seasons.
******
The Army:
In glittering array the army stands for inspection.
Russet, gold and green are their uniforms, with trimmings of scarlet.
Unmoved they will stand and receive all onslaughts — and if some fall in the battle, those remaining will still be firm of purpose — turning ever a smile of welcome and holding out arms to those who seek them.
Red and russet and gold
Green and bronze and scarlet
How brave in all their glory — how steadfast to their purpose — how gratefully do they bend their heads when a wave of love goes to them!
Majestic — serene — content to fill their allotted place — asking not the perfume of lilies, nor scent of roses — seeking not the sparkling splendor of jewels — content with the Emerald, Ruby and Topaz, which they hold within their own domain.
So muses the recruit, as with head high and shoulders back he wanders through the woods — saying farewell to all the friends of his boyhood.
The Sentinels!
How they have guarded the old home from the blasts!
“ How joyfully have the regiment given of their life, in order that others might revel in their force, and uniting to protect all who sought their shelter. This was what he must keep ever in mind — to follow his army friends and do with gladness whatever came his way — without thought of honors — only with love for all — and cheerfully obey.
Taking a bit of the uniform of his sentinel friends, and a bit of russet and gold and scarlet, too, he softly places them in his pocket and with a salute goes out to join his company.
MUNITIONS
Hardzvare Store — Time: Midday Gazing out of a window which overlooked a training field for soldiers was a grizzled old man. Time had left his impress with no gentle mark, yet around the eyes was a lingering spark of youth, and about the mouth the lines told of a gentle and loving spirit.
As his eyes roamed over the field a small squad came into view, marching in “twos” and wheeling into “fours” and “right about,” as the command was given.
The gaze of the man grew more intense, and the lines about the mouth deepened, while, slowly, a flush of pride, which could not be controlled, swept over the face, and unconsciously his shoulders squared and his back straightened as his son came into view.
The straight boyish figure marched and wheeled in perfect unison with his comrades, but there was an indefinable power in the set of his head and poise of the body, which bespoke determination and control beyond the ordinary.
Suddenly the silence is broken by a voice, and the man, with a start, turns from the window and faces a customer who has entered so quietly that even the bell on the door has failed to make any sound.
“Good-day to you, sir,” said the customer. “I have been searching the town for some munitions. Have you any?”
“A complete stock — of everything,” the old man answered.
“Well, I want both large and small. Something suitable for a double-barrel and a self-repeater. Can you supply me?”
“Yes. How much of each will you have?”
The man hesitated, and then putting his hand in his pocket, he drew out a bundle of notes and handful of gold.
“That is all I have. Wrap up all you can give me for that amount.”
The old man gazed at the money and then his eyes traveled toward the field where young boys eagerly answered to the commands sent forth: Forward! March!
Turning to his shelves, he took down, first, a box marked “For double-barrel,” and wrapped it up. Then, next, came a box labelled “self-repeater — all sizes,” and then, with great care, came the last— “deadly mixture — guaranteed.”
Each one he made into a separate package and then pushed them toward his visitor, who thanked him and departed.
Gathering up the gold and bank notes, the old man went to a safe in the far corner, and, opening the door, took out a drawer marked “Munition Fund” and put the money into it, smiling as he did so.
Taking his place again at the window, he gazed over the field, lost in thought, and reviewing in memory the years of his youth, when he, too, obeyed the command “Forward! March!”
A sound made him turn, and he was confronted by his customer, who, in a state of extreme anger, waved his packages at him, exclaiming:
“I asked for munitions! See what you have given me!”
The old man came forward, and taking the boxes, proceeded to read:
“For double-barrel — warranted, ‘Kindness!’
“For self-repeater — guaranteed, ‘Joy!’
“Deadly mixture — Love! “Well, my friend, what is wrong? This is all as it should be!”
“Should be? I wanted gunpowder and cartridges — not that stuff!”
“You have lost your way, my man. On this planet those are our only munitions.”
Going Home
The sky was heavy with menacing clouds, and wind — howling dismally as it blew through the trees — when I met a wayfarer who was walking, with downcast eyes, along the highway which skirted the town.
Gazing at him sharply, I met a furtive glance, which held within it pleading, and yet had an assurance which was compelling. He hesitated when we came abreast, and as I felt in the mood for converse, I bade him “Good-evening.”
“It is a good evening, is it not,” he replied. “Good, in its freedom of elements. They make merry tonight.”
This was a strange answer, and my curiosity was piqued, and I felt constrained to lead him on further.
“You feel the elements are enjoying themselves?” I asked.
“Thoroughly,” he answered, “but one never knows what their decision will be.”
“Decision! What do you mean?”
“Whether they will be content with a simple little frolic or if they have mischief in their minds,” he answered.
“Mischief! in their minds!” Surely that is a strange expression to use regarding the wind and clouds.”
“Strange? You, too, find it strange?”
As
