The Ekalaka eagle. [volume] (Ekalaka, Mont.) 1909-1920, 1911-06-23

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AM scars of battle are hare to
MNNN//n obliterate, and the roses
of Peace, though they grow
over the cannon ruts. are nov and
hen blown aside, showing the work
u the crimson demon.
Tbs home of the MOrrOws was one
If simplicity, though set among hills
which had reverberated to the boom
Eg OF the great guns. and the ear
~ river sang it's song of peace as it
ouent the sea. BY lucky accident the
little home and its surroundings had
escaped the ravages of war.
Hester Morrow stood Upon the old
7ine-embOwered porch and looked out
Upon a scene Of exquisite loneliness.
Everywhere the last month Of spring
aad garbed the landscape in match
ess beauty. OF course she remem
oered the war. While she stood there
she recalled how one day a regiment
If Union soldiers was hard pressed
and how stubbornly they held their
ground around the house: how the
rave went down before the missiles
II battle, and how in her young girl
tOOd she had tried to staunch the life
1de of a soldier wounded to his
leath.
In a little while the girl. who had
turned back into the house. came
sOrth modestly dressed and with a
smile on her lips.
A few minutes later she might have
oeen seen running hither and thither
with the sprightliness of young maid
anhood gathering flowers of many
1ues which grew In p~rofusion where
she sought them.
Hester had often d~espoiled the
woods of their Each Me-
mortal day she had stolen forth to
gather flowers where they never failed
to bloom. These she formed into a
rich wreath, and when she had finish
ed it she repaired to a certain spot
on the rivers bank under the spread
ing boughs of a stately tree and
placed her Offering to valor on a lone
grave there.
And what was the silent sleeper to
her? Nothing in a certain sense, only
she knew HAT his comrades had
buried him where he could guard the
singing river forevermore.
John Dunham-that was the name
carved on the wooden head board
was a soldier of the Union. He had
marched to battle with high hopes,
but fate had decreed that he should
never return with his messmates. OF
his family, if he had one, the girl
knew nothing.
Hester hat day looked like an an
gel Of light and love. Fitting every
where, her hands full of scented bios
soAls, she would have charmed any
painter; but nc one was near enough
to transform the living picture to his
canvas.
She had scarcely finished her
wreath when she looked up and be-
held a young man coming through the
grove toward the ripping river.
jack cried Hester. NO, it is not
Jack. He is a trifie too tail for him.
-erhaps he is one of the strangers
who have come to town to keep the
day
She had already been perceived;
the stranger vas coming toward her
and, as half a dozen flowers fluttered
to the ground at her feet, she caught
his eye and bowed.
You will pardon me, miss" said
the young man, as he halted before
the surprised girl, and cavalierly re-
moved his hat. This is my first visit
to this part of the country. CON
Guided to take a little stroll before
the services begin, and
1T is a beautiful morning and aug
yrs we'll for a pretty day" gently in
%terrupted Hester. Il, too, have
strolled out here, but l do so every
year after flowers for my hero"
You have a hero, them"
Yes, one who sleeps apart from his
comrades"
The Gray fought bravely, Miss"
But my lone hero is not of the
Gray, though, as you see, | am south
ern and | honor the gray-clad braves.
Would you like to see where my hero
~sleeps?"
Only too we'll would l look upon
the grave of your Bayard," was the
reply. Il am here on what fear is
"A hopeless mission. My father
Was a soldier? We meet a good
many people whose relatives were in
the war. | had relatives Who wore
the GRAY"