Part 8 (1/2)

He seemed to think through the long, wet night, He still was out in the raging fight,

For once he spoke in his troubled sleep; ”I'se comin', Cap., ef my legs'll keep!”

Next day--and the next--and the next--he stayed In the trenches dug by the Spaniard's spade,

For the sick and wounded could not get back Over the mountainous, muddy track.

But the troopers gave what they had to give That the little mascot might stick and live.

Over him many a dark face bent, And through it all he was well content--

Well content as a soldier should Who had fought his fight and the foe withstood.

Slowly these stern beleaguered men Nursed him back to his strength again,

Till one fair day his glad eyes saw A sight that filled him with pride and awe,

For there, as he looked on the stronghold down, The flag was hoisted over the town,

And none in that host felt a sweeter joy Than ”Apples Finkey,” the water-boy.

--JOHN JEROME ROONEY, in New York Sun.

Down at the pond in zero weather, To have a fine skate the girls and boys gather.

Even the Baby thinks it a treat, But somehow cannot stay upon his feet.

Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Stole a pig and away he run!

The pig was eat, And Tom was beat, And Tom went roaring down the street.

THE SOLDIER'S REPRIEVE.

”I thought, Mr. Allen, when I gave my Bennie to his country, that not a father in all this broad land made so precious a gift--no, not one. The dear boy only slept a minute, just one little minute at his post; I know that was all, for Bennie never dozed over a duty. How prompt and reliable he was! I know he only fell asleep one little second--he was so young and not strong, that boy of mine. Why, he was as tall as I, and only eighteen! And now they shoot him because he was found asleep when doing sentinel duty. ”Twenty-four hours,” the telegram said, only twenty-fours hours. Where is Bennie now?”

”We will hope with his heavenly Father,” said Mr. Allen soothingly.

”Yes, yes; let us hope; G.o.d is very merciful! 'I should be ashamed, father,' Bennie said, 'when I am a man to think I never used this great right arm'--and he held it out proudly before me--'for my country when it needed it. Palsy it, rather than keep it at the plow.' 'Go, then, my boy, and G.o.d keep you!' I said. G.o.d has kept him, I think, Mr. Allen!”

And the farmer repeated these last words slowly, as if in spite of his reason his heart doubted them.

”Like the apple of the eye, Mr. Owen; doubt it not.”

Blossom sat near them listening with blanched cheek. She had not shed a tear. Her anxiety had been so concealed that no one had noticed it.

She had occupied herself mechanically in the household cares. Now, she answered a gentle tap at the door, opening it to receive from a neighbor's hand a letter. ”It is from him,” was all she said.

It was like a message from the dead! Mr. Owen took the letter, but could not break the envelope on account of his trembling fingers, and held it toward Mr. Allen, with the helplessness of a child. The minister opened it and read as follows:

”Dear Father:--When this reaches you I shall be in eternity. At first it seemed awful to me, but I have thought so much about it that now it has no terror. They say they will not bind me, nor blind me, but that I may meet death like a man. I thought, father, that it might have been on the battle field, for my country, and that when I fell, it would be fighting gloriously; but to be shot down like a dog for nearly betraying it--to die for neglect of duty! O, father! I wonder the very thought does not kill me! But I shall not disgrace you; I am going to write you all about it, and when I am gone you may tell my comrades. I cannot, now.

”You know I promised Jemmie Carr's mother I would look after her boy; and when he fell sick I did all I could for him. He was not strong when he was ordered back into the ranks, and the day before that night, I carried all his luggage besides my own on our march. Towards night we went in on double quick, and though the luggage began to feel very heavy, everybody else was tired, too; and as for Jemmie, if I had not lent him an arm now and then he would have dropped by the way. I was all tired out when we came into camp, and then it was Jemmie's turn to be sentry. I would take his place; but I was too tired, father. I could not have kept awake if a gun had been pointed at my head; but I did not know it until--well, until it was too late.”