Sadder than the men were
the old battle-flags, soiled wisps that the aged hands held aloft with
the most solicitous care. The flag-poles were heavy and the men's arms
weaker than once they were; sometimes two or even three men acted
jointly as standard-bearer.
These old flags, mere unrecognizable fragments as many of them were,
were popular with the onlookers. Each as it marched by, was hailed with
a new roar. Of course there were many tears. There was hardly anybody in
all that crowd, over fifty years old, in whom the sight of these fast
dwindling ranks did not stir memories of some personal bereavement. The
old ladies on the porch no longer used their handkerchiefs chiefly for
waving. Queed saw one of them wave hers frantically toward a drooping
little knot of passing gray-coats, and then fall back into a chair, the
same handkerchief at her eyes. Sharlee, who was explaining everything
that anybody wanted to know, happened to be standing near him; she
followed his glance and whispered gently:--
"Her husband and two of her brothers were killed at Gettysburg. Her
husband was in Pickett's Division.
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