Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 May 1894 — A Decoration-Day Parade. [ARTICLE]

A Decoration-Day Parade.

Youth*! Companion. i “I’ve alius keered for children," laid Aunt Hannah, looking pensivey down the shady lane as she might lave looked back through the quiet ;horoughfare of her past days. ‘They’re a sight of company, an’ some has the wisdom of the angels, in’ them that knows children’s lives ind ways won’t call them no irrevirence. . “Two years ago come the Ist of AprU the Baileys mov§d inter that jailer house to the’ cross- roads. Bailey, he was misfortunate alius — naturally shiftless—an’ Benny, the boy, ’bout eight years old, was one of them solemn-eyed, quiet an’ not meddlin’ children that a single woman, advanced in years, generally takes to. “Benny an’ me was great friends, and he worritin’ because I had no grandchildren, an’ hisgran’ma bein’ dead, he adopted me, an’ alius called me ‘Gran-.* “Two years ago come Decoration day I looked up from my knittin’ an’ there stood Benny in that very kitchen door. He had queer homecut trouters on, an’ a gingham waist, an.' little copper toed, boots that he set great store by. Behind him was his sister Susie, six years old, an’ Betty, the two year-old toddlin’ along, an’ two freckled boys that lived in the neighborhood. They all ’peared drefful solemn an’ important. ‘"Up to some mirchief, I’ll be bound’, I says. “No, Gran,” says Benny, his lips, That had the baby curve to ’em yet, trem blin’. “It’s Deeumration Day, an’ there ain’t no p’rade like there used ter be to Gardiner'fore we moved —we alius moved —an’ these boys says there ain’t no Decumration here’t all. ‘ ‘Ain’t no soldiers’ graves, ” I says, cheerful like, goin’ to my cooky-box. “Oh, there is!” he calls out breath-" less. “Over to the graveyard in the pine woods there’s a Cap’n Dean that was a Union soldier, an’ fit in the war. Johnny’s mother knowed him, an’ there’s another grave, too — a old. old one that’s got a funny face on the stone, an’ that a revolutionary one. “Wanter know!” I says, giving each one a sugared cooky with a round hole in it, that I knowed they’d appetite for it in spite of the excitement. “An’ we’re goin’ to p’rade,” cries Benny, “and I thought mebbe you’d imake us flags, little miter ones that no trouble. Susy’s got her apron full er Mayflowers we got yes* terd’y' an’ Billy kin do ‘Marcnin’ Through Georgy’ on his mouth-organ beautiful! “With tremblin’ fingers I made five little flags somehow and fastened them on sticks for the regiment.

“ ‘Couldn’t we have,’ says Benny,' kind o' hesitatin’ and lookin’ with •longin’ eyes at my flowerpots, ‘some red geraniums, them that most ■wilty ? ’Cause th ey’re gro wd Ho we rs, an’ our’n we jest found!’ “Where’s your manners?’ says Susy, scoldin’, woman fashion. “ ‘They’re for soldiers,’ Benny insists, an’ I cut him my choicest blossoms. Surely there wa’n’t never a sweeter use for ’em.

“Away went that p’rade, then, Benny ahead with the flag an’ the •bouquet, Billy with a mouth organ, an’ Johnny, straight an' stately, with the biggest flag staff, an' Susy, with her apron full of- sweet smellin’ May blossoms, an’ the todlin’ baby fetchin’ up the rear, keepin’ in line with the rest of ’em.

“Wai, somethin’ bright and beautiful bloomed on them two lone graves under the pines by the side ,of them little flags wavin' in the wind, an’ the best was the little bud of patriotism in them children’s hearts.

“‘What’s that fandango?’ says Jason Mead, - drivin’ by while I watched the p’rade go over the hill to the pine woods. “ ‘Wai. I svan!' he says when I told him. Both of us couldn’t speak then.

“Last Decoration Day I went to the graveyard alone. It was a solitary p’rade all to myself. The Baileys had moved away an’ there wan’t no one to remember the day. I carried three bouquets of my best flowjers. No, I couldn't forget them soldiers’ graves. My best blossoms I laid onto a little mound by that grave of the revolutionary soldier, who’d been at rest near a century. “The Baileys didn’t take Benny away, for the Father wanted him. He lays in God’s acre. I call it that ’cause them is such hopeful words to us all. He was alius an angel child. “I’d like to think that them dead soldiers knowed of that decoration p’rade an’ that little act of reverence an’ love as pure an’ free as sweet wild roses onto a grave."