Andrew the Glad

All along the line of march there were crowds to see them and cheer them,

with here and there a white-haired woman who waved her handkerchief and

smiled at them through a rain of tears.

The major rode at the head of a small and straggling division of cavalry

whose men ambled along and guyed one another about the management of

their green livery horses who were inclined to bunch and go wild with the

music.

A few pieces of heavy artillery lumbered by next, and just behind them

came three huge motor-cars packed and jammed with the old fellows who

were too feeble to keep up with the procession. They were most of them

from the Soldiers' Home and in spite of empty coat sleeves and crutches

they bobbed up and down and waved their caps with enthusiasm as cheer

after cheer rose whenever they came into sight.

Andrew Sevier stood at his study window and watched them go past,

marching to the conflicting tunes of _The Bonnie Blue Flag_, played by

the head band, and _Dixie_ by the following one. It was great to see them

again after five years; and in such spirits! He felt a cheer rise to his

lips and he wanted to open the window and give lusty vent to it--but a

keen pain caught it in his throat.

Always before he had ridden with David at the head of the division of the

Confederacy's Sons, but to-day he stood behind the window and watched

them go past him! There were men in those ranks who had slept in the

ditches with his father, and to whom he had felt that his presence would

be a reminder of an exceeding bitterness. The had quietly fought the

acceptance of the statue offered by the daughter of Peters Brown from the

beginning, but the granddaughter of General Darrah, who had led them at

Chickamauga, must needs command their acceptance of a memorial to him and

her mother.

And they would all do her honor after the unveiling. Andrew could almost

see old General Clopton stand with bared head and feel the thrill with

which the audience would listen to what would be a tender tribute to the

war women. A wave of passionate joy swelled up in his heart--he _wanted_

them to cheer her and love her and adopt her! It was her baptism into her

heritage! And he gloried in it.

Then across his joy came a curious stifling depression--he found himself

listening as if some one had called him, called for help. The music was

dying away in the distance and the cheers became fainter and fainter

until their echo seemed almost a sob. Before he had time to realize what

he did he descended the stair, crossed the street and let himself into

the Buchanan house.