ever mind; that's right. It's jest that onct--
onct we was boys, onct we was boys--with legs.
But never mind. An old boy ain't a bugle.
_Onct_, though, he was: and all God's life a-snortin'
outn his nostrils, and Hell's mischief laughin'
outn his eyes, and all the mornin' winds
a-blowin' _Glory Hallelujahs_, like
brass music, from his mouth.--But never mind!
'T ain't nothin': boys in blue ain't bugles now.
Old brass gits rusty, and old underpinnin'
gits rotten, and trapped chipmunks lose their legs.

(_With smouldering fire_)

But jest the same--

(_His face convulses and he cries out, terribly--straining
in his chair to rise._)

--for holy God, that band!
Why don't they stop that band!

POLLY
(_going_)

I'll run and tell them.
Sit quiet, dear. I'll be right back.

(_Glancing back anxiously,_ POLLY _disappears outside. The
approaching band begins to play "John Brown's Body."_
LINK _sits motionless, gripping his chair._)

LINK
_Set quiet!_
Dead folks don't set, and livin' folks kin stand,
and Link--he kin set quiet.--God a'mighty,
how kin he set, and them a-marchin' thar
with old John Brown? Lord God, you ain't forgot
the boys, have ye? the boys, how they come marchin'
home to ye, live and dead, behind old Brown,
a-singin' Glory to ye! Jest look down:
thar's Gettysburg, thar's Cemetery Ridge:
don't say ye disremember them! And thar's
the colors. Look, he's picked 'em up--the sergeant's
blood splotched 'em some--but thar they be, still flyin'!
Link done that: Link--the spry boy, what they call
Chipmunk: you ain't forgot his double-step,
have ye?

(_Again he cries out, beseechingly_)

My God, why do You keep on marchin'
and leave him settin' here?
(_To the music outside, the voices of children begin to sing
the words of "John Brown's Body." At the sound,_
LINK'S _face becomes transformed with emotion, his
body shakes, and his shoulders heave and straighten._)
No!--I--_won't_--set!

(_Wresting himself mightily, he rises from his chair, and stands._)

Them are the boys that marched to Kingdom-Come
ahead