When one tried to drink the other teasingly knocked
his elbow. “Don’t, Billie! You’ll
make me spill it,” said the one. The other
laughed.
Suddenly there was an oath, the thud of wood on the
ground, and a swift murmur of astonishment among the
ranks. The two lieutenants glared at each other.
The bucket lay on the ground empty.
When the able-bodied citizens of the village formed
a company and marched away to the war, Major Tom Boldin
assumed in a manner the burden of the village cares.
Everybody ran to him when they felt obliged to discuss
their affairs. The sorrows of the town were dragged
before him. His little bench at the sunny side
of Migglesville tavern became a sort of an open court
where people came to speak resentfully of their grievances.
He accepted his position and struggled manfully under
the load. It behoved him, as a man who had seen
the sky red over the quaint, low cities of Mexico,
and the compact Northern bayonets gleaming on the
narrow roads.
One warm summer day the major sat asleep on his little
bench. There was a lull in the tempest of discussion
which usually enveloped him. His cane, by use
of which he could make the most tremendous and impressive
gestures, reposed beside him. His hat lay upon
the bench, and his old bald head had swung far forward
until his nose actually touched the first button of
his waistcoat.
The sparrows wrangled desperately in the road, defying
perspiration. Once a team went jangling and creaking
past, raising a yellow blur of dust before the soft
tones of the field and sky. In the long grass
of the meadow across the road the insects chirped
and clacked eternally.
Suddenly a frouzy-headed boy appeared in the roadway,
his bare feet pattering rapidly. He was extremely
excited. He gave a shrill whoop as he discovered
the sleeping major and rushed toward him. He created
a terrific panic among some chickens who had been
scratching intently near the major’s feet.
They clamoured in an insanity of fear, and rushed
hither and thither seeking a way of escape, whereas
in reality all ways lay plainly open to them.
This tumult caused the major to arouse with a sudden
little jump of amazement and apprehension. He
rubbed his eyes and gazed about him. Meanwhile,
some clever chicken had discovered a passage to safety,
and led the flock into the garden, where they squawked
in sustained alarm.
Panting from his run and choked with terror, the little
boy stood before the major, struggling with a tale
that was ever upon the tip of his tongue.
“Major—now—major——”
The old man, roused from a delicious slumber, glared
impatiently at the little boy. “Come, come!
What’s th’ matter with yeh?” he demanded.
“What’s th’ matter? Don’t
stand there shaking! Speak up!”
