s shunned. For he was the only man in all Green
Valley who, when conscripted, would not go to the war but sent a
substitute, one Bob Saunders.

Bob was killed at Gettysburg and nobody mourned him, not even his very
own sister though Green Valley was duly proud of the way he died. Only
on this one day did Green Valley remember the man whose death was the
one and only worth while deed of a misspent life. But on this one day
too Green Valley shunned the man who sent him to his death.

So every Decoration Day William came alone to put a wreath on Bob's
grave and watch the exercises from a distance. When it was over he
went home--alone. And Green Valley let him do it year after year.

He was never known to murmur at Green Valley's annual censure nor did
he ever seem to hope for forgiveness. Green Valley had asked him once
why he had done it and he said that he would have been worthless as a
soldier because he did not believe in killing people and was himself
horribly afraid of being butchered.

Green Valley was appalled at this terrible confession, at the absence
in one of its sons of even the common garden variety of courage. It
did its best for a while to despise William. But it is hard work
despising an honest, quiet, just and lovable man. So gradually William
was allowed to come home into Green Valley's life. And it was only on
this one holiday that he was an outcast. Neither did any one ever
remind William's children of what years ago their father had done. But
of course they knew. Their father had told them himself. They were in
no way cast down. They were all girls who loved their father and did
not believe in war.

In that fashion then, and in that order, Green Valley marched down Main
Street, up Grove, through lovely Maple and very slowly down Orchard
Avenue so that Jeremy Collins, who was bedridden because of a bullet
wound suffered at Shiloh, could see his old comrades with whom he could
no longer march.

All the way down Park Lane the band played its very best and loudest as
if calling from afar to those comrades who lay sleeping beneath the
pines and oaks of the little cemetery. And just as the Green Valley
folks came in sight of the white headstones the Spring Road procession
came tramping over the old bridge, and Elmwood, with its flags and
band, was coming up the new South Road. The three towns met nicely at
the very gates of the cemetery and together made the sort of sound and
present