.
General Eastwood was my uncle"
she said, simply.
The old soldiers face beamed
Your uncle, Miss?" he said, earn
estly, well, I've wondered many a
Gay IL l should ever be lucky enough |
10 run across any of the generals kin:
hut my time Is getting so short now
that I'd about given up hoping" He |
reached his hand impulsively across the |
grave to the girl
She took it. smilingly in comprehen-
sion.
Il am always glad to meet anyone
who served under my uncle" she said, |
winningly. II have often heard my |
mother tell how much he thought of |
his men,"
That's right, too," said the soldier. !