“I’ve allus ben cur’ous ’bout that widdy, too,” the Chronic Loafer remarked.
The Teacher cleared his throat and recited:
“Now night her course began, and over heaven
Inducing darkness grateful truce imposed,
And silence on the odious din of war;
Under her cloud——”
“No poetry jist yet, Teacher,” said the veteran. “Wait tell you hear the sekal o’ the story.”
“Yes, let’s hev somethin’ new,” growled the Miller.
Having silenced the pedagogue, the G. A. R. Man resumed his narrative.
“I never heard no more o’ Widdy Parker tell last night, an’ then it come most sudden. Our retchment hed a reunion on the fiel’ this year, you know, an’ on Monday I went back to Gettysburg fer the first time sence I was honorable discharged. The boys was all there, what’s left o’ ’em, an’ we jest hed a splendid time wisitin’ the monyments an’ talkin’ over the days back in ’63. There was my old tent-mate, Sam Thomas, on one leg, an’ Jim Luckenbach, who was near tuk be yaller janders afore Petersburg. There was the colonel, growed old an’ near blind, an’ our captain an’ a hundred odd others.