Part 14 (2/2)
”A wo the responsibility of civilization to the world!
”When McKinley's khaki boys struck the iron froe it was Clara Barton, in her seventy-seventh year, who followed to the fever-ridden tropics to lead in the relief-work on Spanish battle-grounds
”She is knohereverthe first president of the American Red Cross, but she was more than that--she _was_ the Red Cross at that time It was, as she said, ”her child,” and she furnished headquarters for it in her Washi+ngton ho to hundreds of thousands of dollars, and was never requested to publish her accounts, an example of personal leadershi+p which is unparalleled
In 1897 we find the Red Cross president settled in her hoh slope overlooking the Potoh it was a Red Cross center, it was a friendly lodging as well, where its owner could receive her personal friends
Flags and Red Cross testimonials fro them a beautiful one frolass gleamed in the front s over the balcony, but above the house the Red Cross banner floated high, as if to tell the world that ”the banner over us is love” And to Glen Echo, the center of her beloved activity, Clara Barton always loved to return at the end of her cans To the reat humane centers of the world, she became known as the ”Beautiful Lady of the Potoly describe a nature
To the last she was a soldier--systematic, industrious, severely simple in her tastes It was a rule of the household that every day's duties should be disposed of before turning in for the night, and at five o'clock the nexta carpet-sweeper over the floor She always observedher quarters straight
Hanging on the wall between her bedroo-room was a small mirror into which her mother looked when she came home as a bride
Her bed was small and hard Near it were the books that ress, the stories of Sarah Orne Jewett, the poems of Lucy Larcom, and many other orn, much-read classics
That she was still feirlhood when she fashi+oned her first straw bonnet, so now she was fond of wearing handsoowns, often with trains Lavender, royal purple, and wine color were the shades she liked best to wear, and in which her friends ant tastes, Clara Barton was the most democratic woman America ever produced, as well as the most humane She loved people, sick and well, and in any State and city of the Union she could claim personal friends in every walk of life
When, after ninety-nine years of life and fifty of continuous service to suffering hu day, the world to its remotest corner stopped its busy barter and trade for a brief moment to pay reverent tribute to a wo, bashful disposition, and yet carried on her life-work in the face of the ene-line She was on the firing-line all her life
That is her life story
Her ”boys” of all ages adored her, and noincident is told of her than that of a day in Boston, when, after a ered at its close to chat with General Shafter Suddenly the great audience, composed entirely of old soldiers, rose to their feet as she came down the aisle, and a voice cried:
”Three cheers for Clara Barton!”
They were given by voices hoarse with feeling Then soiven another voice cried:
”No! _Sweetheart!_”
Then those grizzled elderly men whose lives she had helped to save broke into uproar and tears together, while the little bent woman smiled back at them with a love as true as any sweetheart's
To-day we stand at the parting of the ways Our nation is in theas a world power, and in its rebirth there irls and woo out bravely to face the untried future and to nurse under the banner of the Red Cross, we shall do our best e bear to the battle-field the sah purpose and consecration that inspired Clara Barton and el of the Battle-fields”
Let us, as loyal Americans, take to heart part of a speech she once made on Memorial Day, when she stood with the ”Boys in Blue” in the ”God's-acre” of the soldier, and declared:
”We cannot always hold our great shi+p of state out of the storms and breakers She must ale The waves h of the sea as she does to-day But the Stars and Stripes are above her She is freighted with the hopes of the world God holds the hel to port The weak must fear, the timid tremble, but the brave and stout of heart ork and hope and trust”
VIRGINIA REED: MIDNIGHT HEROINE OF THE PLAINS IN PIONEER DAYS OF AMERICA
On a lovely Aprilin 1846 there was an unusual stir in the streets of Springfield, Illinois, for such an early hour Frohbor nodded to neighbor the news passed on: