The evening times. [volume] (Grand Forks, N.D.) 1906-1914, 1912-05-30
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tBy Florence A. Munroe.)


1t was told to me in the smoker as
we rode into Omaha from Cheyenne.
The narrator was a tall. gaunt man
with Il scar of a saber cut on his left
cheek. He refused cigars. but when
asked to tell a story quietly began. l
knew instantly 1t was in some way
connected With himself. W. always
hesitate a little when relating w
experiences. but never another's. Well,
that mans story, as near as l can re-
peat 1t, was this:
In a small northwestern town n
3Oth of May service was held in the
big Union church. Among the speak
ers was the Episcopal bishop. of the
state, who had worn the blue back in
the sixties. The gray haired soldier
was tall and strong yet. The ride
of life had not bent his muscular
form, nor had the conflicts marked his
calm. good face. But his eyes-they
We're the saddest l ever saw.
people looked deep int them they re-
flected such scenes of sorrow that wo-
mon would cry and men did not care
TO look very long.
ward, the man in the car had the
same kind of eyes. But, to get on
with his story. just before the old
bishop began his address a man had
stolen in and seated himself on the
back pews. Some eyed him suspic-
iously and wondered how he had es-
capped the ushers. He was a very rag
gctl fellow.
When the old bishop stood up to
speak the stranger gave his words the
closest attention. First he told about
the soldiers who We're h~ivouacked in
their green tents IL on the hills.
Than lln11t those Uhn hadn't any
graves. hut We're left down on the bull
let torn meadows of the south. After
ward of those who had gone away
with their mothers tears staining
their new blue coats. Where were
they all today? Some had come
proudly home with gold stars glitter
ing on their shoulders; others-God
help them--had deserted from the
right and We're ashamed to come. but
they would return some day if they
were alive. Then he bengan to tell Of
his own son, a yellow haired chap,
who had carried the union colors up
to the second battle of Bull Run. Till
then they had fought together, al
most side by side. But one day he
saw the boy get a saher cut on the
face and fall. 1t was hard to leave
him, but the command was to adj
vance. Since then he had not seen
him. once he saw his name among
those who had deserted and were
fighting on the southern side. OH,
that he might have heen spared this.
Better their true sons dead than his
perhaps living. but-Still he would not
wish him back unless he came as a
good soldier, winning in the ranks of
the Great Leader, a follower of the
Christ.
At this point the ragged fellow got
out of his pew and started slowly up
the middle aisle. The ushers arose to
put him out. but the speaker raised
his hand and they stepped back. With
great firmness he walked unconscious
of the excitement until he reached the
altar steps. For a moment those two
men looked into each Others eyes.
Then n fell down on his knees while
the other laid his hands upon the
bowed head. The church was silent.
one could heal the clock hung on the
railing neal the organ loft ticking.
My friends"-the bishops voice
was husky and strained-'you all see
this man. | loved him once when he
was a hoy. Since then he has desert
ed his country's flag, stolen from his
fellows. wronged his old father. But
today he has come back, and asks to
be given a chance to begin again."
Gently he lefted the tear stained
face so mat their eyes met once more.
do YOU. i'm the presence of God and
these people. ranonnce the life YOU
have lived. and do YOU willingly take
up the banner to fight against sin and
yourself?"
II do"
The answer was low. but it echoed
through the church as the old bishop
stretched his hands to heaven and
cried:
II have cast my prayers upon the
waters and they have returned to me
today. my son. oh. my son"
Just then the loud voice of the con-
ductor called "0maha.' Some hur-
ried to get their baggage. but l walk
ed uptown with the bishops son to
see the Memorial day parade.