m let go of the boy and flung
himself into the morris chair, not wanting to go so far with his
punishment as to invite the complaints of his neighbors and the
interference of the police. "Git up out of that!" he commanded, giving
Johnnie a rough nudge with a foot; then to quiet his father, "Now, Pa!
That'll do. Sh! sh! It's all right. The battle's over, and the Yanks've
beat."

But Johnnie was still prone, with the wheel in his embrace, and the old
veteran was sobbing, his wrinkled face glistening with tears, when Mrs.
Kukor opened the door and came doll-walking in.

She was a short little lady, with a compact, inflexible figure that was,
so to speak, square, with rounded-off corners--square, and solid, and
heavy. She had eyes that were as black and round and bright as a
sparrow's, a full, red mouth, and graying hair, abundant and crinkly,
which stood out around her countenance as if charged with electricity.
It escaped the hairpins. Even a knitted brown cap of some weight did not
adequately confine it. Every hair seemed vividly alive.

Her olive face was a trifle pale now. Her birdlike eyes darted from one
to another of the trio, quickly taking in the situation. Too concerned
to make any apology for her unannounced entrance, she teetered hastily
to Big Tom's side.

"Oy! oy!" she breathed anxiously. "Vot iss?"

"Tommie home," faltered old Grandpa. "Tommie home. And the color
sergeant's dead!" He reached his arms out to her like a frightened child
who welcomes company.

Like her eyes, Mrs. Kukor's lips never rested, going even when she
listened, for she had the habit of silently repeating whatever was said.
Thus, with lips and eyes busy, head alternately wagging and nodding
eloquently, and both hands waving, she was constantly in motion. Now,
"The color sergeant's dead!" her mouth framed, and she gave a swift
glance around almost as if she expected to see a fallen flag bearer.

"It's this lazy little rascal again," declared Barber, working his jaws
in baffled wrath.

"So-o-o-o!" She stooped and laid a gentle hand on Johnnie's shoulder.
"Come," she said. "Better Chonnie, he goes in a liddle by Cis's room.
No?" And as the boy, still trembling, got to his knees beside the chair,
she helped him to rise, and half led, half carried him past the stove.

Barber began his defense. "I go out o' here of a mornin'," he
complained, "to do a hard day's work, so's I can pay rent and the
grocer. I leave that kid t' do a few l