The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1904-05-29

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the corners of their eyes, and yet not
missing anything.a
Among the very first to call was
Capt. Enoch Bradley, who was a
hearty, warm blooded, irascible old
far toward solacing Uncle Luther in
his affection.
= TWan't so bad as If you hadn't lost
1t before" he comforted.
But Uncle Luther had no mind for
treating his loss friyolously. The years
had crushed all of the humor out of
him, and left him only tragedy.
I was thinkin'" he said, that now
can't march, p'raps Amery-might
Capt. Enoch frowned darkly, but
Uncle Luther hurried on:
He's more commandin' than I be,
er ever was, er ever will be, an he's
had practice"
ooh, you'll be ready to march by
Decoration day." interrupted Capt.
Enoch.
It's good of you to say So" said
Uncle Luther, "but I JUS can't do it.
Tommy's the man." and then he added
Wistfully, Il visit / could see Tom
my"
But Uncle Tommy did not come.
Uncle Luther heard, however, that
Uncle Tommy had been appointed
marshal Of the parade and heSwas glad
of it. For himself, he was busted after
the first day or two with stout piece
of ash. which he slowly Whitfield down
with a draw shave to the proportions
of a wooden leg. 1t would not do as
well as a regular artificial leg, such as
the one he had been wearing, but he
hoped that 1t would serve him for the
Memorial day exercises. He still cher
ished desire to march with the par
ade, although he knew that Jonathan
would not approve of it. He was afraid
of Jonathan. But whole days slipped
by when he was not strong enough to
work, and yet he chung to the task
with fegerish eagerness. The man
within him protested that he was still
good for something, that old age had
not robbed him of everything.
On the morning Of Memorial day the
whiting was all finished, but there
remained the task of attaching the
straps, and Uncle Luther knew that he
could not hope to complete the leg in
time for the exercises. So he laid it
away, and toward noon he dressed up
in his best blue clothes and put on his
wide brimmed black hat with the gold
cord around the crown. Then he hob
bled out OF the door and dropped down
on box by the fence with his back
resting against a post. 1t was a fresh,
clear morning. During the night there
had been a shower, and the grass at
the roadside stood up green and dewy.
The fields of waving wheat blades
spread away for miles before him, dot
ted here and there with houses and
red barns and straight rows of Lom-
hardy poplars and cottonwoods. Where
Uncle Luther sat he could look up the
yellow stretch of roadway, and he knew
that he could see the parade almost as
soon as 1t left the town. 1t would pass
the end Of the lane on it's way to the
cemetery, and he hoped, with the vague
optimism Of the very old and the very
young, that it would come back by the
same road. Seeing it was next to
marching with it.
Uncle Luther put on his long-dis-
lance glas3es, and he saw blur Of
blue moving along the road from the
village. Above 1t there was a blur of
red and white. A moment later they
resolved themselves into knot of old
soldiers, with the flag Tapping above
them. Uncle Luther took a long breath
and his eyes shone. Suddenly a band
began to play the stirring music Of
Marching Through Georgia.
They've got the band,' exclaimed
Uncle Luther in a voice that choked
with ecstacy.
Unconsciously he rose on his one
good foot and took off his hat. His
eyes dimmed, and as the enlivening
strains Of the music came up to him
another picture formed on his misty
glasses. He saw the boys in blue-not
a meager handful of gray and STOPPING
remnants, but boys with fresh young