Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 257, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 October 1911 — HER [ARTICLE]

HER

bit father, “that I am going to tell you, for the locket will belong to you some day-—soon—and you shall causht him in my arms, and managed to drag him to shelter, -i----though I, too. was hurt. You know all about it, except that I havts when we'were marching South, the boys all used to tease him, but not knowing Jusf'which one of all C* c girls we left behind was Dave’s sweetheart, we used- to ask him aboutj 'Her’ —just her —not knowing any tmme. We all bad farewell letters, but, no one knew about Dave’s. / , •‘Wei’. when Dave lay dyinj;’*his voice broke for a' moment, bathe soon weat on- “he smiled at me; in all h’s pain, and whispered' ‘Her picture is in the locket. Take ft home to her, and tell her that always loved her ” There was other silence, while grandfather gazed at the locket. Sonny dared not interrupt, but he handed the little package to grandfather, who carefully opened it. In it were three old, yellow letteio, scarcely legible. .“Reed them, Sonhy,” said grandfather, and Sonny read. “ ‘My Dear Da. e,” said the first, “you should not have been so worried about our parting, i shall J>esafe and well cj*ed for while you are gone. It will be rather dull, with so many of our young men away, but I shall pay a visit to my cousin in the city for diversion,* and I shall have a new gown tp delight you when you return to your very loving f Laura.’’* The second was shorter. "Dear David;’ it said, “God be with you—that is what good-by means. < I know that he will protect you and bring you safe home again to me. My prayers are ever with you. Trustingly yours, “2jmily. ii *J'» There was anc'her letter, not so carefully written, incorrectly spelled, and unsigned. “Dear,” said tho third letter, “the love of a girl like me can never be a blessing—but, .now/tbat you are going a*ray, I wi’l confess. I salve ‘ you dearly, David, dearly, and 1 want you to be happy. If I could only make you so—but you have j money and education, and I have neither. Only a great love for you, David.” Those were all the letters. Sonny folded them caiefully again and wrapped them In the flag—the farewell letters of a soldier. "They tell so little; and so much,” said grandfather. ‘‘Emily was the daughter of our pastor, a swee£ and lovely girl, whom everyone honored. She died, unmarried, two years after the war was over. Laura was the village coquette—the prettiest, most fascinating little lady imaginable, but she thought always of herself, as even that bit of a letter shows. The other was the saddest of them all—a poor country girl, to whom David bad been kind and courteous as he always war to all. Indeed, he had shown no special attention to any one of the three. And yet, he loyed one of thorn.” "Which one?” asked Sonny. “To which one did the locket belong?” The boy tried hard in his own mind to determine which had won the soldier’s heart Tbs old man shook hi- heal and said nothing. “Grahdfather,” whispered Sonny, “won’t you pitas* tell me which one?” Grandfather sighed. “When I found the locket, hit by a bullet, as you see, the picture was gone. I have never kaown Which one was ‘Her,’ ” he said.