AUNT 'LIZA'S HERO
AUNT 'LIZA BARNES leaned over the front gate at the end of the gardenpath, and pulled her black sunbonnet farther over her wrinkled face toshade her dim eyes from the glare of the morning sun. Something unusualwas happening down the street, judging from the rapidly approachingnoise and dust.
Aunt 'Liza had been weeding her little vegetable garden at the back ofthe house when she first heard the confused shouting of many voices. Shethought it was a runaway, and hurried to the gate as fast as herrheumatic joints would allow.
Runaway teams had often startled the sleepy streets of this littleIndiana village, but never before had such a wild procession racedthrough its thoroughfares. Two well-grown calves dashed past, draggingbehind them an overturned, home-made cart, to which they were harnessedby pieces of clothes-lines and rusty trace-chains.
Behind them came a breathless crowd of shouting boys and barking dogs.They were gasping in the heat and the clouds of yellow dust their feethad kicked up. Aunt 'Liza's black sunbonnet leaned farther over the gateas she called shrilly to the boy who brought up the rear, "What's thematter, Ben?"
The boy dropped out of the race and came back and leaned against thefence, still grinning.
"Running isn't much in my line," he panted, as he wiped his fat,freckled face on his shirtsleeve. "But it was too funny to see themcalves kick up their heels and light out. One is Joe Meadows's and oneis Jeff Whitman's. They're broke in to work single, and pull all rightthat way. But the boys took a notion to make 'em work double. This isthe first time they've tried it. Put bits in their mouths, too, anddrive 'em with reins like horses. My! But didn't they go lickety-split!"
Aunt 'Liza chuckled. Seventy-five years had made her bent and feeble,but her sense of fun and her sympathies were still fresh and quick.Every boy in the place felt that she was his friend.
In her tumble-down cottage on the outskirts of the town she lived alone,excepting when her drunken, thriftless son Henry came back to be takencare of awhile. She supported herself by selling vegetables, chickens,and eggs.
Most people had forgotten that she had once lived in much bettercircumstances. Whatever longings she may have had for the prosperity ofher early days, no one knew about them. Perhaps it was because she nevertalked of herself, and was so ready to listen to the complaints ofothers, that everybody went to her with their troubles.
The racing calves soon came to a halt. In a few minutes the processioncame back, and halted quietly in front of the little garden gate. Jeffwas leading the calves, which looked around with mild, reproachful eyes,as if wondering at the disturbance.
"Aunt 'Liza," said Jeff, "can you lend me a strap or something? Thereins broke. That's how they happened to get away from me."
"You can take the rope hanging up in the well-shed if you'll bring itback before night."
"All right, Aunt 'Liza. I'll do as much for you some day. Just look atDaisy and Bolivar! We're going to take them to the fair next fall, andenter them as the fastest trotting calves on record."
"Boys are such harum-scarum creatures," said the old woman, as she bentpainfully over her weeding again. "Likely enough Jeff'll never think ofthat rope another time."
But after dinner, as she sat out on a bench by the back door, smokingher cob-pipe, Jeff came around the house with the rope on his arm.
"Sit down and rest a spell," insisted the old woman. "I get powerfullonesome day in and day out, with scarcely anybody to pass a word with."
"Where's Henry?" Jeff asked.
"Off on another spree," she answered, bitterly. "I tell you, Jeff, it'sa hard thing for a mother to have to say about a son, but many andmany's the time I've wished the Lord had a-taken him when he was ababy."
"Maybe he'll come all right yet, Aunt 'Liza," said Jeff.
"Not he. Not an honest day's work has he done since he left the army,"she went on. "He was steady enough before the war, but camp life seemedto upset him like. He was just a boy, you see, and he fell in with arough lot that started him to drinking and gambling. He's never been thesame since. Pity the war took my poor Mac instead. _He_ never would 'a'left his old mother to drudge and slave to keep soul and body together."
Jeff listened in amazement to this sudden burst of confidence. He hadnever heard her complain before, and scarcely knew how to answer her.
"Why, Aunt 'Liza, I never knew before that you had two sons!" he said.
"No, I suppose not," answered the old woman, sadly. "I supposeeverybody's forgotten him but me. My Mac never had his dues. He neverhad justice done him. No, he never had justice done him." She keptrepeating the words.
"He ought to have come home a captain, with a sword, for he was a braveboy, my Mac was. His picture is in the front room, if you've a mind tostep in and look at it, and his cap and his canteen are hanging on thepeg where he left them. Dear, dear! what a long time that's been!"
Jeff had all a boy's admiration for a hero. He took the faded capreverently from its peg to examine the bullet-hole in the crown. Heturned the battered canteen over and over, wishing he knew how it cameby all its dents and bruises. The face that looked out from the oldambrotype with such steadfast eyes showed honesty in every line.
"Doesn't look much like old Henry," thought Jeff.
"Won't you tell me about him, Aunt 'Liza?" he asked, as he seatedhimself on the door-step again. "I always did love to hear about thewar."
It was not often she had such an attentive listener. He questioned hereagerly, and she took a childish delight in recalling every detailconnected with her "soldier-boy." It had been so many, many years sinceshe had spoken of him to any one.
"Yes, he was wounded twice," she told him, "and lay for weeks in ahospital. Then he was six months in a Southern prison, and escaped andjoined the army again. He had risked his own life, too, to save hiscolonel. Nobody had shown more courage and daring than he. Everybodytold me that, but other men were promoted and sent home with titles. Myboy came home to die, with only scars and a wasting fever."
Thrilled by her story, Jeff entered so fully into the spirit of therecital that he, too, forgot that McIntyre Barnes was only one amongmany thousands of heroes who were never raised above the rank ofprivate. Mother-love transfigured simple patriotism into more thanheroism.
As age came on she brooded over the thought more and more. Even the lossof one son and the neglect by the other did not cause her now suchsorrow as that her country failed to recognize in her Mac the hero whomshe all but worshipped.
Jeff found himself repeating the old woman's words as he went towardhome late in the afternoon:
"No, Mac never had justice done him--he never had his dues."
Several days after that Jeff and Joe stopped at the house again toborrow a pail.
"We forgot to water the calves this morning," Jeff explained, "andthey've had a pretty tough time hauling brush. They pull togethersplendidly now. We've been clearing out Mr. Spalding's orchard."
"Look around and help yourselves," Aunt 'Liza answered, briskly. "Whenonce I get down on my knees to weed I'm too stiff to get up again in ahurry. You'll find how it is, maybe, when you get into your seventies."
"Have you heard the news?" asked Joe, as he held the pail for Daisy todrink.
"No. What, boys?"
"You know Decoration Day comes next week, and for once Stone Bluff isgoing to celebrate. A brass band is coming over from Riggsville, andthey've sent to Indianapolis for some big speaker. There's going to be aprocession, and a lot of girls will march around, all dressed in white,to decorate the graves."
Aunt 'Liza raised herself up painfully from the roll of carpet on whichshe had been kneeling. A bunch of weeds was still clasped in her stiffold fingers.
"Is it really so, Jeff?" she asked, tremulously, as he started to thewell for another pail of water. "Are they going to do all that?"
"Yes, Aunt 'Liza."
"If I cut down all my roses, won't you boys take 'em out to thegraveyard for me? I'm afraid nobody'll remember my poor Mac."
br /> "Why, of course we will," they answered, heartily. "But why can't you goyourself, Aunt 'Liza? Everybody's going."
Aunt 'Liza pushed back the big sunbonnet, and looked wistfully acrossthe meadows to a distant grove of cedar-trees that were outlined againstthe clear May sky.
"It's been six years since I was out there. I'm too old and stiff everto walk that far again, but nobody knows how I long to go sometimes. Is'pose I must wait now until I'm carried there; but then it'll be toolate to do anything for _him_."
Jeff looked at Joe, then at the hopeless expression of the wrinkledface.
"I'll tell you what we can do, Aunt 'Liza," he said, eagerly. "If youdon't mind riding in such an outlandish rig, the cart is big enough tohold you comfortably, and we'll make the calves pull you out there. Willyou go that way?"
Two tears that were rolling slowly down the furrows of her cheek droppedoff suddenly as she laughed aloud.
"Why, bless your heart, sonny," she exclaimed, pleased as a child. "I'dride behind a sheep to get there. What a fine picture we'll make, to besure! They'll put us in a comic almanac."
Then she added, solemnly, "I'll thank you to my dying day, boys; andmark my words, the Lord will surely bless you for your kindness to alonely old woman."
When they were out of sight of the house Joe lay down on the grass androlled over and over in a fit of laughter.
"My eyes! what a figure we'll cut!" he gasped. "We'll have to go early,or we'll have a crowd at our heels."
"Don't you suppose," said Jeff, "that the grave will be in pretty badshape, if she hasn't been out there for six years? If it is, she'll feelworse than if she had stayed at home."
"There's a lot of 'em all grown up with weeds and briers, with nothingbut 'Unknown' marked on the headboards," answered Joe. "Let's get acartload of sod, and fix them all up this afternoon."
A little while later the rickety gate of the neglected burying-groundopened to admit two boys shouldering spades and driving a team ofcalves.
"Get up, Bolivar!" called Jeff; "you're working for your country now."
That Decoration Day was a memorable one in Stone Bluff. The earliestsunshine that streaked the chimney-tops and gilded the broad Ohio,flowing past the little town, found Aunt 'Liza Barnes in her garden. Shehad stripped her bushes of early roses, and her borders of all their gayold-fashioned flowers, to twist into wreaths to carry with her.
When the morning train came puffing in from Indianapolis a large crowdhad assembled at the station to catch a glimpse of Colonel Wake, theorator of the day. Jeff Whitman was there, painfully conscious of beingdressed in his best, and of having a dreaded duty to perform.
He watched the colonel step into Judge Brown's carriage, and as itdisappeared from view he walked slowly down the street in the directionit had gone.
All the morning Jeff hung around Judge Brown's house, trying to make uphis mind to carry out his plan. At last he set his teeth together, andresolutely opened the gate. He felt ready to sink into the ground whenthe judge himself opened the door. Jeff's voice sounded far away andunnatural when he asked permission to speak to Colonel Wake.
In another moment the boy was in the dreaded presence, nervouslyfingering his hat, and trying to recall his carefully prepared speech.Then at sight of the colonel's smiling face his embarrassment vanished.
Before he realized it he had poured out the whole story of Aunt 'Liza'shero.
"We are going to take her out there this afternoon," he said, inconclusion. "She hasn't been for six years, and maybe she won't live togo another year. She says people always praise Captain Bowles, who'sburied there, and Corporal Reed, and even the little drummer boy, butthey never say anything about her Mac. And--and--well, I thought if youknew what a splendid soldier he was, and the brave things he did, maybeyou'd just mention him, too. It would please the old lady so much."
The colonel promised, and gave Jeff a hearty handshake, saying he wantedto be introduced to Mrs. Barnes, and would depend on Jeff to point herout to him.
Nearly every one walked out to Cedar Ridge. The way was not long, andby-paths led through shady lanes, where blackberry vines and wild rosestrailed over the fence-corners.
Colonel Wake and the judge drove in a carriage. The flower girls weredrawn in a gaily decorated moving car, and carried flags and flowers. Noone saw Aunt 'Liza in her strange conveyance, for she had gone longbefore the procession started.
"How nice and green it is," she said, fondly stroking the smooth sod. "Ineedn't have worried all this time, thinking it wasn't looked after.Somebody has been kind to my Mac. I was going to give every single oneof these flowers to him, but now I want you boys to take some of themand put a wreath on every one of those six graves marked 'Unknown.'"
When the procession came up she was sitting on the same old folded quiltthat had done duty in the cart as a seat. She leaned contentedly againstthe wooden headboard, marked simply, "McIntyre Barnes," with the numberof his company and regiment. People looked at her in surprise, wonderinghow she came there.
The boys had hitched the calves out of sight, on the other side of thehill; for being boys, they could not bear to be laughed at.
Overhead the spicy cedar boughs waved softly in the May breeze. Belowthe bluff the waters of the Ohio sparkled in the sun. During all theceremonies that preceded Colonel Wake's speech Aunt 'Liza sat with herdim eyes fixed on the Kentucky shore across the shining of the river.
While the band played and the choir sang she never turned her gaze fromit. Then the clapping of hands that announced the speaker seemed toarouse her. She listened intently, expectantly.
Colonel Wake was a true orator. He swayed the listening crowd at hiswill, first to laughter and then to tears.
"SHE LISTENED INTENTLY, EXPECTANTLY."]
The boy's story that morning had greatly interested him. At theclose, after referring tenderly to the unknown dead, and offering hispassing tribute to the others, he told the story of McIntyre Barnes'sheroic life.
He told it as only an old soldier and an eloquent speaker could tell it.The old woman, sitting on her folded quilt on her son's grave, threw offthe black bonnet to catch every tone, every gesture, and smiled up intohis face with proud, grateful eyes.
She felt like a queen coming into a long-deferred kingdom. That was herMac he was talking about! This great soldier knew him and honoured him.
Somebody called for three cheers for McIntyre Barnes. As the lustyvoices rang up through the cedar boughs and echoed across the water shebowed her head on the sod, and her happy tears fell like rain. Perhapsit was the speech that moved them. Perhaps it was the sight of thatwrinkled, tear-wet face; for when the flower girls finished strewingtheir garlands every grave had been decorated, but McIntyre Barnes's hadreceived more than all. It was completely covered with fragrant bloom.
The people who stood near could not help smiling when the boys drove upwith the little cart to which the frisky calves were hitched. But Aunt'Liza was in such an uplifted frame of mind that she would not havenoticed had they laughed aloud.
The colonel came and shook her hands, saying he was proud to know themother of such a son. After that everybody else came crowding around tospeak to her.
The band started back toward town, playing a lively quickstep, and thecrowd soon dispersed. The boys did not talk much as they walked homewardin the sunset beside Bolivar and Daisy.
As for Aunt 'Liza, she sat smiling happily in the depths of the blacksunbonnet, and saying over and over:
"My Mac has had his dues at last. It was a long time, but he's hadjustice done him at last!"
"SHE SAT SMILING HAPPILY IN THE DEPTHS OF THE BLACKSUNBONNET."]