Page:McClure's Magazine volume 10.djvu/438

"Waved his hat around his head, and shouted, 'Hurrah, hurrah !'"

lane, and Uncle Luther could make out the full length of the parade. It was by far the greatest celebration that the town ever had known, and his heart swelled with pride at the thought. Not once did he recall his own disappointment and sorrow; it was all for the glory of the day.

Suddenly Uncle Luther shrunk back. What were they trying to do? He felt an impulse to run forward and tell them that they had missed the way to the cemetery, and that the lane ran only as far as Jonathan Dowell's house. But before he could decide what to do the old soldiers stopped almost in front of his own little shop. The band had swung out to one side. It was playing "America," and the sweet, shrill voices of the children rose and fell with the music. Uncle Luther sank back on his box, trembling. Through a mist of great happiness he saw Uncle Tommy and Captain Enoch advancing toward him side by side. He couldn't believe it at first; he didn't pretend to believe it.

"I'm gettin' old," he muttered, "an' I'm not steady in my mind."

But he rose to meet them. Uncle Tommy carried an odd-shaped package in his arms, and when he was near to Uncle Luther, he stopped and cleared his throat. Every one was silent, listening.

"I calc'lated to make a speech," he stammered; "but—we thought we'd decorate the livin' this year. Luther, here's a new leg."

He held out the odd-shaped package helplessly. Uncle Luther did not seem to see it at all. He reached forward and put his hands on his brother's shoulders, and the leg fell down unheeded between the two old men.

Uncle Luther strapped on the leg with trembling, inefficient fingers, and then Captain Enoch and Uncle Tommy marched him out between them. Uncle Tommy's own horse and buggy, decorated with ribbons and flowers, stood in front of the shop.

"You're goin' to be the marshal of the day," said Captain Enoch.

"But—Tommy——"

"Get in," commanded Uncle Tommy, in a voice that was not to be disputed.

Uncle Luther, sitting as straight as a trooper, drove out at the head of the procession, while the band, with a rattle of drums, swept into "Hail, Columbia, Happy Land."