And now

"It has always been like that," he went on. every man of this town, in his parish or not, fairly worships him. It was just so when he was younger. I remember when we were enlisting for the war, it had to be Doctor Dean for chaplain or nobody. There wouldn't a man, in these parts, hear to anyone else. So he went to the war with our little Roundhead regiment.

"It was hard work he put on the boys to make them better, and they listened to him where they wouldn't to anybody else. We never saw a man before who couldn't do any wrong, and I guess that was where he got his hold on us. He wasn't off in his tent all day reading his Bible, and he wasn't always preaching to us. But he just kept around among us, in his quiet way and without his telling us, we knew what he thought was right or wrong. It was a regular inspiration to the boys when he'd come up and put his hands on their shoulders, just as if he was one of them. They'd feel good all over, for a week after. And first thing we knew he had us all praying before a battle, and there weren't many of us knew what a prayer was before." The old veteran stopped and looked over again at where the Doctor had been standing. There was a look in his face of something we all feel when talking of the man we admire most in all the world. But it may have been only a little moisture about the corners of his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and continued:

"Have you ever heard about our little regiment at the battle of James River? I never get talking about the Doctor, but it all comes back as if t'were yesterday.

"He'd been on the sick list for weeks and more than once we thought we'd lost him. But just before the battle he began to get around again. The fever had left its marks though, for the Doctor's hair was white as it is now. We hardly knew him at first. Well! That rebel army began showing fight, till there was no longer any holding off. Shells came whistling down around us; officers began shouting their orders, and to all our accompaniments of grumbles and curses. But it came our turn pretty soon, and we got it worse than the rest. Our

orders were to charge the Johnnies on their right wing. We got pretty quiet, all of a sudden, and some of us turned rather pale, but we just shut our teeth hard, and waited.

"All this time the Doctor was walking about among us, sort of patting us on the back, and telling us it was the biggest chance we'd ever get to do something big for the old flag. The colonel came by and saw him; and says to him, 'Doctor, you'd better not stay around here; you're hardly well enough yet and there don't seem to be any wounded lying around.' But the Doctor just looks up at the colonel, and says, sort of low-we all heard him though—' Colonel there don't seem to be much need of a chaplain just now. I guess I'll use carnal weapons today.' The colonel looked at him rather curiously; but he knew it was no use to gainsay the Doctor, so he just turned and rode off.

"Pretty soon the word came. We set up some kind of a cheer-'twas a pretty hoarse one-and swooped down the hill, a clear target for every one of those big rebel guns. Perfect whirlwinds of lead and iron began to tear holes in our lines. But we'd forgot everything by that time and just went on, closing up, so they could rip more pieces out of us. Then we started up the opposite slope against what seemed like great gusts of bullets and cannon-balls, thick as rain driving before a wind-storm. If they'd have cheered then, we never would had known it; the groans of the wounded were drowned and we couldn't hear a single command if it was given. It was all one great roar of cannon. Four hundred of us came down that hill, but there weren't two hundred to go up the next. Nobody knew who was the man next to him for more than a second at a time, and the tangle was growing worse every minute. All of a sudden the smoke cleared just before us and in some way or other—I don't know how-the rest had gone flying off in another direction, and there were just two of us off all by ourselves.

"Where he came from, I couldn't, guess, but there was the white-haired Doctor, my only comrade. He had

worn his black coat that day, and the long tails were sticking straight out behind; his face was as white as his hair except for a few powder stains. In his hand he held a gun, still smoking, and his teeth were set like grim death.

"There we two were plunging head on against a whole army, until that smoke cleared, and then I remember nothing except seeing a line of Johnnies right in front of But I've heard them tell what happened.

us.

"When the Doctor saw the man go down that he had labored with all those years in vain, it didn't seem just right that he should lose him without taking one more chance at him. Nothing ever hurts the Doctor like losing a man before he has had his full chance. So what does he do but drop his gun and kneeling right down beside me, hold up his hand to those Johnnies, motioning to them not to fire. And will you believe it, there didn't one of them shoot! They just stood and looked at the parson. There was something about him so brave, so kind of gentle, and wholly regardless of himself that they simply stood still and stared. So he tied his hankerchief around my head, picked me up in his arms, and carried me right toward the enemy. What did they do, everyone of them but step aside and make way for the Doctor to pass through? They wouldn't even ask him to surrender. And when he had gone past they set up a big cheering for him. They patched me up after a while and sent us both back in the next exchange. And thenBut the old veteran

suddenly turned his head away, and began fumbling about in the drawers of his desk, keeping his face hidden from me. He seemed not to care to talk of it any more so I left him and stole quietly out into the street. There I met the Doctor, and must have looked at him with unfeigned admiration, for noticing me, and that I was a stranger in town, he stopped, and I had the honor of shaking the hand of the bravest, most genial, old gentleman I had ever met.

As he passed on, I felt an almost irresistible impulse to stand uncovered until he had turned the next corner.

Maitland Griggs.

THE

IN ONE ACT.

HE screen doors opened and a very diminutive young man stepped forth upon the back porch. His beribboned sailor hat was tipped back on his head, and a piece of pencil was cocked up in the corner of his mouth in most cigar-like guise. The corners of that same rose-bud mouth were shiny and more or less encrusted with brown sugar. The sweetened bread and butter explanation of this phenomenon was grasped in his right hand; the other hand was thrust painstakingly deep into the pocket of his ridiculously small white duck trousers. He leaned languidly against the post near the steps, removed the pencil stub from his mouth and somewhat awkwardly knocked the ashes off the rubber end with his little finger. Then, after a cautious survey of his surroundings, he murmured with a fine air of desperation : "Well, she can, if she wants to! I-don't-care-a

damn!"

With a sigh of satisfied ambition he trudged down to the walk and dragged his red wagon away toward the garden.

The screen doors opened again and disclosed a second diminutive person, a young woman, very brown and very haughty, though the long chestnut curls hanging over her shoulders gave her an aspect of greater youthfulness than he who had preceded her. Winifred's face wore a tragic frown and her hands-which, according to the weakness of her sex, were clean-twisted and untwisted a tiny handkerchief. She climbed-with some loss of hauteur-into the hammock in the corner of the porch and made ineffectually strenuous efforts to tap the floor with the toe of her yellow slipper. Above her head a humming bird was hovering about the honeysuckle blossoms to the drowsy accompaniment of the bumble-bees. The soft afternoon breeze from the river was heavy with the fragrance of the rose beds. With a conscience-smitten glance toward a little white figure out in the slanting

sunlight, filling a red wagon with asparagus tops, Winifred drew the yellow slipper up into the hammock and closed her eyes-but only for a moment.

"Winifred," came a voice from the garden, "Winifred." They met on the lowest step of the porch. "Winifred," said Freddy, "let's not play grown-up any more. Let's be just kids."

Whereupon they climbed hand-in-hand to the top step and sat with their arms around one another, taking alternate nibbles from a surviving fragment of the sugarsmeared bread and butter.

"It's awful silly to be kids," said Freddy.

"Mm-m!" assented Winifred, nodding her head violently, and two pairs of greasy lips met audibly.

Footsteps sounded on the gravel walk. Freddy rose and pulled Winifred to her feet. "Bridget said," he remarked apologetically, "that if Aunt Win saw me with this we wouldn't ever get any more."

The rejuvenated pair tip-toed to the hammock corner, under the unpruned honeysuckle.

The young woman before whom they fled was not diminutive; she was very tall and her hair was piled upon her head in a heavy black coil. A light lace shawl hung loosely across her shoulders, but she would have looked more regal had her eyes not been so red. As she was passing the honeysuckle ambuscade she was met by a young man, also tall, coming around the corner of the porch. Strange to say she did not see him. Except that he hastily threw away his cigarette, there was no evidence that he saw her.

A moment after passing each other both stopped at He turned around; she only looked over her

once.

shoulder.

Well," she said.

"Winnie," he answered, "Why should we act like children? Why can't we be ourselves?"

There was a slight delay owing to a red wagon loaded with asparagus tops that stood between them.

"It is very silly, Winifred," said the tall young man softly, "to play at being children."