Newton Booth Tarkington

Ramsey Milholland Newton Booth Tarkington

When Johnnie comes marching home again, Hurrah! Hurrah! We'll give him a hearty welcome then, Hurrah! Hurrah! The men with the cheers, the boys with shouts, The ladies they will all turn out, And we'll all feel gay, when Johnnie comes marching home again! The old man and the little boy, his grandson, sat together in the shade of the big walnut tree in the front yard, watching the "Decoration Day Parade," as it passed up the long street; and when the last of the veterans was out of sight the grandfather murmured the words of the tune that came drifting back from the now distant band at the head of the procession. "Yes, we'll all feel gay when Johnnie comes marching home again," he finished, with a musing chuckle. "Did you, Grandpa?" the boy asked. "Did I what?" "Did you all feel gay when the army got home?" "It didn't get home all at once, precisely," the grandfather explained. "When the war was over I suppose we felt relieved, more than anything else." "You didn't feel so gay when the war was, though, I guess!" the boy ventured. "I guess we didn't."