1 Hi
Tuesday, December 17, 1912.
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THEIR ONE VETERAN
$y ALICE MILLER WEEKS
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SOFT May breeies showered the pink and white
of the apple blooms gently down from the
gnarled old tree at the corner of the side
porch. One daintily curled petal floated light as a fairy
shell, and came to rest unnoticed on the bowed gray
head of Grandpa Jones sitting in his old armchair
beside the porch railing. -.. , , , , ...
. Robins and orioles flew here and there, busy with
nest-building; the air was sweet with the odors of
spring. But there was no sign of human companion
ship, save in the still bent figure in the battered
arm-chair. Lower and lower drooped the silvered
head. The old man's shoulders shook convulsively,
and from between the shaking fingers covering his
wrinkled face tear-drops fell unheeded. Presently, a
slender, girlish figure, in a fluffy white dress and with
fluttering ribbons of red, white and blue, came hurrying
down the road and across the soft spring grass. ,
"Grandpa 1 Dear Grandpa Jones 1" ;
Betty's voice was full of distress.' With blue eyes
wide with dismay she had stopped short, panting
a little for breath, for the day was warm and she.
-heldised his head,- In a moment h was-
encircled by a pair of loving arms. f ' ,
"Didni didn t ye go wun tne orners, Deny t , t "
. ivtiar'at liannened dearie?'
Grandpa Jones wiped his eyes furtively, and slipped
his handkerchief hastily into his coat pocket It was
of no use; Betty's loving eyes were too quick for him.
"Grandpa Jones, vou were crying! Now, tell me
this instant, sir, what was the trouble?"
One girlish arm still rested upon his shoulders, and
Betty shook a threatening finger in her grandfather's
face, on which smiles and tears were struggling for
mastery. Smiles won, of course; who could with
stand Betty's laughing eyes? Not grandpa Jones, who
loved her so. .. . .
'"Twa'n't nothing, Betty dear," he protested, but
Betty's small, hand was promptly laid across his lips.
"Now, I know better, Grandpa Jones 1 I know you
wanted to go? I - knew it all the while I Why
shouldn't you, when it's Memorial Day and you were
in the war, your own very self, I should like to know?
I told thrm that, hnt thev said vou never cared to
ko anywhere and ' you a De an urea out, ana ine
C. l.j . . I .11 (,,T Wnt T '
buggy was crowded anyway, and all that stuff. But I
inf miiMfi't ototiH the thought of vou left here all
alone, and so when we got to the Crossroads I slipped
out and ran all the way home to you. I'd lots rather
have my Decoration Day here with you than to. see
all the parades in the country, or sing in the chorus.
either, Grandpa dear,
Betty Snuggled Closer and laid her rosy cheek against
.nn.. .Ti.... ha.'i- Qti. nnWi n ctoutlv that even
Grandpa's silver hair. She spoke so stoutly that even
he forgot how dear to her loyal little heart were the
nags ra banners, tne panouc songs aim spuiicu uuu
music of Memorial Day; and how momentous had
been the making of that very white dress. But that,
of course, had been when Betty had expected Grandpa
Jones would go with them. . ,
"Now, you'U tell me about it, won't you, Grandpa?
Betty perched herself comfortably on the arm of the
old chair, blowing away the pink and white petal, which
floated' down to join the drift of appple-blossom snow
lying across the fresh green grass. "Tell me some of
your very best war stories, wont you, dear? she
went on. "No, I don't want to see the parade, I tell
you! I'm lots happier, right here with a really, truly
soldier, don't you seeR It's soldiers that Decoration
Day is for, Grandpa." 1
There was no resisting Betty's coaxing ways. Ever
. since Grandpa Jones had sold the old homestead and
. came, nearly a year before, to make his home with
his son Charles, it was Betty, of all that large, well
ordered household, who had stolen into the mans
heart and seemed to understand his loneliness and
need for love. A dear and sweet sympathy existed
between the imaginative young girl and the broken old
soldier. . , '
And so Grandpa Jones cleared his throat,' drew a
little nearer the shade of the bossoming apple-bough,
and began. , .
The spring sunshine filtered softly down through the
!caves, crowning with light the silver head. Animation
brightened he faded eyes, the bent shoulders straight
ened. Grandpa Jones was a soldier once more.
Shouldering an Imaginery musket, with head erect and
eyes flashing, he sprang to his feet and paced to and
from down the length ot tne long porcn.
up from the floor, where she been unceremoniously
rolled by Grandpa's sudden JWhst a splendid
soldier you must have been, you dear!
Neither had noticed the approach of a carriage nor
the click of the gate, till a hearty masculine voice
chimed in: , ' ,
"Bravo! Brsvo!" A pair of white cotton gloved
hands clanned enthusiastic approval, while Betty and
her grandfather stood speechless with astonishment.
A tall, uniformed man, wearing a resplendent badpe,
stood briide the steps. He smiled and lifted his
plumed hat with a. courtly bow, which won Betty t
"Our committer learned this morning, he began by
way of explanation, "that a real veteran has come
among us., Serjeant Jones, I am commissioned to re
nuent ynu to cthov a place of honor at the head of
our narade. We'll have everything as comfortable as
possible not to tire you. It is what oar parades have
i1wnv lackfUthe presence of a real soldier of the
Civil War- Will you consent to come?"
Th sud.'tn change from war reminiscences to tlus
nnexeriedefl true-t bewildered Grandpa Jones. Betty,
however, al.v:ivf, readv to accept miracles, jumped up
and ilniin and (!. npctl her hands in delimited txcitt
n.ent "I,!,, r ' '" ?.e cried. "Yn won't only '
!' - j :t--ti.e very i.ii ' t p'""1 ef it
'H t. ., ' . ). f a Iw'jt to U tiue!
"Aren't you going?" the stranger asked, looking at
Betty's gala dress. Probably he had a daughter in that
chorus, she thought But before she could reply Grand
pa was himself again, and explained i briefly how she'
had left the carriage at the Crossroads and come back
to him. '
"Well, she'll not be left out either, the committee- ;
man said, with a smile. "Now, have you an old army
coat, Sergeant, or a musket anything, you know,(to
make the affair. seem more real to the spectators?
In a twinkling Betty was up-stairs, pulling out the "
faded uniform and batered musket she knew and loved
so well. Almost before he knew it Grandpa Jones
was arrayed in full regimentals. Wih the donning of
the old uniform all signs of weariness and despond
ency vanished. He walked with Betty to the waiting
carriage with firm, steady tread, holding his head high. .
They were soon flying down they road toward town
behind a pair of handsome bays.
Along the main street of Blankton all sorts of ve
hicles stood waiting while throngs of expectant people
jbstled one another on pie sidewalks. Memorial Day ,
was a great event and all the country around turned
out to witness the parade and listen to the band and
the speeches. Some unaccountable delay seemed to
: have occurred. The parade was late in starting. , , ;
"I declare" said Betty's father, turning in the demo-
crat wagon to speak to Mrs. Jones, sitting on the back
seat, "I don't feel right about father being left this
way. It s too bad Betty s had to give up tne singing
and all, too. She'd been looking forward to it a long
time." . ' ' ' :'
; "Well, he'd have been all, tired out," Betty's mother
began, but a rumor running "through the crowd caught
their attention. ; . , . '
"There's an old soldier a : veteran-Hgoing to be in
the parade. . That's what's made them so late. They '
didn't know about him till the last minute." '
"Oh, why didn't we bring father 1"-Mr. Jones ex- '
claimed. "I!m afraid we've been making a mistake,
Anna, thinking he's too old for such things. How he
would have liked to see another war veteran. I wish
we could go back after him. I wonder who the other
soldier is, anyway?"
"Hark!" cried the boys. "There's, the band! It's
cotninbr oh' rf started at lastl"
Silencettled dowa over the throngs of people
straining .their -eyes to catch the first glimpse of the
snimng, guttering instruments ot tne Drass Dana oi
Blankton, , which from time, immemorial, had always
headed the parades. A new1 element of expectancy was .
added by the floating rumors of the coming of a rep
resentative of the Civil War soldiers. '
"Hail, Columbia!" blared forth in stirring measure
as the band drew nearer and nearer, but all eyes
were Instantly fixed on an open carriage immediately
following the big bass drum. The .carriage was elab
orately draped with folds of red, white: and blue.
Wreaths and festoons ,of flowers bung from its sides,
and, with Old Glory proudly, waving above him, an old
soldier in faded blue sat enthroned on the cushioned
seat Very straight he sat, an old-time musket on his
shoulder and the undying fire of patriotism shining
in his eyes, as the inspiring strains from the gleaming
instruments tell on bis ears, tsy nis siae ana noiaing
. . . ..... .
fast to his unoccupied hand, sat a pretty young girl,
in a fluffy -white dress, decorated with fluttering rib
bons of red, white and blue. ;
Intense silence at first hailed the approach of the
carriage then a voice from the succeeding carriage,
-here road the members ot the commitee, Broke tne
socll:
"Three ckfiu for Sergeant Jones, veteran of the .
Civil War!" alled the voice. "Now!. One! ' Two!
Three!" -Cheer
after cheer resounded all along the line. Flags
were wildly waved. Betty held' closer to her grand
father's hand; but he, unmindful of the battle and ex-
citement, gazed calmly forward, living in memory other
days and other scenes, beside which the present was but
a dim reality.
"Why, it's father God bleu him I" said a sudden,
broken voice, when, through a blur of tears, Betty's
father gazed on the glorified figure beneath the floating
Stars and Stripes. His wife made no reply, beyond a
. muffled sob and a vigorous wiping of her eyes. But
the two boys climbed to the seat of the' democrat
wagon and cheered and cheered till they were hoarse,"
Wreaths and flags were reverently laid upon the
dozen scattered graves in beautiful Oakwood, where
rested the soldier boys of whom their people were
so proud ; and then Grandpa Jones, now "our esteemed
fellow-citizen, Sergeant Jones," responded to a re
quest for a speech. Gravely mounting the draped (
grand-stand, he stood before the people in the old
uniform, which had seen such service in defense of his
country, and made a personal appeal to every heart in
behalf of the country he loved, and eloquent of tribute
for the brave sons, his own comrades, who had laid
down their lives for her sake. When he finished,
o(J j', un(j and t0 thank him with tear-dimmed
f h; ins iring wordl. Betty's heart was so
: ' . ..u , m a . . :i- j
. thrilled with loving pride that smiles and tears mingled
and blended strangely on her rosy face.
The democrat wagon jogged homeward behind the
, carriage in which Sergeant Jones and Betty were
being driven back to the porch and the apple-blos-,
soms. Fahtre and mother were silent, each busv with
thought, but in the back-seat the boys were talking it
i over.
I tell you what, cried rnu wun smmng eyes, x
never realized before what a hero Grandpa Jones has
been."
"Yes, and is," added Robert. "I tell you, Phil, it's
a fine thing to have a hero for your own grandfather.
I mean to let them see we appreciate him, and I'm
going to try to grow up to be as brave and good as
be Is, too."
"And so am I," cried Phil. "I'm proud of Grandpa
Jones."
"Amen," said the father softly. "It shan't be only
f itly who appreciates him now."
THE ASnEYILLU GAZETTE-NEWS
13ai& catia as ewietC
-A -J .
ana ns it ,un
rry it, hurry It, baker's
ring it to us as quick as
hope it has raisins by way
'And
little black currants Jhat look just
like eyes.j t
Here. itVomesT here it comesTbabymihei
Never was cake that was half so' fine ;f
Brown'as a berry, and hot from the pan
Thank you, oh lhanky,jwgoodj'
1 bakerls man 1
V; (BRUSHINGlTEETHi
; ATxTittle boysand little"girls),
Remember this, I pray, 'v
To brush your teeth both morn'and eve)
Anddo:iteryday ,
' ' . .
(Remember in thVmdrriirig, please
. jlIo brush. your teeth with care.
' 'It 's best, I think, to do it, just
- , Before youbrusb your'.hairJ ,
Tiv5cAt, pvv cat,w)t did you hmA
VjViileiiwl ft little nvoui under
i
IT '! J II j II yWJL li t .
a yw ccn'
L fx IS
nwsrit is wim m
man;
you can
of surprise,
TANGLED JIAIR
tWiiEiT youTfix' your hain
.' Tangles, .bear in mind;
(Must be combed with care;
. And it 's best,'you.'ll find,.
Not to tug and pull and hurry,
Putting; tempers in a flurry,!
But a gentle girl to i
, wThenj.hej:corae.out.easil)r. .
i .. , ... , , ,,,. vm. m m8(le y0l
What did you say when you 'd made your test
j bow r . . . i
. " I opened my mouth and remarked
f 's " What did the Queen say in answer to that T
ri "She screamed a little, and then she said.
IN THE NANCY BELL
v FANNY ADAMS WILKC
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B
ACK of the barn, where the cherry-trees threw
cool shadows, lay the "Nancy Bell." Propped
uDOn blocks of wood, she pointed her jib-boom
toward the haystack, her rudder toward the hen-ho'use,
and stood immovable in a sea of weeds. The "Nancy
Bell" was a big, broad sailboat that had been used to
carry passengers between Dunville and Port Maitland.
She was cast aside because people preferred to go to
town on the noisy little tug rather than trust them
selves to uncertain winds and the stalwart "Nancy Bell.".
But the useful days of the" "Nancy Bell" were by no
means over for one summer some children came and
stayed at the farmhouse, and when they discovered
the big boat, a few days after their arrival, they shrieked
with joy, and scrambled into her without further waste
of time.
"I'm the captain!" shouted the oldest boy, and the
other cried, "I'm first mati the rest of you can be
passengers."
"All aboard 1" bawled the captain, and took his place
at the rudder.
"Hurry up!" called the first mate. "Can't you get
aboard! Climb on to the fence, first, and take hold
of the cherry-trees."
"Help me get the baby up," panted a small girl who
had grown red in the face in her efforts to lift up a
smaller sister.
"Wait a moment, Doris. Now boost her and 111
take hold of her hands and pull her in there!"
"All on?" inquired the captain. "Let out the sails,
Ray." ' '
"Aye, aye, sir." Then a puff of wind rustled in the
cherry-trees and the "Nancy Bell" sailed away.
"Fine breeze, Captain," said the first mate.
"Yes, it's all right. If she doesn't lie down, well
get to Dunville in half an hour. Look out for the
center-board, ladies. Reef the sails a bit, Mate."
"How's that? All right, Captain?" asked Ray, pulling '
at imaginary sails with a great display of energy.
"All right," grunted the captain, and munched a bit
of hay in perfect imitation of Mr. Dow, who was cap
tain of the "Lucy," and took the summer boarders out
on the lake. ....'.
' "Aren't we almost there?' asked Doris, swinging her
" legs over the side of the boat. .-, . . . t
"Almost"
"Out now!" said the baby, and climbed kitten-fashion
on to the deck, . '
"Wait a moment," commanded the captain; "we'll be
there in a jiffy."
"Out nowl" repeated the baby, pounding the deck
with both fists.
"Here we are," and with a good deal of swagger the
captain made a supposed landing at the supposed Dun
ville wharf. When the passengers were all out, the
captain began preparations for the return trip. -
"Ray and Charlie come on," called Doris, suddenly
reappearing from behind teh hen-house. "Dennis is
just going across on the ferry, and he says, we can go."
"All right." And the ship's crew swung themselves
ashore, and deserted the good bark "Nancy."
The Port Maitland ferry was a large scow, which
was worked by hand. The ferryman turned a crank
and slowly, laboriously, the scow with its load moved
across the river. Dennis was very fond of children,
and when they reached the opposite shore he leaned
against the railing and opened the conversation engag
ingly. "I hear you're sailing the 'Nancy' this season. I
used to run her two years ago. Many passengers last
trip?"
"Why, yes," answered the would-be capain, loung
ing beside Dennis. "Business good so far this season."
"Good, Good!" I'm glad to hear it. I guess I'll
take a run up on her tomorrow, if you let me know
when she starts."
"Have you any little children, Dennis?" asked Doris,
coming close.
"They're not very little any more. I've got three
strapping big boys. I had a little girl like you, once,
and I lost her, and I lost the only picture I ever had
of her, too. Well, children, here comes a team, and
I guess we'd better be gettin' back quick, or your
mother'll be wonderin' where you are. .'
The next day the children sailed again on the "Nan
cy Bell."
"There comes Dennis," cried Ray. "He promised
to take a trip with usOh, Dennis!" and in another
moment Dennis was swinging himself aboard. It
was a fortunate thing that Dennis arrived when he
did, because the capttin and first mate presently fell
into a very warm dispute.
"You're all right, Captain," said Dennis, soothingly,
. "and so are you, Mate. The back one it called the
main-sel and that front spar the jib-boom. That's
the cockpit below, and this is the deck." Thus peace
was restored. Soon after, Dennis was obliged to leave,
because a wagon-load of people came along and called
to him to ferry them across. The game dragged
little after that
"What are you doing down there, Doris?" asked
Charlie, sharply.
, "Oh, just poking around in these cracks with a rusty
hat-pin I found."
"Well, stop poking, and sit up like a lady if you
want to be a passenger on this boat" But just then
Doris gave a cry.
"Oh, goody ! Look what I found !" and she held
up a small gold locket .
"Let's see it," cried the boys, and pressed close to
' Doris' side.
"Now, don't you keep it, 'cause I found it, and it's
for a girl anyhow,"
"I won't keep it; I just want to see if It opens." And
as Charlie pressed the tiny spring, the locket flew open
and disclosed the picture of a little girl about Doris'
age on one side of the locket and a little locket of
brown hair on the other.
"I believe it's the picture of Dennis' little girl." said
Doris solemnly. "There he comes back on the ferry."
"Dennis !" she caroled ; "Dennis I" and flew to meet
him, her face rosy, alieht with banny excitement "Look,
look, Dennis! Isn't this your little girl?"
"It sure is." said the man. and the hig hand shook
l little as it held the lacket. "Where did you find it?"
he asked, ttirnini it over in a dazed way. .
"In the boat," nwered Doris, capering ahoui.
"Aren't you glad I found it?'
"Well. I just am. But the missm'll he fair crarv,
she'll he that pleased. She never faw It. I hotut'it
the locket for her two years asto she felt so bad lim
the little one died I had the nicttire set In it. a-nl w n
keeninfr it for her birthday, and then on one of t' e ti -
I lot it."
"let's po rirl't no to your horn P" -' ! ' " : '
hpr," Inni'licd Doris, tmu'ini; at b i I i
tell Lcr ail about !v I f I it : ;