Missouri Valley times. [volume] (Missouri Valley, Iowa) 1874-1931, 1905-05-25
The Sickle and the SERaf
A Memorial Day Story
BY PETER McARTHUR.

A Memoir
BY PETER
day Mr.. Floyd, the only florist ir
Hamilton. was busy preparing the
floral pieces for the graves of the ma
TONS heroes. Mr.. Folyd's son was pre-
pairing the empty frames by wrapping
the backs of them with tin foil and
then filling them with wet moss. 9th
er assistants We're clipping the i'm
mortelles and skillfully substituting
| slender wire stems.
Hello" exclaimed the son. Here
is Miss Beaumas' sickle and sheaf.
| Has she left her order yet?'
MIR. Floyd drew the back of his hand
over his sweaty forehead. NO. she
hasn't left her order yet but you can
fix up the frame. She has left her or
| der every year since Memorial day
| was first kept, and she amt going to
| stop now
Mr.. Tloyd's beard has grown gray
since he first began to help people to
express their grief in flowers. In con-
sequence he knows the history of many
sorrow. Ii you catch him in the
right mood he will tell you. with a
smile somewhere under his shaggy
beard and showing only at the corners
of his eye. just how long mourning
+, usually lasts. From his account books
he can tell you just how long this or
that widower's heart was sore after the
death of his first wife and trace his
second courtship in the diminishing
orders for corsage bouquets. The grief
of the widow Is also shown and that
of The children who soon find there is
hardly enough of their inheritance left
to Justify them in buying flowers for
the graves of their parents. So. being
something OF a philosopher, he knows
the sincere mourners among his pa
irons and respects them accordingly.
In fact, anyone else wishing for u
sheaf and sickle like Miss Beaumas'
for Memorial day would have been
obliged to seek 1T ! where. There
was no doubt in N.l. Floyds mind
had known her and Jack Barclay when
they We're schoolmates. and. having
given the order to have the piece made,
he resumed his work.
Miss Beaumas certainly had some
on her priln little bonnet and her black
shawl was folded neatly about her
pinched shoulders, she sat and tapped
with her fingers on the table. "A little
bag that evidently had money in 1t lay
before her.
filS Inotner uldll SEND any mowers
last year" she thought to herself. II
wonder if she will this year. Miss
Beaumas knew that the reason Mrs.
Barclay had not sent flowers was be-
cause she was i'll and too poor to buy
them. All she had to live on was the
pension She received from the govern
ment. for her husband also had been u
soldier, and 1t all had to go to pay
her keep with the poor people who had
agreed to board and clotEe her and pro-
vide her with medicines for the pension.
To a woman of her pride this was bet
ter than going to a home" but no one
Fan know what she felt in being forced
to let Memorial day pass without a
token for her dead. Miss Beaumas
Mrs. Barclay had made her grief
heavier to bear. She had not hest
tated to wound the feelings of the
young girl whose mourning was as
open as her own when the dead soldier
had been brought home. She had said
that Miss Beaumas had entrapped him
and that if he had lived to marry her
he would have married beneath him.
such things are hard to forgive, and
they can never be forgotten. But Miss
Beaumas was now old and lonely her
self. Her needlework enabled her to
have the barest necessities. and by
much saving in trifles she accumu-
pay for the sickle and sheaf she al
ways broug' to her heros grave. But
she couldn't make up her mind to go
and give the order as usual, for I; verse
of scripture from which her minister
had preached stirring sermon could
not be driven from her mind:
Therefore, If thou bring thy gift to
the altar and there remembered that
thy brother hath aught against thee.
leave they Gift before the altar and
go thy way. First be reconciled to thy
brother and then come and offer thy
gift"
The flowers We're certainly an offer \
ing, and his grave was an altar. AT
last she rose as II in obedience to q |
command rather than as one who has
made resolution. She replaced the
little bag in the drawer of the old
fashioned press, then walked to where
Mrs. Barclay was living. The heavy
o6or of cooking vegetables and the
uuerulous crying of children seemed to
ened the door. When Miss Beaumas
had explained her errand. she was
ushered without ceremony into the
room of Mrs. Barclay. The invalid was
half propped up in bed. and her hands
lay on the dingy counterpane listlessly
apart and more expressive of hopeless
grief than even her sad face She
told her who the visitor was that her
dim eyes could not see. for they had
never met since the first bitter quarrel \
except beside his grave and then al
ways in silence. Had Miss I3eau1nas
come to gloat over her misery? Miss
Beaumas understood, and the tears
came to her eyes. When they were
alone. she tried to speak, but instead |
she dropped on her knees at the bed
side. AT last She whispered brokenly: |
Cant you forgive me for having |
loved him. Tomorrow is Memorial |
day, and l felt that could not lay my |
Offering on that altar while there was !
anger or hardness in my heart" And |
she quoted the Verse OF scripture that
was ON her mind.
Can l forsiNe?" mulmered the older
woman. But there was no need an
swering that question. The trembling
tore of her voice told how great a re-
lief such forgiveness was to her, and
her withered hand now stroked the hair
as gray as her own. while Miss Beau
mas bowed her head and sobbed. Their
anger passed from them like an evil
and they talked of him. There
was something new and delightful in
that. for they had never discussed him
before. While they We're still talking
the woman came in with the dinner. I
The Soup was thick and fat, and the
tea was cold. When Miss i3eaumas-
the older woman called her Matty now
saw the food. she was angry and
stirred to pity.
The very idea of Offering such food
to an invalid seemed cruel to Matty.
She almost ran back TO her little home,
and her excited figure showed again
some traces of it's youthful beauty, |.
She tripped-yeS, tripped-up the steps,