But
the society is busy all the time, collecting and storing away the things
that may be needed at a moment's notice. People would contribute, of
course, even if there were no society to take charge of their donations,
but without its wise hands to distribute, much would be lost."
It was from a sad-faced lady in black, who had had two sons drowned in
the Johnstown flood, that Lloyd heard the description of Clara Barton's
five months' labor there. A doctor's wife who had been in the Mt. Vernon
cyclone, and a newspaper man who had visited the South Carolina islands
after the tidal wave, and Charleston after the earthquake, piled up
their accounts of those scenes of suffering, some of them even greater
than the horrors of war, so that Lloyd dreamed of fires and floods that
night. But the horror of the scenes was less, because a baby voice
called cheerfully through them, "Here, daddy, give these to the poor
little boys that are cold and homesick;" and a great St. Bernard, with a
Red Cross on his back, ran around distributing mittens and tin
soldiers.
CHAPTER V
IN AFTER YEARS
Time flies fast under the Locusts. The sixteen years which have passed
since Hero followed his little mistress home have brought many changes.
He is only a tender memory now. A square, white stone stands on the lawn
where "taps" were sounded over him one September day, long ago.
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