THE LITTLE MONUMENT—FOR ALL ETERNITY
She suddenly stopped talking; she faltered; she choked; then trembling, the veteran of many struggles, propped up in bed and suspecting the end near, on Oct. 3, 1911, there occurred the following conversation:
“Now Mr. Young, I want to ask something of you. Would you do me a favor?”
“Why certainly, Miss Barton, what is it?”
“I know it is uncanny. You may not want to do it. I must not ask it, and yet I must.”
“My dear Miss Barton, tell me what it is.”
“You know, I have no one to leave my little property to,—well, I have from time to time been spending some money out in the cemetery.” Then she hesitated for fully two minutes, sobbing but trying to control her emotions, when she continued—“where I’ll remain for all eternity. Maybe you would like to see the little monument I have had constructed; to keep it in memory, and to associate me with the place I am to be always. I would so much like to have you see it, and it might be some satisfaction to you. Will you do me this favor? You can get off the electric car on your way to Worcester; it won’t take you long, and I would feel better to have you do so.”
“My dear,” I said, “it is so kind of you to have mentioned this. I appreciate it more than I can tell you. I won’t get off the car, but if Doctor Hubbell will go with me, I’ll get an auto to drive out there. I also want to see where you were born. How far is that?”
“Only two or three miles. If you will do this you will make me very happy.”
I am taught by the Oak to be rugged and strong
In defense of the right, in defiance of wrong.
Helen O. Hoyt.
HISTORIC AND SENTIMENTAL
BABA, CLARA BARTON’S PET HORSE
Baba was presented to Clara Barton at Santiago, Cuba, by a war correspondent of the New York World, 1899.
We both loved him. I am glad my last act was for his welfare.
Clara Barton.
See page [219].
THE BABA TREE—WILLIAM H. LEWIS
(Tree registered in Hall of Fame for Trees, Washington, D. C.)
The Baba Tree (Quercus Alba), grown on Cedar Green Farm, Battlefield of Chancellorsville, Virginia. Planted April, 1912, on Woodland Farm, two and one half miles from Bloody Angle, of said battlefield. White oak trees nearby, eleven feet in circumference, whose age (estimated) is between two hundred and three hundred years.—William H. Lewis, Chancellor Virginia.
“Do you know, I can get no help here; I thought when I came here I could get all the help I wanted, but it seems to be something that neither love nor money will buy. Haven’t been able to get a nurse to wait on me. But my tenants on the lower floor are very kind, and bring me my meals. I feel very much alone. I am the lonesomest lone woman in the world. You do not know how much I appreciate your coming such a long distance to see me; it has done me so much good—”
Moved by a sudden impulse I took her right hand in mine, kissed it and said “God bless you!” Faster than the mind thinks, she raised up in bed with a “No, no”—caught my left hand in both of her hands so excitedly that I could not divine her movements, other than to suspect that I had performed a breech of decorum. Holding tight my hand in both of hers she kissed it, and with tears in her eyes said: “I’ll never see you again, this is the last—”
“Oh! yes you will,” I said.
“No, not again. Good-bye!”
“No, Miss Barton, I’ll not say good-bye to you; you cannot die. You will live always. I will only say—God bless you!”
And then, backing out of the room, facing her all the while and watching her changing expressions as the shadows played over her features,—waved a kiss, and said “God bless you!”