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Mamma would turn solemnly around and say, "Robert, my boy, Papa is going to the war, and may never come back to us. But you and I must be brave about it and help him get ready." And if Robert answered, "Why is he going to the war? Why does he not stay at home with us? Doesn't he love us any more?" then Mamma would draw her boy to her and, putting her arms around him, and looking into his eyes, she would say, "Yes, my darling, he loves us, but he must go. Our country needs him, and you and I must be proud that he is ready to do his duty." Then Robert would go away to his play, wondering what it all meant, just as you would have wondered if you had been there.

Soon the Papas and Uncles, and even some of the Grandfathers, put on soldiers' uniforms, and drilled in the streets with guns over their shoulders, and bands of music played military music, and the drums beat, and crowds of people collected on the street corners, and there were more speeches, and more flags, and banners, and stir, and excitement. And nothing else was talked of but the war, the war, the terrible war.

Then came the marching away of the soldiers to the railway stations, and then the farewells and cheers and waving of handkerchiefs and the playing of patriotic airs by the bands of music, and much more confusion and excitement and good-by kisses and tears than I could tell you of.

Then came the long, long days of waiting and praying in the homes to which fathers and brothers no longer came, and silent watching for letters, and

anxious opening of the newspapers, and oftentimes the little children felt their Mamma's tears drop on their faces as she kissed them good-night-their dear Mamma who so often had sung them to sleep with her gay, happy songs,-what did it all mean? They could not tell.

And all this time the fathers, brave men as they were, had been marching down to the war. Oftentimes they slept on the hard ground with only their army blankets wrapped around them, and the stars to keep watch over them, and many a day they had nothing to eat but dry bread and black coffee, because they had not time to cook more, and sometimes they had no breakfast at all because they must be up by daybreak and march on, even if the rain poured down, as it sometimes did, wetting them through and through. What were such hardships when their country was in danger?

Then came the terrible, terrible battles, more awful than anything you ever dreamed of. Men were shot down by the thousands, and many who did not lose their lives had a leg shot off, or an arm so crushed that it had to be cut off. Still they bravely struggled on. It was for their beloved country they were fighting, and for it they must be willing to suffer, or to die.

Then a hundred thousand more soldiers were called for, and then another hundred thousand, and still the bloody war continued. For four long years it lasted, and the whole world looked on, amazed at such courage and endurance.

Then the men who had not been killed, or who had

not died of their sufferings, came marching home again, many, alas, on crutches, and many who knew that they were disabled for life. But they had saved their country! And that was reward enough for their heroic hearts. Though many a widow turned her sad face away when the crowd welcomed the returning soldiers, for she knew that her loved one was not with them, and many little children learned in time that their dear fathers would never return to them.

War is such a terrible thing that it makes one's heart ache to think of it.

Then by and by the people said, "Our children must grow up loving and honoring the heroic men who gave their lives for their country." So in villages and towns, and cities, monuments were built in honor of the men who died fighting for their country. And one day each year was set apart to keep fresh and green the memory of the brave soldiers, and it has been named "DECORATION DAY," because on this day all the children, all over the land, are permitted to go to the graves of the dead soldiers and place flowers upon them.

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The rat-a-tat of the drums and the dauntless voice of the fife began to awaken the quiet streets early in

1 From Lippincott's Magazine, January-June, 1907.

the morning. Little bands of Grand Army men, stray cavalry squads, ambitious patriotic citizens on the way to their armories to don their military dress, crossed and recrossed the city, all bent on being early at the starting-point of the Memorial Day parade.

Adam Roth, brought to his window by the insistent call of the fifes, raised his eyes to the cloudless blue of the spring sky and then let them shift back uneasily to his shabby room.

He was old. He was poor. The strength of his life was gone. His whole personality marked him as a failure, a failure that had taken the honest man-toman look from his eyes and left only a wavering, frightened, almost crafty glance in its stead. His bent shoulders had long ago given up their effort to square themselves against the world, and the knotted hand that smoothed back his thin gray hair trembled distressingly.

As the sounds died away, Adam went and stood beside the bed. On it was laid the full uniform of a Zouave, discolored with the smoke of many battles, ragged and worn with the stress of weary marches. Near one shoulder a faded stain spoke of a wound received at Alexandria.

Adam looked long on this uniform, and then, brushing away a mist from before his eyes, he whispered the name "Dan!" as he sat down beside the clothes and passed his hand over them with a caressing touch.

No, Dan would wear them no more. Dan, the brave brother who had first donned them in '61, who had with unabated love and energy and pride worn them

on every Memorial Day since the first, had gone to the great "Assembly," and only Adam was left.

And Adam! There was no part for him in all these half pleasant, half sad reunions, these enthusiastic parades through the great city, these glorious awakenings of memories of deeds well done in the past. That was what ate into his soul and blotted out the light in his face. He had been a coward-coward! In those days, when the uniform before him had been a bright red, and the gun, leaning against the foot of the bed, had sparkled and shone, he had failed to answer the bugle call of his country. He had seen his brother volunteer, imbued with the spirit that creates heroes, but he himself had felt the black hand of fear clutch his heart and strike at the very roots of his life. What use to fight against that name of "coward"! In truth, he had not fought; he had let it sweep over him, engulf him, ruin him.

Again the rat-a-tat of the drums. The man on the bed lifted his head. Oh, to feel just once Dan's simple love for his flag, the glow of patriotism, the thrill of war that trembled a faint, hallowed echo on this day! To feel, if such were possible, all these things that had been denied him in his youth-just to feel them once before he too went to that dim place where the Stars and Stripes and all the other banners of the world are furled in everlasting peace!

The sounds in the street below grew louder, and the sun streamed into the room, sending a sudden riot to Adam's heart. The veins in his temples throbbed like ceaseless threshing machines, separating all the chaff of his long life of failure and cowardice from

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