So his
wife Katharine smiled her way through innumerable entanglements
of red tape and went to nurse him. Then she set her steady hand to
pull all the wires necessary to get him discharged and sent home.
Christmas was in her heart and she would not be denied. So it came
to pass that the one-legged Hero was in his own house on the happy
day, and joy was bubbling all around him.
When the old Pastor entered, late in the afternoon, the Christmas-tree
was twinkling with lights, the children swarming and buzzing all over
the place, so that he was dazed for a moment. There were Walter's
mother and his aunt and his sisters-in-law, boys and girls of various
sizes, and a jubilant and entrancing baby. The Pastor took it all
in, and was glad of it, but his mind was on the Hero.
Katharine, who always understood everything, whispered softly:
"Walter is waiting to see you, Doctor. He is in his study, just
across the hall."
_Waiting?_ Well, what can a man whose right leg has been cut
off above the knee, and who has not yet been able to get an artificial
one--what can he do but wait?
The room was rather dimly lighted; brilliance is not good for the
eyes of the wounded.
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