Andrew the Glad

"Yes, and with the other construction, too, perhaps. We'll ask in the

darks--but they won't come. They'll vote with the jug crowd every time.

No nig votes for Dave without the dollar and the small bottle. How many

do they poll, anyway, do you suppose?"

"Less than a thousand I think. Not overwhelming! But in an independent

race it might hold the balance of power. We'll devise means to appeal to

them; we must keep up all the fences, you see. A man who doesn't see to

his fences is a mighty poor proposition as a farmer and--"

"Hicks was here this morning, Major dear, to talk about that very thing,"

said Mrs. Matilda as she came in just in time to catch the last of the

major's remark. "He says that ten hogs got through into the north pasture

and rooted up acres of grass and if you don't get the new posts to repair

the fence he can't answer for the damage done. He told you about it more

than a month ago and--"

"David Kildare," said the major with an enigmatical smile, "what you need

to see you through life is a wife. When a man mounts a high-horse

aeroplane and goes sailing off, dimity is the best possible ballast.

Consider the matter I beg of you--don't be obdurate."

"Why, of course David is going to marry some day," answered Mrs. Matilda

as she beamed upon them. "A woman gets along nicely unmarried but it is

cruel to a man. Major, Jeff is waiting to help you into your uniform. Do

be careful, for it is mended to the last stitch now and I don't see how

it is going to hold together many more times."

"Gray uniforms have held together a long time, Matilda," answered the

major softly as he took his departure.

"And we must all hurry and have lunch," said Mrs. Buchanan. "Phoebe

and I want to be there in plenty of time to see the parade arrive. It

always gives me a thrill to see the major ride up at the head of his

company. I've never got over it all these years."

"How 'bout that, Phoebe?" asked David, once more his daring insistent

self. "Seems it wasn't so young in me after all to think you might thrill

a few glads to see me come prancing up. Now, will you be good?"

And it was only a little over two hours later that the parade moved on

its way from the public square to the park. A goodly show they made and

an interesting one, the grizzled old war-dogs in their faded uniforms

with faces aglow under their tattered caps. They trudged along under

their ragged banners in hearty good will, with now a limp and now a halt

and all of them entirely out of step with the enthusiastic young band in

its natty uniform. They called to one another, chaffed the mounted

officers, sang when the spirit moved them and acted in every way like

boys who were off on the great lark of their lives.