Walter was in a long chair in the corner; his
face was bronzed, drawn and lined a little by suffering; but steady
and cheerful as ever, with the eager look which had made his students
listen to him when he talked to them about English literature.
"My dear Walter," said the Pastor, "my dear boy, we are so glad
to have you home with us again. We are very proud of you. You are
our Hero."
"Thank you," said Walter, "it is mighty good to be home again. But
there is no hero business about it. I only did what all the other
Americans who went over there did--fought my--excuse me, my best,
against the beastly Germans."
"But your leg," said the Pastor impulsively, "it is gone. Aren't
you angry about that?"
Walter was silent for a moment. Then he answered.
"No, I don't think angry is the right word. You remember that story
about Nathan Hale in the Revolution--'I only regret that I have
but one life to give to my country.' Well, I'm glad that I had two
legs to give for my country, and particularly glad that she only
needed one of them.
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