And they climbed back on their Pedestals, resuming their
supercilious expression. There I suppose they will stay, no matter
what Diana may think of them.
THE HERO AND TIN SOLDIERS
On December twenty-fifth, 1918, that little white house in the park
was certainly the happiest dwelling in Calvinton. It was simply
running over with Christmas.
You see, there had come to it a most wonderful present, a surprise
full of tears and laughter. Captain Walter Mayne reached home on
Christmas Eve.
For a while they had thought that he would never come back at all.
News had been received that he was grievously wounded in France--shot
to pieces, in effect, leading his men near Chateau-Thierry. His
life hung on the ragged edge of those wounds. But his wife Katharine
always believed that he would pull through. So he did. But he was
lacking a leg, his right arm was knocked out of commission for the
present, and various other _souvenirs de la grande guerre_
were inscribed upon his body.
Then word arrived that he was coming on a transport, with other
wounded, to be patched up in a hospital on Staten Island.
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