ANDERSONVILLE VIOLETS. 
Copyrighted by the Rural New-Yorker. 
All rights reserved. 
chaptkiI xj.— (Continued.) 
Old Whitey jogged on through the quiet 
street, and out under the trees towards the 
country. A high sand hill that raised the 
road up into the free country air, soon gave 
him a chance to show his favorite quality— 
slow progression—to good advantage. Uncle 
Nathan kept his eye open to note all the vil¬ 
lage improvements that had been planned 
during his absence. 
“Seems ter vie John, this grade to this hill 
ain’t nigh ser steep as it wuz when we went 
away”—but he added critically—“they might 
hev done a good deal better job if they hed 
jest scraped that dirt up to one side an’ put 
some sand on the brow of the hill. I don’t 
s’pose though they felt much like fixin’ things 
up when the heft of the pushin’ men was 
away.” 
Uncle Nathan had been an honored town 
officer. Perhaps this fact had something to 
do with his criticism of town affairs. They 
had reached the brow of the hill by this time, 
and old Whitey stopped to take a good breath 
before pushing on again. Uncle Nathan 
stood up in the wagon to obtain a better 
view of the country. 
“Wall, there’s the old place,” ho shouted 
eagerly—“looks uat’rel, don’t it John? Git up 
there—we wanter git home un’ see how it 
seems ter sot foot on yer own sile. Git up!”— 
and he gave old Whitey a blow that started 
that good-natured piece of horse flesh, into 
a trot. 
“I guess I’ll have ter git me. a new boss 
afore long” said Uncle Nathan as he seated 
himself. But he noticed old Whitey’s frantic 
efforts to obey orders and his heart softened. 
“I guess I’ll keep this one too—we’ll need him 
to do our ruunin’ round with.” 
Old Whitey kept up his pace so well that in 
a short time they pulled up before the gate at 
Uncle Nathan’s place. John opened the gate 
—it was no easy task, for one of the hinges 
had rusted away—and Uncle Nathan drove 
up to his own door. Ho looked about him 
with a critic’s eye. 
“I s’pose like "nough Reuben has done his 
best, but things looks pooty slack arter all. 
I’ll git me a couple of scythes sharpened up 
an’ mow them weeds the fust thing 1 do.” 
Uncle Nathan planned other needed reforms 
as he and John took the horse out of the 
wagou and tud him to the barn. The old man 
went through the buildings, and looked over 
the stock, lie laid out the work for the sum¬ 
mer as he walked about the place with his 
uniform laid away and an old farm hat on 
his head. They went into the house nt last, 
and the okl soldier’s cup of happiness seemed 
as full as possible as he drew his arm chair up 
to the old place at the window. He looked 
out into the orchard, white with blossoms. 
How pleasant it seemed, after the years of 
fighting, to sit there at home. His boys 
never could como back—he thought of that 
as he drow Ids chair up to the window—but 
they died like men—tbe country had been 
saved. 
Tbe old orchard just bursting into bloom, 
the sandy road lagging past tbe old stone 
wall, the bare, billy pasture rising beyond, 
with the rocks starting from it gray aud 
moss-covered, made a beautiful picture to his 
eyes. The cows were coming down from the 
hills with Reuben behind them. The red sun 
dropped behind the woods, so slowly that the 
gray hillsides smiled back in pleasure. A 
wondrous fceliug of rest fell over tbe grizzled 
soldier’s heart, as he looked out over the 
fields he know so well. He had never seen 
anything more beautiful. 
Auut Susan and Nellie bustled about to pre¬ 
pare the supper. John sat and watched Nel¬ 
lie as she drew out the table and sliced the 
bread. She looked at him every now and 
then In a way that honest John could not 
understand ut all. Every time she looked in 
that way, John l'elt a thrill run all over him, 
and he felt instinctively for the letter under 
his vest. Aliss Nellie grew happier and 
brighter the more John looked at her. She 
pulled Undo Nathan’s hair aud glunced at 
John merrily as if she knew how he would go 
over the dead hue agaiu to havo her pull his 
lmir. She ran down cellar after the butter 
singing as she had not done siuce the nows 
came that Archie had been taken prisoner. 
That uews had killed her mother, aud she her¬ 
self had almost lost hope when the months 
rolled by aud brought no word. Sho had 
been nearer than a daughter to Aunt Susan 
all through the terrible days of suspense, and 
when at last Uncle Nathan’s letter with Johu’s 
postscript had told them how death had been 
cheated, the two women had wept tears of 
joy together. 
Uncle Nathan and Annt Susan looked mean¬ 
ingly at John as Nellie went singing down 
stairs. Perhaps they remembered something 
of their own youth, Poor John blushed like 
a girl, and the two old people smiled kindly 
at each other. Uncle Nathan forgot to watch 
the hills. He sat nodding bis head as he 
thought—perhaps of tue night in the Georgia 
forest. The table was ready at last and 
Aunt Susan brought a great smoking dish 
of baked beans from the stove. The family 
drew around tbe table, and Uncle Nathan, 
with a voice that trembled a little, spoke a 
few words of thanks and praise. 
The meal was a pleasant, but not a merry 
one. The three boys who used to fill up the 
places at the table were gone forever. The 
new children, Nellie and John and Reuben, 
filled up the places, yet there was something 
lacking—something that might not perhaps 
be so plain in tbe future. They all realized 
what a change the war had made with them. 
It w as not until John reminded Uncle Nathan 
of the meal they had eaten with Sol and his 
family that the conversation became general. 
The older man told the story of the escape, 
urged on by an occasional question from the 
others. Nellie and Aunt Susan shuddered as 
he told how Sol bad killed the dog. John 
smiled and Reuben—the “home soldier”— 
grasped his knife as if to show that he would 
like to face the euemy. Uncle Nathan told 
the story so well that almost before they knew 
it, they found themselves listening so iutently 
that they forgot to eat. All but Reuben. 
He felt bound to keep up the reputation of 
the family. He pushed a large doughnut into 
his eye. Ho had kept his eyes upon Uncle 
Nathau so carefully that he forgot the way to 
his mouth. 
Aunt Susan quickly called the meeting to 
order, “Don’t never neglect your vittles for 
stories"—she urged, and her practical sugges¬ 
tion broke the spell and they all fell back to 
their knife exercise with a will. 
After supper. Uncle Nathan took his place 
by the window in his favorite armchair. 
Johu found au old hat and coat, atul went out 
to help Reuben do the chores. Nellie and 
Aunt Susan cleared away the dishes. It was 
growing dark rapidly, yet they did not light 
a lamp. Uncle Nathan did not care to read. 
He sat watching the two women as they 
moved about at their work. Aunt Susan was 
washing, while Nellie wiped and arranged the 
dishes. At last the woi k was doue and Aunt 
Susau hurried away to prepare a bed for 
Johu. Nellie brought a lamp to the table but 
she did noc light it, for Uncle Nathau spoke 
to her iu a tone she had never noticed b. fore. 
“Come here little gal an' set by me. I 
wanter tell you something before the rest 
come in.” 
She brought a cricket and sat down at his 
side. He had always been her favorite uncle. 
She could hardly remember her own father, 
and this gruff, yet kind man had always 
made her bis pet. Whatever Uncle Nathan 
said had always been a law from which there 
could be uo appeal. She hail always been his 
“little gal,” and she had found a place in his 
heart that no one else—not even his wife—had 
ever found. She came and sat on the cricket, 
clasping both hands over his knee, and put 
her chin upon them just as she had do >e so 
often before. She looked smilingly at bis 
face. They made a pretty picture sitting 
there iu the moonlight. The sweet little wo¬ 
man leaning so lovingly upon the grizzled old 
uiau who stroked with his rough hand the 
hair back from her forehead. 
“I wanter talk to my little gal,” he began. 
“1 wanter talk about Archie an’ Johu. Johu 
can tell ye a good deal more about Archie 
than I can." 
He spoke slowly, and stroked her hair as he 
talked. She raised her eyes aud looked into 
his without u word. 
“We all done our best for him, done the 
best we could, but John doue more than any 
of us. He was jest like a brother to Archie, 
an' I’ve seen him time au' agiu pick him up 
an’ carry him along. The day Archie died, 
Johu walked right up to the muzzle of a gun 
an' picked him a hunch of flowers. He done 
it for you liltlo gal. Ho tried ter tell me how 
’twos, but I heard Archie talkin’ afore John 
went, an' I know he done it all for you. Now, 
little gal, when John gives you what Archie 
seut, 1 want you shud remember all these 
things. There aiu’t no truer man nowhere 
than John Rockwell is, if he was the widder 
Rockwell’s boy.” 
Nellie listened without a word to what 
Uncle Nathan said. Her eyes glistened iu the 
moonlight, yet when she rose at last she was 
snnliug. She came and leaned over Uncle 
Nathan’s chair, and pushed hack his stiff hair 
and kissed him on the forehead, on the eyes, 
on the cheeks, and at last square on the 
mouth. The old soldier laughed as he caught 
her by the ear and pulled her face down to 
him. He kissed her and then rose from his 
chair and guessed he’d go and see where Aunt 
Susau had gone. He chuckled and pinched 
Nellie’s cheeks as be gave this shameless rea¬ 
son for taking himself away. He discovered 
tbe whereabouts of Aunt Susan so well that 
nothing was seen of either of them for an 
hour. 
When John and Reuben came in from the 
baru, they found Nellie sitting alone in the 
kitchen. She sat by the window looking out 
into the moonlight. Her eyes were fixed upon 
the sandy road that swept like a silver ribbon 
up over the rocky hills. It lay like the track 
of an angel’s finger before the house. Reuben 
was tired. The excitement of the day had 
been too much for him. He lay on a lounge 
in the corner and in a few moments was fast 
asleep. 
John brought in tbe milk and strained it 
into the pans He washed out the pail and 
put it carefully on tbe shelf. He pulled off 
his great boots at last and put on a pair of 
Uncle Nathan’s slippers, aud got into the 
soldier’s coat again. Somehow he felt braver 
in his uniform. At a gesture from Nellie he 
drew his chair to the window and sat in bash¬ 
ful silence opposite her. Poor John, he dared 
to face the Rebel sentry, but the words he 
lodged to speak stuck in bis throat. Nellie 
looked up from the road at last and turned to 
him. 
“You have something for me, havn’t you 
John?” she said, almost iu a whisper, while 
her eyes seemed full of the nioouligbt. 
Aud John, without a word, placed the 
rough letter and the curl in her hand. 
“Let me light the lamp,” he said with awk¬ 
ward politeness, but she motioned him to keep 
his seat. 
She leaned up against the window aud 
slowly read the note. The moonlight was 
bright enough, yet she spent a long time over 
the lit le piece of paper. John sat there in the 
shadow with a feeling in his heart like that of 
a man who has throw n his life into the bal¬ 
ance. 
How like an angel she seemed to him as she 
sat with the moonlight streaming over her. 
She was looking directly at the paper, yet her 
eyes held a dreamy expression that toid him 
she was not reading, What if she should 
speak to him as she did before? His heart 
grew cold as he thought of such words, and 
he felt how awkward and rough he was beside 
her. And yet he felt that whatever she said 
must bo right and that he would abide by it. 
Nellie folded the paper at last and put it in 
her pocket. She dui not take her eyes from 
the hills for a long time. She seemed to have 
forgotten that John was waiting there, wait¬ 
ing with a terrible doubt in his heart for her 
answer. She was thinking as only a woman 
can think at such times. Her eyes followed 
the sandy road, white in the moonlight, as it 
climbed higher and higher up the rocky bill 
to lose itself at the top in a wide space of glit¬ 
tering sand. The rough stone wall, gray with 
age and service, followed the road and seemed 
to join it at the top of the hill. Nellie 
watched the two as they met. Who could 
read her thoughts? Who can tell what a wo¬ 
man thinks when the great questiou of her 
life comes up and demands au answer? She 
turned from the window at last with a bright 
face. The answer had come to her, and she 
had dropped all her doubt and fear. 
John’s heart almost stopped its beating as 
she rose and stepped to his side. A feeling he 
had never known before rose in bis heart as 
she took his great, hand in both of her’s and 
whispered: “Dear John, I am so sorry lever 
said what I did—I think [ shall know you now 
—I am sure of it.” 
That was all there was of it. Why should 
I say more? Who that has one spot of fresh¬ 
ness left in his heart cannot tell how Johu’s 
thirsty soul drank of the water of life as she 
brushed back his hair and put her face 
against his as they sat in the golden moou- 
light, telling over and over again the old, old 
story, ever old yet ever new, Why should I 
say that the weary years behind them seemed 
ebauged to brightness, and how the future 
seemed to them like a stair of gold? Tue 
dreams of youth are still the same. The moon 
smiled in upon them and laid its kindly hand 
upon their heads with a loving benediction. 
Never had it seen greater bappiuess more 
truly won. 
Wheu Uncle Nathan and Auut Su-au came 
back the lamp was lighted and Johu and 
Nellie sat with the table between them; but 
the old people looked ut John’s face aud saw 
that the letter bad been answered right. 
When Uncle Nathau read the chapter that 
night John listened attentively, and wheu the 
prayer was offered who should kneel with the 
rest but the “Widder Rockwell s boy.” 
It was the first time iu his life that John had 
ever been kuowo to kneel, and Aunt Susan 
remarked it. . She told her husband after John 
had gone to bed that she never knew before 
that John was a “perfessor.” She hoped he 
wouldn’t change his mind, for “them suddin’ 
awakenin’s is shaky.” 
Nellie blushed and smiled at the sage re¬ 
mark. She knew that John’s conversion was 
a permanent one. 
(To be continued.) 
THE POST OFFICE CLUB. 
I am sorry to say that many people iu our 
neighborhood have lost interest in Thanks¬ 
giving-day. They don’t see any sense in it, 
they say. Old Bill Crabbed voiced their sen¬ 
timents pretty well the other night at the 
store. “I don’t see no sense into appintin’ a 
day fer thankin’nobody," he said. “Wheu a 
feller gits as old as I be its powerful little he’s 
gut fer ter be thankful fer. Times gittin’ ter¬ 
rible tough on poor folks. Jest ez ye git sos’t 
ye know what’s what, yer eyes gin out or yer 
teeth git loose or somethin’ er wither comes 
along fer ter spile all yer fun. Thanksgivin’ 
day’s a fraud accordin’ ter my tell. Instead 
o’ figgerin’ out the good things, it sets a feller 
ter sortin’ out all the things he can’t do. 
’Tain’t no good. Ain’t no sense into it.” 
“My frient,” said Uncle Jacob, “You haf 
giffen me blenty off reasons to be thankful dis 
year. I gomplement myself on der fact dot 
der world looks brighter and bleasander to 
me dan it does mit you. Dere is many tings 
mitdis world dot seems wrong, I supbose, but 
my oxberience has been dot der more ve grum- 
ples aboud dem, der wronger dey seems. I 
haf come mit der conglusion dot most off dese 
droubles vas mitin our own heads. Blxiodiug 
und goraplaining ofer dem vas make dem crow 
fat. Dey vas grow so fat dot dey vas come und 
kick against der prain. und dot vas what 
makes us feel so ungointertable. Effery dime 
ve vas say to ourselves, ‘Veil, I vill look out 
mit der bright side off life und do shust der 
pest dot I can,' all dem droubles vas get 
ashamed mit demselves, und go und greep out 
off sight. So it vas alvays seem to me dot it 
vas a very vise Brovalence dot brovides 
Christmas und Thanksgifing, und all dem 
oder days mit der year. Veu ve comes togeder 
und dries to look mit der bright side off life 
ve gets some courage und goes out mit a bet¬ 
ter heart to praee up against der remaining 
years dot vas gifen us. Der beeble off a coun¬ 
dry vere dere vas no special (.lays for looking 
onto der bright side off life would be beeble 
dot I would not drust. Beeble dot cannot find 
somedings to be thankful about on Thanks¬ 
gifing day vas more to be pitied dan any beg¬ 
gar or blind man dot efer lived. It vas true 
dot sometimes life looks dull und hard rait an 
olt man. It seems shust as if his vork had 
peen taken avay from him und dot he vas 
now only vaiting for some strange tmgdot he 
cannot realize about. But let doc man say to 
himself, ‘Veil, veil, I vill look ofer my days 
mit der world’s usefulness, und sort out all der 
good tings dot I haf doue und dry und graft 
dem mit der minds off der young beeble,’ und 
he vill find der last years off his life der most 
happy und useful off any he has efer lived. 
Thanksgifing Day is a good blace in der year 
for him to do dot, both for himself und for der 
young beeble." small pica. 
The George Theory Again.— In a recent 
issue of the R. N.-Y., the statement is made 
that “any man of common sense would pre¬ 
fer to put his property iuto such form that 
it will not be taxed. The farmers, who have 
their property mostly in land, would be taxed 
away from their farms ami have nothing left 
to show for their former property.” Is not 
this a misrepresentation of the George theory? 
As I understand it, the houses, barns and 
stock of the farmer would escape taxation and 
the land would only be taxed according to 
its original productive value. If the George 
theory would lead men to pat their money in 
improvements instead of lund for speculative 
purposes, then it is a good thing. It would 
shutoff the “dog-in-the-manger”policy which 
is keeping thousands, aye millions, of acres of 
good land unimproved and as useless to the 
community as the desert of Sahara. If all 
land were taxed according to its possible pro¬ 
ductive value, then improved land would beiu 
greater demand than ever before, while ad¬ 
joining land, unimproved, would either be 
sacrificed by the owners, or improved so as to 
become profitable. George says and says 
truly that: “The expectation that land would 
increase in value has caused on every hand 
the monopolization of land, not that the own¬ 
ers want to use it, but that they night demand 
higher prices of those who do want to use 
it.” I do not sec how the increased assessment 
and taxation of unimproved land can drive 
actual farmers away from their farms so that 
