Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 11 by Glimpses of Louisa (v2.1) Page A

who serves well need not fear to ask his wages."
   I
 
 
   
 
 
                            
It was under a blue cap that I first saw the honest face of Joe Collins. In the
third year of the late war a Maine regiment was passing through Boston ,
on its way to Washington . The
Common was all alive with troops and the spectators who clustered round them to
say God-speed, as the brave fellows marched away to meet danger and death for
our sakes.
                            
Every one was eager to do something; and, as the men stood at ease, the people
mingled freely with them, offering gifts, hearty grips of the hand, and hopeful
prophecies of victory in the end. Irresistibly attracted, my boy Tom and I drew
near, and soon, becoming excited by the scene, ravaged the fruit-stands in our
neighborhood for tokens of our regard, mingling candy and congratulations,
peanuts and prayers, apples and applause, in one enthusiastic jumble.
                            
While Tom was off on his third raid, my attention was attracted by a man who
stood a little apart, looking as if his thoughts were far away. All the men
were fine, stalwart fellows, as Maine men usually are; but this one over-topped his comrades, standing straight and
tall as a Norway pine, with a face full of the mingled shrewdness, sobriety,
and self-possession of the typical New Englander. I liked the look of him; and,
seeing that he seemed solitary, even in a crowd, I offered him my last apple
with a word of interest. The keen blue eyes met mine gratefully, and the apple
began to vanish in vigorous bites as we talked; for no one thought of ceremony
at such a time.
                            
"Where are you from?"
                             "Woolidge, ma'am."
                            
"Are you glad to go?"
                            
"Wal, there's two sides to that question. I calk'late to do my duty, and
do it hearty: but it is rough on a
feller leavin' his folks, for good, maybe."
                            
There was a sudden huskiness in the man's voice that was not apple-skins,
though he tried to make believe that it was. I knew a word about home would
comfort him, so I went on with my questions.
                            
"It is very hard. Do you leave a family?"
                            
"My old mother, a sick brother,—and Lucindy."
                            
The last word was uttered in a tone of intense regret, and his brown cheek
reddened as he added hastily, to hide some embarrassment.—
                            
"You see, Jim went last year, and got pretty well used up; so I felt as if
I'd ought to take my turn now. Mother was a regular old hero about it and I
dropped everything, and come off. Lucindy didn't think it was my duty; and that
made it awful hard, I tell you."
                            
"Wives are less patriotic than mothers," I began; but he would not
hear Lucindy blamed, and said quickly,—
                            
"She ain't my wife yet, but we calk'lated to be married in a month or so;
and it was wus for her than for me, women lot so on not being disappointed. I couldn't shirk, and here I be . When I git to work, I shall be all right: the first
wrench is the tryin' part."
                            
Here he straightened his broad shoulders, and turned his face toward the flags
fluttering far in front, as if no backward look should betray the longing of
his heart for mother, home, and wife. I liked that little glimpse of character;
and when Tom returned with empty hands, reporting that every stall was
exhausted, I told him to find out what the man would like best, then run across
the street and get it.