THE HU RAL NEW-YORKER. 
1489 
WOMAN AND HOME 
A Baby Peacemaker 
A Story of the War 
Tell you a story! Well, let me see, 
While I am thinking, climb on my knee; 
Now you are settled, what shall I tell? 
One of the old ones you know so well? 
That one about the old fox and bear? 
What? Want a new one? Well I declare! 
Want one that’s new, something I have done, 
One about Christmas, all three in one! 
* 
What a small tyrant you are, my dear; 
j am your prisoner, waiting here, 
Where the fire flashes about the room, 
Here you have spoken my awful doom, 
So I will tell you this Christmas Eve, 
By the “Hope Farm Man” 
Over the fields lying black and dead, 
Slowly we rode until far ahead, 
Where the gray river wound slowly through, 
Rode out a cavalry line of blue. 
* 
“There are the Yankees! Halt!” Quick as 
thought 
Stopped the long line, while with eager snort, 
Snuffing the battle the horses stand, 
While in advance with his big right hand, 
Shading his face did the Captain look, 
Long at the foe, then his gray beard shook, 
With a rough laugh, as he turned and said, 
“Yankees, I reckon, boys, right ahead.” 
“What are you doing here, little girl?” 
Said the gray Captain, the golden curl, 
Under his coat, with its soft caress, 
Melting his heart into tenderness. 
Trustingly smiled the wee face at him, 
And then at the Yankee, so tall and trim, 
“Dis is my kitty, she runned away, 
1 have been hunting for her all day, 
For it is Christmas you know, and I 
Couldn’t let old Santa Claus go by, 
Without my kitty could see him too, 
She needs a ribbon, she does, all blue. 
Now I will go home, I live over there, 
There with my mother, and Tom and Clare, 
Something not out of the make-believe, 
Something that happened to me you know 
Back in the days of the long ago. 
Back in the days of the War, my dear, 
Blackened and desolate far and near, 
l.ay the whole country as one dull day, 
Out from the army we rode away. 
Hardly a hundred brave fellows in all, 
Gallantly sounded the bugle call, 
Lightly we galloped along the way, 
Where the great camp of the Yankees lay, 
Out for a skirmish to see and to hear, 
Whether the Yankees were far or near. 
* 
Crusty and grizzled the Captain led, 
Nodding and shaking his wise old head, 
Crusty and grizzled, and not a trace 
Of the least tenderness in his face. 
But nobody knew of the golden curl, 
Cut from the head of his little girl, 
Under the breast of his uniform, 
Keeping the fire in his heart still warm. 
Silent, we galloped along the way, 
Thinking of many a Christmas Day, 
Back in the years that had gone before, 
Happier days that would come no more. 
So we rode on till the woods were passed, 
And the clear country spread out at last, 
Over the country we rode full tilt, 
Every man grasping his saber’s hilt, 
Yes, and the enemy saw us too, 
Closer still huddled the line of blue, 
Shouting and cheering at us they came, 
With their swords flashing above like flame. 
* 
Ah! it was terrible, little one, 
Glad was I after the work was done, 
Safer am I in the firelight’s glow, 
Though I am only your slave you know! 
But as we charged on the Yankee band, 
“Halt!” came the order in stern command, 
And we stopped short in a great surprise, 
With a queer picture before our eyes. 
* 
Far in advance where his horse had led, 
Halted the Captain, his grizzled head, 
Bent down to speak to a little child, 
Holding a little gray cat,—we smiled 
Spite of ourselves at the funny sight, 
Strangest of all at the Captain’s right, 
Stood a tall Yankee with curling hair, 
And his men halted in wonder there. 
Right where the lines would have met she stood, 
Smiling in wonder—the little hood 
All at one side and each round, fat arm, 
Quieting Kitty’s profound alarm. 
My father is dead, he was killed last year, 
Don’t you wish wars wouldn’t be round •here?” 
* 
Then the gray Captain leaped to the ground, 
Startling kitty with clashing sound, 
Stooping he kissed the red rosebud mouth, 
Thinking I know of the golden South, 
Where lay the grave of his little one, 
Under the pines from the searching sun, 
Then the tall Yankee thrust quick his hand, 
Under the edge of his high neck band, 
Up with a jerk from beneath he drew, 
A poor little ribbon of faded blue, 
Round the grey kitty he tied the band, 
Then with a kiss and a quick command, 
“’Bout face!” he turned on his charger gray, 
Slowly he led his blue coats away. 
Who knows what trinket was tied that day, 
To the blue ribbon he gave away? 
She knows, who tied the bright locket there, 
Holding her picture—a lock of hair, 
Yet I am confident when she knew, 
That she forgave him, now wouldn’t you ? ” 
Run away now, and leave father here, 
Are you not satisfied now my dear? 
There is your story, a true one too, 
I think it ended quite well, don’t you? 
