The Veteran

Out of the low window could be seen three hickory trees placed
irregularly in a meadow that was resplendent in spring-time green.
Farther away, the old, dismal belfry of the village church loomed over
the pines. A horse, meditating in the shade of one of the hickories,
lazily swished his tail. The warm sunshine made an oblong of vivid
yellow on the floor of the grocery.

"Could you see the whites of their eyes?" said the man, who was seated
on a soap box.

"Nothing of the kind," replied old Henry warmly. "Just a lot of
flitting figures, and I let go at where they 'peared to be the thickest.
Bang!"

"Mr. Fleming," said the grocer--his deferential voice expressed somehow
the old man's exact social weight--"Mr. Fleming, you never was
frightened much in them battles, was you?"

The veteran looked down and grinned. Observing his manner, the entire
group tittered. "Well, I guess I was," he answered finally. "Pretty well
scared, sometimes. Why, in my first battle I thought the sky was falling
down. I thought the world was coming to an end. You bet I was scared."

Every one laughed. Perhaps it seemed strange and rather wonderful to
them that a man should admit the thing, and in the tone of their
laughter there was probably more admiration than if old Fleming had
declared that he had always been a lion. Moreover, they knew that he had
ranked as an orderly sergeant, and so their opinion of his heroism was
fixed. None, to be sure, knew how an orderly sergeant ranked, but then
it was understood to be somewhere just shy of a major-general's stars.
So, when old Henry admitted that he had been frightened, there was a
laugh.

"The trouble was," said the old man, "I thought they were all shooting
at me. Yes, sir, I thought every man in the other army was aiming at me
in particular, and only me. And it seemed so darned unreasonable, you
know. I wanted to explain to 'em what an almighty good fellow I was,
because I thought then they might quit all trying to hit me. But I
couldn't explain, and they kept on being unreasonable--blim!--blam!
bang! So I run!"

Two little triangles of wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes.
Evidently he appreciated some comedy in this recital. Down near his
feet, however, little Jim, his grandson, was visibly horror-stricken.
His hands were clasped nervously, and his eyes were wide with
astonishment at this terrible scandal, his most magnificent grandfather
telling such a thing.

"That was at Chancellorsville. Of course, afterward I got kind of used
to it. A man does. Lots of men, though, seem to feel all right from the
start. I did, as soon as I 'got on to