The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1909-03-24
beat a death march as Captain Heaton
led his company away.

marches, battles, retreats, laundering
cannon, shot and shell, wounds, groans
and death were all about him, yet he
was spared, he who might be better
dead Why was he not taken instead
OF that brave one falling at his side,
whose last breath was a prayer for wife
and children, whose death meant an
other widow and more fatherless chill
dren In the world. 1t was not until
the last day at Gettysburg that he fell,
and strange to say, 1t was not until
that same day that the gallant young
captain was wounded also-wounded
unto death.
But in the letter which the kind
young lady wrote to Martha there was
a mistake. 1t told her that John Rey-
nolds was hopelessly shattered and
could live but a few days at best, and
that Richard Heaton, with a serious
but not mortal wound, was close by in
the same hospital, and a source of great
comfort to him. Such an easy thing
to do to slip in one name where the
other ought to be, when the writer
knew not the personality or the where
abou.s of either.
1t was at Heaton's request and Who'll
ly unknown to Reynolds that she wrote
and may God forgive the pale young
wife if when the letter came to her
New England cottage, there was a sin
| gle traitorous or rebelious thought,
spirit, even transitory, other than that
of remuneration! She had been loyal
to her husband, devoted and true; she
would remain so, faithful for a life
time. But he was dying. Was it
wrong that she flew there as fast as
trains could take her, fumiag with un-
wonted impatience at every delay and
obstacle, praying God to spare him
| breath until her arrival? What she
had renounced for a lifetime might
she not indulge for a moment? Only
to place her hand upon the brow, and
look into the eyes she loved once more!
Then 1t would be over-all-for ever.
Small wonder if John Reynolds
concluded that he must have been sud-
denly taken with some sort of Illusion
ing fever, when, as sitting witt great
effort-for his own wound was painful
enough-by the cot of Richard Heat
on, trying to solace him whose life
had all but gone, he discerned advanc-
ing the one loved face and form that
was always present in his waking and
sleeping dreams Could Dick see 1t,
too, and was it vision sent to solace
l., ,tr, 1,,t,,n 1, tl,ot
he was awake and heard Alright when
the nurse was telling Richard Heaton
that his wife had arrived and was then
waiting outside the door for the an
nouncement to be gradually and gent
ly made?
1t was not so very strange in her
confusion that she kissed two men in
stead of one; no wonder she wept and
smiled and blushed and sighed and
wept again, for emotions followed swift
upon one another, joy for the one when
she perceived the very evident mistake,
and sincere concern for the other who
had never been aught but kind and de-
voted to her. And when John Rey-
nolds would have moved away to give
husband and wife privacy Heaton's
feeble hand was raised detainingly.
do not go, john" he said, the words
coming between struggling gasps. Ct
have-something to say. | want you
to take care of Martha when l am
gone. She loves you'll was blinded
did not know-until too late. She has
been true and kind to me-will be to
you. Sorry kept you apart so long.
Take her now, John; Martha, give him
your hand and promise me-
1t seemed as il every word he uttered !
shortened his life a space; the strug- |
gle was painful to him and them. The
pledge given, he had no more to say |
say, Comfort her!" when he saw his |
wife's slight frame shaking violently |
with sobs.
And John Reynolds had wept with |
her, too If there were any comforting |
in that. Wept! He was weeping now, |
in the lonely room before lightless |
crate. His own great sobs aroused |
him; he was cold and numb; his arm
had that ''needles-and-pins" sensation
which he had first experienced q few
months ago.
Well, he would sit there bit longer |
and finish his dream. Since the war
was over, since-since then-until three
days ago when he saw her tie on the
little bonnet with the soft lavender !
velvet bow; he had not been from her
side single day. Why had he not
gone with her-it was SO cold-when
she set out alone, laughing and say
ing that she was sixty years young!
She came back-they brought her back
her and the lilac dimity girl in the
gilt frame-and both were with him
still. One had silver curls and the
other sunny brown both smiled and
smiled and beckoned-he smiled back
through his tears and answered that
he would come.
In the morning his nearest neigh
Dor, who came in early to be sure that
he had some breakfast, found him in
the chair before a fireless crate. She