And now this year ... You see,
that is what makes it so sad. When these old men go tramping by,
everybody is thinking: 'Hundreds of them won't be here next year, and
hundreds more the next year, and soon will come a year when there won't
be any parade at all."
She sprang up to welcome a new arrival, whom she greeted as either Aunt
Mary or Cousin Maria, we really cannot undertake to say which.
Queed glanced over the group on the porch, to most of whom he had been
introduced, superfluously, as it seemed to him. There must have been
twenty or twenty-five of them; some seated, some standing at the rail,
some sitting near him on the steps; but all, regardless of age and sex,
wearing the Confederate colors. He noticed particularly the white-haired
old ladies, and somehow their faces, also, put him in mind of Fifi's or
Colonel Cowles's funeral.
Sharlee came and sat down by him again. "Mr. Queed," said she, "I don't
know whether you expect sympathy about what the _Post_ directors did, or
congratulations."
"Oh, congratulations," he answered at once. "Considering that they
wanted to discharge me a year ago, I should say that the testimonial
they gave me represented a rather large change of front.
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