_Hal._ But daddy did and you bet if anybody makes me sore I'll fight too.
_Mrs. Hamilton._ No, my boy--daddy didn't want to fight----
_Hal._ Then why did he go?
_Mrs. Hamilton._ Hal, you're a little boy and wouldn't understand--but just remember what your mother tells you: Don't be selfish--be tolerant, honest and charitable to all the peoples of the world, the big and the small alike. (_Enter passer-by who stops to look over plants. After Mrs. Hamilton has shown several and given him prices, he picks up the box of mignonettes._)
_Man._ I'll take this box.
_Mrs. Hamilton (confused, not knowing whether to tell stranger about that particular box of flowers or sell it, as she sorely needs money.
Then she picks up another plant to show it.)_ Here's a very sturdy plant, sir.
_Man._ But I want this one. (_Pointing to box of mignonettes._) How much is it? I'm in a hurry.
_Hal (goes to stranger and takes box from his hands)._ You can't have them--they're daddy's.
_Man (pushing him to one side)._ Get away from here, you little ruffian.
_Mrs. Hamilton._ That's my son, sir--he's not a ruffian. His father has not returned from the front and that----
_Man (interrupting)._ Oh, yes--yes--we hear those stories every day now on every corner--it's the beggar's capital. (_He walks away hurriedly, but Hal starts after with clenched fist._)
_Mrs. Hamilton._ Hal! Hal! What did mother tell you a few moments ago?
_Hal (coming back)._ But he made me sore.
_Mrs. Hamilton._ What's the news--(_Hal hands her a paper, kisses her and starts up street._)
_Hal._ Paper--extra--paper! (_He disappears._)
_Mrs. Hamilton (is attracted by headlines in paper and begins to read aloud)._ "Fifty men return to-day from the front to be placed in the asylum." (_She buries her face in her hands._) Better that he were dead. (_Sound of footsteps is heard. Enter detachment of ten men in uniform in charge of a sergeant. They swing corner of flower stand and Mrs. Hamilton watches every man and there is a tense silence. Suddenly Mrs. Hamilton rushes toward them._)
_Mrs. Hamilton._ John! John! My boy! (_They halt. Mrs. Hamilton swoons. Sergeant goes to her and assists her to bench in front of stand. She becomes calm and goes toward husband with out-stretched arms._) Don't you know me? Claire, your wife! (_He stares at her, but shows no signs of recognition._) You remember Hal--Hal, your own boy--our little boy--John! (_He just looks at her and smiles foolishly. Sergeant takes her gently by the arm to lead her away, thinking her hysterically mistaken as many others have been._)
_Sergeant._ Are you quite sure, madam, that he is your husband?
_Mrs. Hamilton._ Yes--John Hamilton--have you no record----
_Sergeant._ Not yet. But time will clear away any doubts----
_Mrs. Hamilton._ Time--time! I've waited long enough on time. He's mine and I want him. (_Turns toward husband._) You want to stay here with me and our boy--don't you, John? (_Pause._) Sergeant, let me have him.
_Sergeant (trying to hide his emotion)._ You're quite sure, madam--(_Mrs. Hamilton nods and sergeant takes John from ranks. John just stares. Mrs. Hamilton leads him tenderly to seat. Sergeant starts others to march._)
_Sergeant._ I'll return for him after delivering these men. (_Mrs.
Hamilton takes no notice of his remarks and they march off._)
_Mrs. Hamilton (kissing his hands tenderly and giving him all signs of love and affection)._ Doesn't it seem good to be with us again? (_He smiles foolishly._) And our boy Hal--He is so large now--You'll see him soon. Think of it--he's ten years old. (_Hal enters and without noticing father rushes toward his mother, holding a package in his hand. His father sees him and notices his uniform--rises quickly and rushes toward him but mother grabs his arm and holds him back. Hal remains standing._)
_Mrs. Hamilton._ That's Hal--your own boy. Hal--your son.
_Mr. Hamilton (looks at Hal fiercely)._ Attention! (_Hal looks perplexed._)
_Mrs. Hamilton._ This is your own papa--my boy. (_Hal runs toward him but stops._)
_Mr. Hamilton._ Attention! (_His hands grab his pocket for revolver but finds none._) You scullion--this is my girl! (_Turns and puts arms around Mrs. Hamilton._) Aren't you, Sissy? (_Mrs. Hamilton realizes situation and plays her part--leads him to seat--strokes his hair and caresses him._)
_Mrs. Hamilton._ What have you, Hal?
_Hal._ I sold all my papers and brought you a little cake for daddy's birthday.
_Mrs. Hamilton (smiles and shakes her head. She takes box of mignonettes and shows them to Mr. Hamilton.)._ You surely remember these--your own mignonettes--your prize? (_She is silent. He smells flowers--she anxiously awaits any signs of recognition--long pause--a slight spark of intelligence comes over him as he fondles the flowers--Mrs. Hamilton very tense but says nothing. Hal remains standing as if rooted to the spot. Enter sergeant._)
_Sergeant._ I must deliver him with the others, madam. (_No reply._) It's my duty. (_He goes to take Mr. Hamilton by the arm, but Mrs.
Hamilton interferes._)
_Mrs. Hamilton._ Duty! Duty! It has been my duty to slave and starve--my husband has done his duty--he volunteered his services--I willingly let him go--for what? For whom? (_Pause._) Now it's all over. This is the result to me--to thousands, but now--(_stands between Mr. Hamilton and sergeant_)--God has brought him back to me and God will keep him with me!
_Mr. Hamilton (in a whisper)._ God--(_rubs hands over eyes_)--God---- (_Smells fragrance of the mignonettes. He takes Mrs. Hamilton's hand and Hal runs to him and kneels beside him._) My mignonette. (_Smiles to Mrs. Hamilton and Hal._) My mignonettes.
Semper Fidelis
_By Addie B. Billington_
When free from earthly toil and thrall of pain, Time's transient guest, One large of heart and finely quick of brain Found early rest.
Kind friends ordained that on his coffin lid, Bedecked with flowers, His last Romance should lie, forever hid From sight of ours.
Th' unfinished page no other hand might press, Where his had wrought, Nor Fancy weave strange threads--to match by guess The strands he sought.
The motives worthy and the action grand, In faithful trust, To bury what they could not understand, With fleeting dust.
And if within the years there treasured lies, 'Neath Memory's trance, Wreathed in forget-me-nots, my sacred prize-- A life's Romance-- Heav'n grant no ruthless hand the pages turn, When I am gone, Striving its inmost meaning to discern; 'Tis mine alone.
Our Bird Friends
_By Margaret Coulson Walker_
Lovers of birds will doubtless be pleased to know that some of the most agreeable and interesting legends of the past were centered about these guests of our groves, whose actions formed the basis of innumerable fancies and superstitions. An acquaintance with the literature as well as with the life history of our feathered friends will not only increase our interest in the bird life about us but it will broaden our sympathies as well.
Birds exercised a strong influence on prehistoric religion, having been worshipped as gods in the earlier days and later looked upon as representatives of the higher powers. The Greeks went so far as to attribute the origin of the world itself to the egg of some mysterious bird. To others, these small creatures flitting about among our trees, represented the visible spirits of departed friends. The Aztecs believed that the good, as a reward of merit, were metamorphosed at the close of life into feathered songsters, and as such were permitted to pass a certain term in the beautiful groves of Paradise. To them, as to all North American Indians, thunder was the cloud bird flapping his mighty wings, while the lightning was the flash of his eye. The people of other countries believed that higher powers showed their displeasure by transforming wrong-doers into birds and animals as a punishment for their crimes.
In all lands birds were invested with the power of prophecy. They were believed to possess superior intelligence through being twice-born, once as an egg, and again as an animal. Because of their wisdom, not only they, but their graven images also, were consulted on all important affairs of life. Many nations, notably the Japanese, are still believers in the direct communication between man and unseen beings, through birds and other agents. In their country, birds are regarded as sacred, and for this reason the agriculturist gladly shares with them the fruit of his toil.