Rensselaer Journal, Volume 10, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 May 1901 — RAYMOND AND THS COLORBEARER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

RAYMOND AND THS COLORBEARER

Raymond had just been over to the hall with his basket ot flowers, mostly, from the woods and fields. Decoration day always found him on hand; and although his contribution was simple, he was glad to be able to do even a little toward furnishing material for this touching memorial service. Raymond was the grandson of a veteran of the civil war, and this year ho wanted to do something more than usual, to let the old friends of the grandfather whom he had never known understand his loyalty, both to his grandfather’s memory and ths country that he had died for. Suddenly he remembered an old tattered flag that stood in a corner in the attic, and beside it a musket, rusty and time-stained. Then ho looked at Rover. “Can you do it, Rover?" Raymond’s eyes asked the question. The soft brown eyes of the dog answered, “Try me.” “All right, Rover, I will.” Rover’s tall ceased its Impatient tattoo upon the floor, and with a yelp ot delight he followed his master up the attic stairs. Half an hour later the boy and the dog sat side by side upon the door-step. The boy held a flat piece of wood in one hand, and hia jack-knife in the other. Occasionally he lifted a faded flag, and slipped the end of the worn stick through a hole which he was whittling in the new piece of wood. At last he sprang to his feet, saying, "All ready now, Rover! Do you think you can hold that in your mouth?” Rovers’ eyes said, “Of course I can!" as his tail gave three excited thumps. Good, faithful Rover! Raymond knew that he could be depended upon to be his color-bearer. Now

for his own part in the program. The sound of approaching footsteps and -ae beat of a drum floated up to the spot where the boy and the dog were making ready to honor their country’s fallen heroes. From a window of the cottage a palp of tear-dimmed eyes watched ths strange preparations. Raymond hastily donned an old soldier cap, and shouldered the rusty gun. xxe hoped that he looked lute a soldier. Rover’s admiring eyes assured him that he did. “Now, Royer,’’ said Raymond, patting the dog’s head, “I’m going to let you hold the flag.’’ Rover never was happier than when he could carry a bundle; but this was such an unexpected privilege that for a second or two tne flagstaff veered like a weather-vane with each delighted thump of his stub of a tail. Then, seeing his master’s motionless attitude. Rover took pattern; and as the little company of veterans drew near, the color-bearer and his master attracted instant attention. Every man in Company C loved Raymand; loved him for his own sake, for he was'a bright and lovable boy, and also for the sake of the brave comrade who had marched with them through many a weary campaign, and at last had given his life for his country. There was a quick order from front, and instantly every man lifted his hat, and the band struck up the "Star-Spangled Banner;” and Raymond, with his faithful dog beside him, and his grandfather's tattered flag waving in the breeze, was the hero of the day.—Helen M. Richardson. Thousands of \JnKjioU>n Dead. One of the largest national cemeteries in this country is located at Salisbury, N. C. There are 11,000 ueknowa dead in the cemetery, which is kept in splendid repair by the government The society handshake isn't exactly what you’d call pretty bow'd yen dor

"WITH BARE HEADS AND SOLEMN LITTLE BROWN FACES.”