III
THE OLD MAJOR
About our house there was a garden, with round beds of blooming plants, and a shady apple-tree or two to break the glare of the summer sun. In one corner the hollyhocks grew, and along the path to the gate purple flags appeared each spring in uneven rows, like isolated bands of soldiers marching on a common enemy. There were dandelions in the grass, and a lilac bush near the front door. Here I used to play, in a bright pink sun-bonnet, and little black slippers which buttoned with a band about my ankle. Secretly I considered myself rather beautiful, and as for my conquests, they stretched down the street and around the block. There was the grocer's boy, and the elderly lady from over the way, who wore one kind of hair in the morning and another kind in the afternoon, and ordinary strangers passing through the town, and, last of all, but first in my estimation, the old major.
Every day at the same hour he passed the house, leaning on a cane. When the sun was bright he stepped along quickly, with an alert carriage of the head; but there were cloudy days when his step was slow and feeble, and even his smile lost some of its usual charm.
"Hello, little girl," he said, in a ponderous fashion, the first time that he saw me perched on the gate. "Hello! Hello! Hello!"
The hellos reached a long distance, and grew very gruff at the end, but there was a twinkle in his eye, and he had a beautiful bright star on his watch-chain, with which I longed to play.
I gravely put out a small hand to him.