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his
burdens. The old mother was very like her son, and stood by him "like a
hero," as he said, but was evidently failing, and begged him to come home
as soon as he was able, that she might see him comfortably settled before she
must leave him. Her courage sustained his, and the longing to see her hastened
his departure as soon as it was safe to let him go; for Lucindy's letters were
always of a dismal sort, and made him anxious to put his shoulder to the wheel.
"She always set consider'ble by me, mother did, bein' the oldest; and I
wouldn't miss makin' her last days happy, not if it cost me all the arms and
legs I've got," said Joe, as he awkwardly struggled into the big boots an
hour after leave to go home was given him.
It was pleasant to see his comrades gather round him with such hearty adieus
that his one hand must have tingled; to hear the good wishes and the thanks
called after him by pale creatures in their beds; and to find tears in many
eyes beside my own when he was gone, and nothing was left of him but the empty
cot, the old gray wrapper, and the name upon the wall.
I kept that card among my other relics, and hoped to meet Joe again somewhere
in the world. He sent me one or two letters, then I went home; the war ended
soon after, time passed, and the little story of my Maine lumberman was laid away with many other experiences which made that part of my
life a very memorable one.
III
Some years later, as I looked out of my window one dull November day, the only
cheerful thing I saw was the red cap of a messenger who was examining the slate
that hung on a wall opposite my hotel. A tall man with gray
hair and beard, one arm, and a blue army-coat. I always salute,
figuratively at least, when I see that familiar blue, especially if one sleeve
of the coat is empty; so I watched the messenger with interest as he trudged
away on some new errand, wishing he had a better day and a thicker pair of
boots. He was an unusually large, well-made man, and reminded me of a fine
building going to ruin before its time; for the broad shoulders were bent,
there was a stiffness about the long legs suggestive
of wounds or rheumatism, and the curly hair looked as if snow had fallen on it
too soon. Sitting at work in my window, I fell into the way of watching my Red
Cap, as I called him, with more interest than I did the fat doves on the roof
opposite, or the pert sparrows hopping in the mud below. I liked the steady way
in which he plodded on through fair weather or foul, as if intent on doing well
the one small service he had found to do. I liked his cheerful whistle as he
stood waiting for a job under the porch of the public building where his slate
hung, watching the luxurious carriages roll by, and the well-to-do gentlemen
who daily passed him to their comfortable homes, with a steady, patient sort of
face, as if wondering at the inequalities of fortune, yet neither melancholy
nor morose over the small share of prosperity which had fallen to his lot.
I often planned to give him a job, that I might see him
nearer; but
I had few errands, and little Bob,
the hall-boy, depended on doing
those: so the winter was
nearly over before I found out that my Red
Cap was an old friend.
A parcel came for me one day, and bidding the man wait for an answer, I sat
down to write it, while the messenger stood just inside the door like a
sentinel on duty. When I looked up to give my note and directions, I found the
man staring at me with a beaming yet bashful face, as he nodded, saying
heartily,—
"I mistrusted it was you, ma'am, soon's I see the name on the bundle, and
I guess I
burdens. The old mother was very like her son, and stood by him "like a
hero," as he said, but was evidently failing, and begged him to come home
as soon as he was able, that she might see him comfortably settled before she
must leave him. Her courage sustained his, and the longing to see her hastened
his departure as soon as it was safe to let him go; for Lucindy's letters were
always of a dismal sort, and made him anxious to put his shoulder to the wheel.
"She always set consider'ble by me, mother did, bein' the oldest; and I
wouldn't miss makin' her last days happy, not if it cost me all the arms and
legs I've got," said Joe, as he awkwardly struggled into the big boots an
hour after leave to go home was given him.
It was pleasant to see his comrades gather round him with such hearty adieus
that his one hand must have tingled; to hear the good wishes and the thanks
called after him by pale creatures in their beds; and to find tears in many
eyes beside my own when he was gone, and nothing was left of him but the empty
cot, the old gray wrapper, and the name upon the wall.
I kept that card among my other relics, and hoped to meet Joe again somewhere
in the world. He sent me one or two letters, then I went home; the war ended
soon after, time passed, and the little story of my Maine lumberman was laid away with many other experiences which made that part of my
life a very memorable one.
III
Some years later, as I looked out of my window one dull November day, the only
cheerful thing I saw was the red cap of a messenger who was examining the slate
that hung on a wall opposite my hotel. A tall man with gray
hair and beard, one arm, and a blue army-coat. I always salute,
figuratively at least, when I see that familiar blue, especially if one sleeve
of the coat is empty; so I watched the messenger with interest as he trudged
away on some new errand, wishing he had a better day and a thicker pair of
boots. He was an unusually large, well-made man, and reminded me of a fine
building going to ruin before its time; for the broad shoulders were bent,
there was a stiffness about the long legs suggestive
of wounds or rheumatism, and the curly hair looked as if snow had fallen on it
too soon. Sitting at work in my window, I fell into the way of watching my Red
Cap, as I called him, with more interest than I did the fat doves on the roof
opposite, or the pert sparrows hopping in the mud below. I liked the steady way
in which he plodded on through fair weather or foul, as if intent on doing well
the one small service he had found to do. I liked his cheerful whistle as he
stood waiting for a job under the porch of the public building where his slate
hung, watching the luxurious carriages roll by, and the well-to-do gentlemen
who daily passed him to their comfortable homes, with a steady, patient sort of
face, as if wondering at the inequalities of fortune, yet neither melancholy
nor morose over the small share of prosperity which had fallen to his lot.
I often planned to give him a job, that I might see him
nearer; but
I had few errands, and little Bob,
the hall-boy, depended on doing
those: so the winter was
nearly over before I found out that my Red
Cap was an old friend.
A parcel came for me one day, and bidding the man wait for an answer, I sat
down to write it, while the messenger stood just inside the door like a
sentinel on duty. When I looked up to give my note and directions, I found the
man staring at me with a beaming yet bashful face, as he nodded, saying
heartily,—
"I mistrusted it was you, ma'am, soon's I see the name on the bundle, and
I guess I
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