THE GUEST OF HONOR

New Zealand Tablet, 12 June 1913, Page 7

THE GUEST OF HONOR

Mr. Tiller, seventy years old and spry for his age, sat on a box in the barn, patiently sewing upon a curiously shaped bag, patterned after the one he had carried on many long marches, back in the sixties. Little Mary Ellen sat on the floor at his side, ready to thread her grandfather’s needle. The rest of the family were occupied with their various duties the father and the boys were at work in the fields, the mother was busy in the kitchen; only Mr. Tiller and Mary Ellen, one of whom was considered too old to work, and the other too young, were exempt from labor, and they kept each other company with great satisfaction.

‘I belonged to the infantry, Mary Ellen,’' explained the old man to the child, who was a most /interested listener. ‘ And marched for almost five years. With arms, mind you ! Now what’s to hinder a man with his faculties marching a trifle of two hundred miles to the reunion, toting nothing but this knapsack? Why, it’s not worth considering! I’m not blind, neither am I deaf or dumb, and I could keep up row for row with your papa any day—-only he’s so hard-headed. There, now, Mary Ellen, one more needleful, and I reckon you and I will be done with our job ; and a pretty fair one we’ve made of it, too.’ ‘ Are you going as soon as your bag is sewed, grandpa?’ inquired Mary Ellen, as she laboriously threaded the needle once more.

4 Hush!’ "whispered the old man warningly, and he raised his hand to his ear to listen. 4 Peep out and seo if that isn’t your pa and the boys coming from the field, honey.’ After reconnoitering, Mary Ellen reported that it was only the red steer pulling shucks through the cracks of the corn-crib; and the two resumed their occupations. ‘ You see, honey,’ Mr. Tiller explained to the little girl, ‘ if your pa or ma or the boys were to come across us making this knapsack, it might interfere with my plans, I’m aiming to light out in the morning, Mary Ellen.’ But you’ll sure and certain come back, won’t you, grandpa?’ asked little Mary Ellen. Her lips quivered, and her blue eyes showed signs of tears. Now don’t you cry, honey!’ implored the old gentleman. ‘Grandpa’ll come back; of course .he’ll come back. How could- he get along without his little Eyes? But you see, honey, I’ve never been to a reunion yet. I’ve meant to go every single year, but crops were a failure, or they didn’t fetch a good pricesomething always turned up to prevent. So now, being past seventy, and living on borrowed time ’ —he pondered deeply, seeking an expression that would not alarm seven-year-old Mary Ellen 4 maybe I won’t be able to report at roll-call next time. And as the boys are going to meet right here at home, a matter of two hundred miles away, I decided I’d say nothing about it to your pa and ma, who’d be sure to raise objections, but just light out and march, as I did when I was in the infantry. ‘I have ten dollars that it took me.considerable time to save —pension money is always handy to use about the farm; with that I’ll buy a little truck to eat. Marching light, I aim to get there in plenty of time. And I’ll write your pa and ma a card every now and then, to let you all know where I am along the road and when I get to the reunion. Think of the drums beating and the colors flying, and me marching along with the boys of our old regiment, with the governor himself reviewing us ! Mary Ellen, I can hardly wait!’ Drawing an ecstatic breath, Mary Ellen looked bright-eyed into the future, and beheld a glorified grandfather marching along with soldiers in beautiful attire—wonderful to behold ! 4 But you won’t forget to bring me a doll, grandpa?’ she reminded him. ‘Not I!’ vowed Mr. Tiller. ‘l’ll certainly fetch you a doll—in this very knapsack. Only you mustn’t forget not to breathe a word to your ma and pa till I’m out and gone. And then you must tell them just what I’ve told you : that grandpa’s gone to the reunion, and ’twon’t be any use for anybody to try and fetch him back; and that he’ll certainly write as soon as he gets there.’ That night old Mr. Tiller pottered stealthily about in his room, making many small preparations; and the next morning, when the big Plymouth Rock rooster sleepily crowed his first announcement of daylight, he crept softly out of the house, through the dew-drenched flowers of his daughter’s yard, and marched bravely fbrth to the reunion, two hundred miles away ! Mary Ellen, tearful from loneliness, yet jubilant at the thought of the coming doll, faithfully repeated her grandfather’s message; 4 And you all mustn’t follow grandpa, for he isn’t coming back till he sees the reunion. And he’s going to fetch me a big doll in the knapsack that we sewed in the barn — knapsack like the one he had in the war.’ But not heeding this imperative command, Mary Ellen’s father started immediately in pursuit of his father, only to return the next day without him : for old Mr. Tiller, despite his valiant threat, had little doubt that his family would follow him, and had therefore used a little strategy in the matter. He walked in the grass by the roadside, that they might not see his footprints; when he judged that the pursuers would be well on the way, he turned aside into the woods, where he sat on the soft grass in a sunny glade, reading the latest number of 4 The Veteran,’ and lunching off the cold biscuit and bacon he had abstracted from the

home cupboard. He spent the • day in much content; and when darkness fell, he made a bed of soft and fragrant pine boughs, ,upon which, wrapped in his blanket, he slumbered peacefully through the warm loveliness of the summer night. Rheumatism might have seized him as a result of two long exposure, but it was not often that the old man slept under the stars. Every farmhouse opened to him with a hearty welcome, and no one would take a penny from him for bed or board. ' At last, browned by . the pleasant summer sun and wind, although somewhat stiff in his joints, old Mr. Tiller entered the great city where the renuion was to be held. He still had several of the original ten dollars in his pocket. The roar and traffic rather bewildered the old man, and now that he had reached the goal, he was uncertain where he should apply for accommodation. The other old soldiers would come by train, and would be met by a reception committee; none of them would walk, as he had done.

Absorbed in thought, he failed to notice the warning horn of an approaching automobile, and was brushed aside in a heap before the driver could change the course of the machine.

Fortunately, he got no serious injury only a sprained ankle. The doctors at the hospital said he would soon he about; but old Mr. Tiller confided to the nurse that it was a mighty hard thing not to be able to march with the ‘boys/ when he had walked two hundred miles to take part in the parade. ■' Two hundred miles!’ exclaimed the sympathetic nurse. ‘ Dear me, how wonderful ! It ought to be in the newspapers, Mr. Tiller!’ , r ' ■ In a very short time Mr. Tiller had a visitor, a pleasant young man who talked to him about things nearest his heart— little farm that for some reason had never produced enough to pay for a trip on the cars ; the little granddaughter who had kept his secret with him,, the long journey, and the pleasant people on the road to the reunion, and— of all, the pitiful end—to be laid up with a sprained ankle instead of marching with the 4 boys ’ ! The newspaper the. next morning printed the story on the first page with big head-lines. The consequence was that a large, opulent-looking motor-car rolled up to the door of the hospital, and a distin-guished-looking gentleman alighted, and asked to be taken to the casualty ward. : The sympathetic nurse hurried on ahead and whispered joyously to Mr, Tiller that the governor himself was going to call on him ! Presently the distinguished-looking stranger wah saying, in the heartiest, pleasantest voice imaginable : ‘ And this is Mr. Tiller of the Fighting 43rd, who has marched so far to see us ! I am the governor, Mr. Tiller, and on behalf of the state and the city, I bid you welcome!’ . , ‘I voted for you!’ Mr. Tiller declared, with enthusiasm, as he grasped the governor’s hand. * I voted for you—and I’ve never had cause to be sorry I did!’ 4 Thank you, Mr, Tiller !’ The governor laughed. ‘And now do something else for me. Let the nurse get you into your clothes, and we will help you out into my car. ; My wife and I want you to be our guest while you are in the city. She made me come bright and early, so that the mayor, or somebody else, should not get ahead of me.’ Thus it happened that old Mr. Tiller, who could not march in the ranks with his comrades, viewed the parade comfortably seated in a luxurious car, by the side of the governor of the state. Later, he was tenderly assisted to the speakers’ platform, where he sat between the governor and the mayor, and listened with delighted appreciation to the speeches of welcome and responses. Many persons wondered why the insignificant little old man in butternut jeans should occupy so prominent a place. Near the end of the - exercises, the mayor told them. , ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the mayor, 4 here is one of our beloved veterans who has walked two hun-

1 dred miles for the pleasure of being with us to-day. f -A 3 a mark- of the city’s appreciation, I ask that you give three cheers for Mr. Tiller-—our guest of honor!’ Thereupon a mighty cheer swelled and thundered from a thousand throats a joyous welcome to the guest of honor ! Mr. Tiller’s hosts sent him. back in a Pullman car, with particular instructions to the conductor to take .good care of him on the road. The governor’s wife bought a beautiful doll to go into the knapsack for Mary Ellen, along with various other gifts that Mr.- - Tiller had bought with the remaining dollars, and that he intended as peace-offerings to the family at home. ' You ought to have told me how much you wanted to go, father/ his son said reproachfully. . * I’d have tried to raise the money some way. It was a mighty rash thing in a fnan -of your years, undertaking to walk that distance.’ Shucks! Didn’t I march with the infantry for four years? What’s a trifle like two hundred for a man that’s got all his faculties?’ replied old Mr. Tiller. But to Mary Ellen, nursing her doll in the contentment of fulfilled desire, he confided. It was mighty lucky for me, honey, that one of those pesky things knocked me down. For it’s a fine thing to be a “guest of honor”; and I was just a little grain dreading the walk back. I have my faculties, thanks be, —I don’t mind telling you, Mary Ellen—l’m not capable of holding out as long as I used to when I was young.’ — Youth’s Companion.