The angel's face with inward joy grew bright, And all his figure glowed with heavenly light; He took the golden circlet from his brow And gave the crown to Fermor, answering; "Now! For thou hast met the Master's bidden test, And I have found the man who loves Him best. Not thine, nor mine, to question or reply When He commands us, asking 'how?' or 'why?' He knows the cause; His ways are wise and just; Who serves the King must serve with perfect trust." FOOTNOTE: [9] From "Music and other Poems," copyright, 1904, by Charles Scribner's Sons. LITTLE BOY BLUE EUGENE FIELD The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and stanch he stands; And the little tin soldier is red with rust, And his musket molds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new And the soldier was passing fair, And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. "Now, don't you go till I come," he said; "And don't you make any noise!" So toddling off to his trundle bed He dreamt of the pretty toys. And, as he was dreaming, an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue-- Oh, the years are many, the years are long, But the little toy friends are true. Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place. Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face. And they wonder, as waiting these long years through, In the dust of that little chair, What has become of that Little Boy Blue Since he kissed them and put them there. MARY'S NIGHT RIDE[10] GEORGE W. CABLE Mary Richling, the heroine of the story, was the wife of John Richling, a resident of New Orleans. At the breaking out of the Civil War she went to visit her parents in Milwaukee. About the time of the bombardment of New Orleans she received news of the dangerous illness of her husband, and she decided at once to reach his bedside, if possible. Taking with her, her baby daughter, a child of three years, she proceeded southward, where, after several unsuccessful attempts to secure a pass, she finally determined to break through the lines. About the middle of the night Mary Richling was sitting very still and upright on a large, dark horse that stood champing his Mexican bit in the black shadow of a great oak. Alice rested before her, fast asleep against her bosom. Mary held by the bridle another horse, whose naked saddle-tree was empty. A few steps in front of her the light of the full moon shone almost straight down upon a narrow road that just there emerged from the shadow of woods on either side, and divided into a main right fork and a much smaller one that curved around to Mary's left. Off in the direction of the main fork the sky was all aglow with camp-fires. Only just here on the left there was a cool and grateful darkness.