"
"Tell me a bit about the fighting," said the Pastor, "I want to
know what it was like--the hero-touch--you understand?"
"Not for me," said Walter, "and certainly not now. Later on I can
tell you something, perhaps. But this is Christmas Day. And war?
Well, Doctor, believe me, war is a horrible thing, full of grime and
pain, madness, agony, hell--a thing that ought not to be. I have
fought alongside of the other fellows to put an end to it, and
now--"
The door swung open, and Sammy, the eldest son of the house, pranced
in.
"Look, Daddy," he cried, "see what Aunt Emily has sent me for
Christmas--a big box of tin soldiers!"
Mayne smiled as the little boy carefully laid the box on his knee;
but there was a shadow of pain in his eyes, and he closed them
for a few seconds, as if his mind were going back, somewhere, far
away. Then he spoke, tenderly, but with a grave voice.
"That's fine, sonny--all those tin soldiers. But don't you think
they ought to belong to me? You have lots of other toys, you know.
Would you give the soldiers to me?"
The child looked up at him, puzzled for a moment; then a flash of
comprehension passed over his face, and he nodded valiantly.
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