"_Singin'_!"
"Well, the old Triangle knew the music of our tread;
How the peaceful Seminole would tremble in his bed!"
sang the editor.
"I dunno huccome it," exclaimed the old man, "an' dat ain' hyer ner dar;
but, bless Gawd! de young man' happy!" A thought struck him suddenly, and
he scratched his head. "Maybe he goin' away," he said, querulously. "What
become o' ole Zen?" The splashing ceased, but not the voice, which struck
into a noble marching chorus. "Oh, my Lawd," said the colored man, "I pray
you listen at dat!"
"Soldiers marching up the street,
They keep the time;
They look sublime!
Hear them play Die Wacht am Rhein!
They call them Schneider's Band.
Tra la la la, la!"
The length of Main Street and all the Square resounded with the rattle of
vehicles of every kind. Since earliest dawn they had been pouring into the
village, a long procession on every country road. There were great red and
blue farm wagons, drawn by splendid Clydesdales; the elders of the family
on the front seat and on boards laid from side to side in front, or on
chairs placed close behind, while, in the deep beds back of these,
children tumbled in the straw, or peeped over the sides, rosy-cheeked and
laughing, eyes alight with blissful anticipations.
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