They pointed to Sven Duva then: his war was overfought;
Yea, manlike he had warred, and now the battle-hour was not.
It seemed that he had lain to rest what time the sport was done—
Well, scarce more quiet than of old, but much more pale and wan.
Above the fallen Sandels bent, the features well to trace—
No stranger features to the chief: it was a well-known face.
Beneath Sven's heart where he was laid the green grass gleamed with red:
A ball had pierced the willing heart, and he was of the dead.
"That bullet knew to take effect, we must confess who see,"
So simply spoke the general. "It knew much more than we:
It let alone his forehead, for it was his weakest part:
It entered at a nobler spot—into a faithful heart."
Those words were bruited far and wide throughout the general host,
And unto each one everywhere the general's words seemed just;
"For surely unto Duva brains were scant in measure doled,
But, though his head was rather bad, his heart was good as gold."
C. Rosell.
A LAW UNTO HERSELF.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Hemlock Farm was awake to its farthest worm-eaten old fence. Never since its trees grew or its grass was green had such a breath and stir of delight swept through them. The low October sun reddened the stubble-field and thrust lances of light through the darkening boles; a string band, hidden somewhere, as evening fell sent long wafts of music through meadow and woods; everywhere was the sound of children's voices—in the trees, in the hay-mow, down in the old-fashioned rose-garden, up in the dusty garrets. Boys and girls of every shape and size, from pale, gray-eyed midges to big, beefy hobbledehoys, beset the captain at every turn. With his one arm and his uniform, and his gusty delight in themselves, and the background of this marvellous old farm and nut trees, he was a hero belonging to the family of Signor Blitz or Kriss-Kringle. In fact, this feast of feasts given by Miss Swendon yet lingers in the memory of its guests alongside of the enchanted garden of figs.
The feast had grown out of a word. Miss Swendon had talked of the nuts going to waste, and Mrs. Wilde of the hundreds of children she knew "who fancied nuts grew on a fruit-stand." Jane's face began to kindle. "Let us all go nutting with them," she said.