When James Graham, carpenter, enlisted, it was with the assurance
that if he lost his life his grateful country would provide for his
widow. He did lose it, and Mrs. Graham received, in exchange for a
husband and his small earnings, the sum of $12 a month. But when
you own your own very little house, with a dooryard for chickens
(and such stray dogs and cats as quarter themselves upon you), and
enough grass for a cow, and a friendly neighbor to remember your
potato-barrel, why, you can get along-somehow. In Lizzie Graham's
case nobody knew just how, because she was not one of the
confidential kind. But certainly there were days in winter when the
house was chilly, and months when fresh meat was unknown, and years
when a new dress was not thought of.
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