as the old graveyard, where lots of soldiers was buried. "Do you
know," said Mitch, "them pictures your grandma had of soldiers stay in
my mind. They looked old and grown up with beards and everything; but
after all, they're not so old--and they went away and was killed and
lots of 'em are buried up there--some without names. Think of it, Skeet.
Suppose there should be a war again and you'd go, and be blown up so no
one could know you, and they'd put you in a grave with no stone."

"Ain't that what you want, Mitch?"

"Yes, but you're different, Skeet. And besides, it's different dyin'
natural and bein' buried by the Indians in a lovely place, and bein'
killed like an animal and dumped with a lot of others and no stone. If
every boy felt as I do, they'd never be another war. They couldn't get
me into a war except to defend the country, and it would have to be a
real defense. You know, Skeet, we came here from Missouri, where there
was awful times during the war; and my pa thinks the war could have been
avoided. He used to blame Linkern, but he don't no more. Say, did you
think of Linkern while we were diggin' to-day? I did. I could feel him.
The sky spoke about him, the still air spoke about him, the meadow larks
reminded me of him. Onct I thought I saw him."

"No, Mitch."

"Yes, sir--you see I see things, Skeet, sometimes spirits, and I hear
music most of the time, and the fact is, nobody knows me."

"Nor me," says I. "I'm a good deal lonelier than you are, Mitch Miller,
and nobody understands me either; and I have no girl. Girls seem to me
just like anything else--dogs or chickens--I don't mean no
disrespect--but you know."

By this time we'd got to Petersburg, and up to a certain corner, and
we'd been talking about Linkern so much that a lot of things came to me.
And I says: "See this corner, Mitch? I'll tell you somethin' about
it--maybe to-morrow."

CHAPTER X

The next day as I was helpin' Myrtle bury her doll, Mitch came by and
whistled. I had made a coffin out of a cigar box, and put glass in for a
window to look through at the doll's face, and we had just got the grave
filled. I went out to the front gate and there was Charley King and
George Heigold with Mitch. They were big boys about fourteen and knew a
lot of things we didn't. They hunted with real guns and roasted chickens
they hooked over in Fillmore's woods. They carried slings and knucks and
used to go around with grown men, sometimes Joe