THE 
 
 K^^:^:.£^as3»^^)i.- 
 
 TEMPLE BAILEY 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Prof, Guy E, Grantham 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 3503.A293T5 1919 
 
 ...The tin soldier 
 
 3 1924 022 242 816 
 
The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022242816 
 
I SHALL COME BACK FOR MORE 
 
THE 
 
 TIN SOLDIER 
 
 BY 
 
 TEMPLE BAILEY . 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 GLORY OF YOUTH, 
 CONTRARY MARY, Etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 F. VAUX WILSON 
 
 r 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISH ERS 
 
COPYRIGHT 
 19 18 BY 
 THE PENN 
 PUBLISHING 
 COMPANY 
 
 
 First printing November, 1918. 
 Second printing January, 1919. 
 Third printing March, 1919. 
 Fourth printing May, 1919. 
 Sixth printing September, 1919. 
 
 The Tin Soldier 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK ONE 
 ON THE SHELF 
 
 CHAJPTEB PAGE 
 
 I The Toy Shop 9 
 
 II Cinderella 28 
 
 III Deusilla 39 
 
 IV The Question 50 
 
 V The Slacker 65 
 
 VI The Promise 76 
 
 VII Hilda 89 
 
 VIII The Shadowed Room . . . .102 
 
 IX Rose-Color! 115 
 
 X A Man with Money 132 
 
 XI Hilda Wears a Crown .... 143 
 
 XII When the Morning Stars Sang . 154 
 
 XIII Are Men Made Only for This? . 166 
 
 XIV Shining Souls 186 
 
 XV Hilda Breaks the Rules . . . 198 
 
 XVI Jean-Joan 215 
 
 XVII The White Cat 225 
 
 BOOK TWO 
 
 THROUGH THE CRACK 
 
 XVIII The Broad Highway . . 
 XIX Hilda Shakes a Tree . . 
 
 245 
 266 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 XX The Vision op Bbave Women . . 278 
 
 XXI Deeey's Wife 302 
 
 XXII Jean Plays Peoxy 313 
 
 BOOK THEEE 
 THE BUGLE CALLS 
 
 XXIII The Empty House 327 
 
 XXIV The Singing Woman . . . .358 
 XXV White Violets 376 
 
 XXVI The Hope of the Woeld . . .387 
 
 XXVII Maeching Feet . . ■ . . . .403 
 
 XXVIII Six Days 427 
 
 XXIX " He Came to the Waes ! " . . . 448 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " I shall eome back for more " . . Frontispiece 
 
 " I haven't anything left — for yon " . .74 
 
 " If anything shonld happen, you will remem- 
 ber? " .'251 
 
 " These are my jewels " ., c« >« ■.., ». a . 442 
 
BOOK ONE 
 
 ON THE SHELF 
 
 "I cannot bear it," the Tin Soldier said, standing on the 
 shelf, " I cannot bear it. It is so melancholy here. Let me 
 rather go to the wars and lose my arms and legs." 
 
 Hans Andebsen : The Old House. 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 THE TOY SHOP 
 
 The lights shining through the rain on the smooth 
 street made of it a golden river. 
 
 The shabby old gentleman navigated unsteadily 
 until he came to a corner. A lamp-post ofEered safe 
 harbor. He steered for it and took his bearings. 
 On each side of the glimmering stream loomed dark 
 houses. A shadowy blot on the triangle he knew to 
 be a church. Beyond the church was the intersect- 
 ing avenue. Down the avenue were the small ex- 
 clusive shops which were gradually encroaching on 
 the residence section. 
 
 The shabby old gentleman took out his watch. 
 It was a fine old watch, not at all in accord with 
 the rest of him. It was almost six. The darkness 
 of the November afternoon had come at five. The 
 shabby old gentleman swung away from the lamp- 
 post and around the corner, then bolted trium- 
 phantly into the Toy Shop. 
 
 " Here I am," he said, with an attempt at buoy- 
 ancy, and sat down. 
 
TBE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " Oh," said the girl behind the counter, " you are 
 wet." 
 
 " Well, I said I'd come, didn't I? Eain or shine? 
 In five minutes I should have been too late — shop 
 closed — " He lurched a little towards her. 
 
 She backed away from him. " You — you are — 
 wet — won't you take cold — ? " 
 
 " ifever take cold — glad to get here — " He 
 smiled and shut his eyes, opened them and smiled 
 again, nodded and recovered, nodded and came to 
 rest with his head on the counter. 
 
 The girl made a sudden rush for the rear door of 
 the shop. " Look here, Emily. Poor old duck ! " 
 
 Emily, standing in the doorway, surveyed the 
 sleeping derelict scornfully. "You'd better put 
 him out. It is six o'clock, Jean — " 
 
 "He was here yesterday — and he was furious 
 because I wouldn't sell him any soldiers. He said 
 he wanted to make a bonfire of the Prussian ones — 
 and to buy the French and English ones for his 
 son," she laughed. 
 
 " Of course you told him they were not for sale." 
 
 "Yes. But he insisted. And when he went 
 away he told me he'd come again and bring a lot of 
 money — " 
 
 The shabby old gentleman, rousing at the psycho- 
 logical moment, threw on the counter a roll of bills 
 and murmured brokenly : 
 
 10 
 
TME TOY SHOP 
 
 " ' Ten little soldiers fighting on the Une, 
 
 One was blown to gloiy, and then there were nine — I * " 
 
 His head fell forward and again he slept. 
 
 " Disgusting," said Emily Bridges ; " of course 
 we've got to get him out." 
 
 Getting him out, however, offered difficulties. 
 He was a very big old gentleman, and they were 
 little women. 
 
 " We might call the police — " 
 
 "Oh, Emily— " 
 
 " Well, if you can suggest anything better. We 
 must close the shop." 
 
 "We might put him in a taxi — and send him 
 home." 
 
 " He probably hasn't any home." 
 
 "Don't be so pessimistic — he certainly has 
 money." 
 
 " You don't know where he got it. You can't be 
 too careful, Jean — " 
 
 The girl, touching the old man's shoulder, asked, 
 " Where do you live? " 
 
 He murmured indistinctly. 
 
 "Where?" she bent her ear down to him. 
 
 Waking, he sang : 
 
 " Two little soldiers, blowing up a Hun — 
 The darned thing — exploded — 
 And then there was' — One — " 
 
 "Oh, Emily, did you ever hear anything so 
 funny? " 
 
 11 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Emily couldn't see the funny side of it. It was 
 tragic and it was disconcerting. " I don't know 
 what to do. Perhaps you'd better call a taxi." 
 
 " He's shivering, Emily. I believe I'll make him 
 a cup of chocolate." 
 
 " Dear child, it will be a lot of trouble — " 
 
 « I'd like to do it — really." 
 
 " Very well." Emily was not unsympathetic, but 
 she had had a rather wearing life. Her love of toys 
 and of little children had kept her human, other- 
 wise she had a feeling that she might have hard- 
 ened into chill spinsterhood. 
 
 As Jean disappeared through the door, the elder 
 woman moved about the shop, setting it in order 
 for the night. It was a labor of love to put the 
 dolls to bed, to lock the glass doors safely on the 
 puffy rabbits and woolly dogs and round-eyed cats, 
 to close the drawers on the tea-sets and Lilliputian 
 kitchens, to shut into boxes the tin soldiers that 
 their queer old customer had craved. 
 
 For more than a decade Emily Bridges had kept 
 the shop. Originally it had been a Thread and 
 Needle Shop, supplying people who did not care to 
 go downtown for such wares. 
 
 Then one Christmas she had put in a tew 
 things to attract the children. The children had 
 come, and gradually there had been more toys 
 — until at last she had found herself the owner 
 of a Toy Shop, with the thread and needle and 
 
 12 
 
TEE TOY SHOP 
 
 other staid articles stuck negligently in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 Yet in the last three years it had been hard to 
 keep up the standard which she had set for herself. 
 Toys were made in Germany, and the men who had 
 made them were in the trenches, the women who 
 had helped were in the fields — the days when the 
 bisque babies had smiled on happy working-house- 
 holds were over. There was death and darkness 
 where once the rollicking clowns and dancing dolls 
 had been set to mechanical music. 
 
 Jean, coming back with the chocolate, found 
 Emily with a great white plush elephant in her 
 arms. His trappings were of red velvet and there 
 was much gold; he was the last of a line of assorted 
 sizes. 
 
 There had always been a white elephant in Miss 
 Emily's window. Painfully she had seen her sup- 
 ply dwindle. For this last of the herd, she had a 
 feeling far in excess of his value, such as a collector 
 might have for a rare coin of a certain minting, or 
 a bit of pottery of a pre-historic period. 
 
 She had not had the heart to sell him. " I may 
 never get another. And there are none made like 
 him in America." 
 
 " After the war — " Jean had hinted. 
 
 Miss EmUy had flared, " Do you thtuk I shall buy 
 toys of Germany after this war? " 
 
 " Good for you, Emily. I was afraid you might." 
 13 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 But tonight a little pensively Miss Emily 
 wrapped the old mastodon up in a white cloth. " I 
 believe I'll take him home with me. People are al- 
 ways asking to buy him, and it's hard to explain." 
 
 " I should say it is. I had an awful time with 
 him," she indicated the old gentleman, " yesterday." 
 
 She set the tray down on the counter. There 
 was a slim silver pot on it, and a thiu green cup. 
 She poked the sleeping man with a tentative finger. 
 " Won't you please wake up and have some choco- 
 late." 
 
 Rousing, he came slowly to the fact of her hos- 
 pitality. "My dear young lady," he said, with 
 a trace of courtliness, "you shouldn't have 
 troubled — " and reached out a trembling hand for 
 the cup. There was a ring on the hand, a seal riag 
 with a coat of arms. As he drank the chocolate 
 eagerly, he spilled some of it on his shabby old 
 coat. 
 
 He was facing the door. Suddenly it opened> 
 and his cup fell with a crash. 
 
 A young man came in. He, too, was shabby, but 
 not as shabby as the old gentleman. He had on a 
 dilapidated rain-coat, and a soft hat. He took off 
 his hat, showing hair that was of an almost silvery 
 fairness. His eyebrows made a dark pencilled line 
 — his eyes were gray. It was a striking face, given 
 a slightly foreign air by a small mustache. 
 
 He walked straight up to the old man, laid his 
 14 
 
THE TOY SHOP 
 
 hand on Ms shoulder, "Hello, Dad." Then, anx- 
 iously, to the two women, " I hope he hasn't 
 troubled you. He isn't quite — himself." 
 
 Jean nodded. " I am so glad you came. We 
 didn't know what to do." 
 
 " I've been looking for him — " He bent to pick 
 up the broken cup. " I'm dreadfully sorry. You 
 must let me pay for it." 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 " Please." He was looking at it. " It was valu- 
 able? " 
 
 "Yes," Jean admitted, "it was one of Emily's 
 precious pets." 
 
 " Please don't think any more about it," Emily 
 begged. "You had better get your father home 
 at once, and put him to bed with a hot water 
 bottle." 
 
 Now that the shabby youth was looking at her 
 with troubled eyes, Emily found herself softening 
 towards the old gentleman. Simply as a derelict 
 she had not cared what became of him. But as the 
 father of this son, she cared. 
 
 " Thank you, I will. We must be going. Dad." 
 
 The old gentleman stood up. " Wait a minute — 
 I came for tin soldiers — Derry — " 
 
 " They are not for sale," Miss Emily stated. 
 " They are made in Germany. I can't get any 
 more. I have withdrawn everything of the kind 
 from my selling stock." 
 
 15 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 The shabby old gentleman murmured disconso- 
 lately. 
 
 " Oh, Emily," said the girl behind the counter, 
 " don't you think we might — ? " 
 
 Derry Drake glanced at her with sudden interest. 
 She had an unusual voice, quick and thrilling. It 
 matched her beauty, which was of a rare quality — 
 white skin, blue eyes, crinkled hair like beaten 
 copper. 
 
 " I don't see," he said, smUrng for the first time, 
 " what Dad wants of tin soldiers." 
 
 " To make 'em fight," said the shabby old man, 
 "we've got to have some fighting blood in the 
 family." 
 
 The smile was struck from the young man's face. 
 Out of a dead silence, he said at last, " You were 
 very good to look after him. Come, Dad." His 
 voice was steady, but the fiush that had flamed in 
 his cheeks was stUl there, as he put his arm about 
 the shaky old man and led him to the door. 
 
 " Thank you both again," he said from the thresh- 
 old- Then, with his head high, he steered his un- 
 steady parent out into the rain. 
 
 It was late when the two women left the shop. 
 Miss Emily, struggling down the block with her 
 white elephant, found, in a few minutes, harbor in 
 her boarding house. But Jean lived in the more 
 fashionable section beyond Dupont Circle. Her 
 father was a doctor with a practice among the older 
 
 16 
 
THE TOY SHOP 
 
 district people, who, in spite of changing adminis- 
 trations and fluctuating populations, had managed 
 to preserve their family traditions and social iden- 
 tity. 
 
 Dr. McSenzie did not always dine at home. But 
 tonight when Jean came down he was at the head 
 of the table. He was a big, handsome man with 
 crinkled hair like his daughter's, copper-colored 
 and cut close to his rather classic head. 
 
 Hilda Merritt was also at the table. She was a 
 trained nurse, who, haying begun life as the Doc- 
 tor's offlce-girl, had, gradually, after his wife's 
 death, assumed the management of his household. 
 Jean was not fond of her. She had repeatedly 
 begged that her dear Emily might take Miss Mer- 
 ritt's place. 
 
 " But Hilda is much younger," her father had 
 contended, " and much more of a companion for 
 you." 
 
 " She isn't a companion at all. Daddy. We 
 haven't the same thoughts." 
 
 But Hilda had stayed on, and Jean had sought 
 her dear Emily's company in the little shop. 
 Sometimes she waited on customers. Sometimes 
 she worked in the rear room. It was always a 
 great joke to feel that she was really helping. In 
 all her life her father had never let her do a useful 
 thing. 
 
 The table was lighted with candles, and there was 
 17 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 a silver dish of fruit in the center. The dinner was 
 well-served by a trim maid. 
 
 Jean ate very little. Her father noticed her lack 
 of appetite, "Why don't you eat your dinner, dear? " 
 
 " I had chocolate at Emily's." 
 
 " I don't think she ought to go there so often," 
 Miss Merritt complained. 
 
 " Whv not? " Jean's voice was like the crack of 
 a whip. 
 
 " It is so late when you get home. It isn't safe." 
 
 " I can always send the car for you, Jean," her 
 father said. " I don't care to have you out alone." 
 
 "Having the car isn't like walking. You know 
 it isn't, Daddy, with the rain against your cheeks 
 and the wind — " 
 
 Dr. McKenzie's quick imagination was fired. 
 His eyes were like Jean's, lighted from within. 
 
 " I suppose it is all right if she comes straight 
 up Connecticut Avenue, Hilda? " 
 
 Miss Merritt had long white hands which lay 
 rather limply on the table. Her arms were bare. 
 She was handsome in a red-cheeked, blond fashion. 
 
 " Of course if you think it is all right, Doctor — " 
 
 " It is up to Jean. If she isn't afraid, we needn't 
 worry." 
 
 " I'm not afraid of anything." 
 
 He smiled at her. She was so pretty and slim 
 and feminine in her white gown, with a string of 
 pearls on her white neck. He liked pretty things 
 
 18 
 
THE TOY SHOP 
 
 and he liked her fearlessness. He had never been 
 afraid. It pleased him that his daughter should 
 share his courage. 
 
 " Perhaps, if I am not too busy, I will come for 
 you the next time you go to the shop. Would 
 walking with me break the spell of the wind and 
 wet? " 
 
 "You know it wouldn't. It would be quite — 
 heavenly — Daddy." 
 
 After diuner, Doctor McKenzie read the evening 
 paper. Jean sat on the rug in front of the fire and 
 knitted for the soldiers. She had made sweaters 
 until it seemed sometimes as if she saw life through 
 a haze of olive-drab. 
 
 " I am going to knit socks next," she told her 
 father. 
 
 He looked up from his paper. " Did you ever 
 stop to think what it means to a man over there 
 when a woman says * I'm going to knit socks '? " 
 
 Jean nodded. That was one of the charms which 
 her father had for her. He saw things. It was 
 tired soldiers at this moment, marching in the cold 
 and needing — socks. 
 
 Hilda, having no vision, remarked from the cor- 
 ner where she sat with her book, " There's no sense 
 in all this killing — I wish we'd kept out of it." 
 
 " Wasn't there any sense," said little Jean from 
 the hearth rug, "in Bunker Hill and Valley 
 Forge? " 
 
 19 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Hilda evaded that. « Anyhow, I'm glad they're 
 stopped playing the < Star-Spangled Banner ' at the 
 movies. I'm tired of standing up." 
 
 Jean voiced her scorn. "I'd stand until I 
 dropped, rather than miss a note of it." 
 
 Doctor McKenzie interposed : 
 
 " ' The time has come,' the Walrus said, 
 ' To talk of many things. 
 Of shoes — and ships — and sealing wax — 
 Of cabbages — and kings — ' " 
 
 "Oh, Daddy," Jean reproached him, "I should 
 think you might be serious." 
 
 " I am not just twenty — and I have learned to 
 bank my fires. And you mustn't take Hilda too 
 literally. She doesn't mean all that she says, do 
 you, Hilda? " 
 
 He patted Miss Merrltt on the shoulder as he 
 went out. Jean hated that. And Hilda's blush. 
 
 With the Doctor gone, Hilda shut herself up in 
 the office to balance her books. 
 
 Jean went on with her knitting. Hilda did not 
 knit. When she was not helping in the ofl&ce or in 
 the house, her hands lay idle in her lap. 
 
 Jean's mind, as she worked, was on those long 
 white hands of Hilda's. Her own hands had short 
 fingers like her father's. Her mother's hands had 
 been slender and transparent. Hilda's hands were 
 not slender, they had breadth as well as length, and 
 
 20 
 
THE TOY SHOP 
 
 the skin was thick. Eyen the whiteness was like 
 the flesh of a fish, pale and flabby. 'So, there was 
 no beauty at all in Hilda's hands. 
 
 Once Jean had criticised them to her father. " I 
 think they are ugly." 
 
 " They are useful hands, and they have often 
 helped me." 
 
 " I like Emily's hands much better." 
 
 " Oh, you and your Emily," he had teased. 
 
 Yet Jean's words came back to the Doctor the 
 next night, as he sat in the Toy Shop waiting to 
 escort his daughter home. 
 
 Miss Emily was serving a customer, a small boy 
 in a red coat and baggy trousers. A nurse stood 
 behind the small boy, and played, as it were. 
 Chorus. She wore a blue cape and a long blue bow 
 on the back of her hat. 
 
 The small boy was having the mechanical toys 
 wound up for him. He expressed a preference for 
 the clowns, but didn't like the colors. 
 
 "I want him boo'," he informed Miss Emily, 
 " he's for a girl, and she yikes boo'." 
 
 " Blue," said the nurse austerely, " you know 
 your mother doesn't like baby talk, Teddy." 
 
 " Ble-yew — " said the small boy, carefully. 
 
 "Blue clowns," Miss Emily stated, sympatheti- 
 cally, " are hard to get. Most of them are red. I 
 have the nicest thing that I haven't shown you. 
 But it costs a lot—" 
 
 21 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " It's a birfday present," said the small boy. 
 
 " Birthday," from the Chorus. 
 
 " Be-yirthday," was the amended version, " and I 
 want it nice." 
 
 Miss Emily brought forth from behind the glass 
 doors of a case a small green silk head of lettuce. 
 She set it on the counter, and her fingers found the 
 key, then clickety-click, clickety-click, she wound it 
 up. It played a faint tune, the leaves opened — a 
 rabbit with a wide-frilled collar rose in the center. 
 He turned from side to side, he waggled his ears, 
 and nodded his head, he winked an eye; then he 
 disappeared, the leaves closed, the music stopped. 
 
 The small boy was entranced. " It's boo-ful — " 
 
 " Beautiful — " from the background. 
 
 " Be-yewtiful — . I'll take it, please." 
 
 It was while Miss Emily was winding the toy 
 that Dr. McKenzie noticed her hands. They were 
 young hands, quick and delightful hands. They 
 hovered over the toy, caressingly, beat time to the 
 music, rested for a moment on the shoulders of the 
 little boy as he stood finally with upturned face and 
 tied-up parcel. 
 
 " I'm coming adain," he told her. 
 
 " Again -^." 
 
 " Ag-yain — ," patiently. 
 
 "I hope you will." Miss Emily held out her 
 hand. She did not kiss him. He was a boy, and 
 she knew better. 
 
 22 
 
THE TOY SHOP 
 
 When he had gone, importantly, Emily saw the 
 Doctor's eyes upon her. " I hated to sell it," she 
 said, with a sigh ; " goodness knows when I shall get 
 another. But I can't resist the children — " 
 
 He laughed. " You are a miser, Emily." 
 
 He had known her for many years. She was his 
 wife's distant cousin, and had been her dearest 
 friend. She had taught in a private school before 
 she opened her shop, and Jean had been one of her 
 pupils. Since Mrs. McKenzie's death it had been 
 Emily who had mothered Jean. 
 
 The Doctor had always liked her, but without en- 
 thusiasm. His admiration of women depended 
 largely on their looks. His wife had meant more 
 to him than that, but it had been her beauty which 
 had first held him. 
 
 Emily Bridges had been a slender and diffident 
 girl. She had kept her slenderness, but she had 
 lost her diffidence, and she had gained an air of dis- 
 tinction. She dressed well, her really pretty feet 
 were always carefully shod and her hair carefully 
 waved. Yet she was one of the women who occupy 
 the background rather than the foreground of men's 
 lives — the kind of woman for whom a man must 
 be a Columbus, discovering new worlds for himself. 
 
 " You are a miser," the Doctor repeated. 
 
 "Wouldn't you be, under the same circum- 
 stances? If it were, for example, surgical instru- 
 ments — anaesthetics — ? And you knew that when 
 
 23 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 they were gone you wouldn't get any more? " 
 
 He did not like logic in a woman. He wanted 
 to laugh and tease. " Jean told me about the white 
 elephant." 
 
 " Well, what of it? I haye him at home — safe. 
 In a big box — with moth-balls — " Her lips 
 twitched. *' Oh, it must seem funny to anyone who 
 doesn't feel as I do." 
 
 The door of the rear room opened, and Jean came 
 in, carrying in her arms an assortment of strange 
 creatures which she set in a row on the floor in 
 front of her father. 
 
 "There?" she asked, "what do you think of 
 them?" 
 
 They were silhouettes of birds and beasts, made 
 of wood, painted and varnished. But such ducks 
 had never quacked, such geese had never waddled, 
 such dogs had never barked — fantastic as a night- 
 mare — too long — too broad — exaggerated out of 
 all reality, they might have marched with Alice 
 from Wonderland or from behind the Looking 
 Glass. 
 
 " I made them. Daddy." 
 
 " You — ." 
 
 " Yes, do you like them ? " 
 
 " Aren't they a bit — uncanny? " 
 
 " We've sold dozens ; the children adore them." 
 
 "And you haven't told me you were doing it. 
 Why?" 
 
THE TOY SHOP 
 
 "I wanted you to see them first — a surprise. 
 We call them the Lovely Dreams, ajid we made the 
 ducks green £pid the pussy cats pink because that's 
 the way the children see them in their own little 
 minds — " 
 
 She was radiant. "And I am making money, 
 Daddy. EmUy had such a hard time getting toys 
 after the war began, so we thought we'd try. And 
 we worked out these. I get a percentage on all 
 sales." 
 
 He frowned. " I am not sure that I like that." 
 
 " Why not? " 
 
 " Don't I give you money enough? " 
 
 " Of course. But this is different." 
 
 " How different? " 
 
 " It is my own. Don't you see? " 
 
 Being a man he did not see, but Miss EmUy did. 
 " Any work that is worth doing at all is worth be- 
 ing paid for. You know that. Doctor." 
 
 He did know it, but he didn't like to have a 
 woman tell him. " She doesn't need the money." 
 
 " I do. I am giving it to the Eed C5ross. Please 
 don't be stuffy about it. Daddy." 
 
 " Am I stuffy? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He tried to redeem himself by a rather tardy en- 
 thusiasm and succeeded. Jean brought out more 
 Lovely Dreams, until a grotesque procession 
 stretched across the room. 
 
 25 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "Tomorrow," she announced, triumphantly, 
 " we'll put them in the window, and you'll see the 
 children coming." 
 
 As she carried them away, Doctor McKenzie said 
 to Emily, " It seems strange that she should want 
 to do it." 
 
 " Not at all. She needs an outlet for her ener- 
 gies." 
 
 " Oh, does she? " 
 
 " If she weren't your daughter, you'd know it." 
 
 On the way home he said, " I am very proud of 
 you, my dear." 
 
 Jean had tucked her arm through his. It was 
 not raining, but the sky was full of ragged clouds, 
 and the wind blew strongly. They felt the push of 
 it as they walked against it. 
 
 " Oh," she said, with her cheek against his rough 
 coat, " are you proud of me because of my green 
 ducks and my pink pussy cats? " 
 
 But she knew it was more than that, although he 
 laughed, and she laughed with him, as if his pride 
 in her was a thing which they took lightly. But 
 they both walked a little faster to keep pace with 
 their quickened blood. 
 
 Thus their walk became a sort of triumphant 
 progress. They passed the British Embassy with 
 the Lion and the Unicorn watching over it in the 
 night; they rounded the Circle and came suddenly 
 upon a line of motor cars. 
 
 26 
 
TEE TOY SHOP. 
 
 " The Secretary is dining a rather important com- 
 mission," the Doctor said; "it was in the paper. 
 They are to have a war feast — three courses, no 
 wine, and limited meats and sweets." 
 
 They stopped for a moment as the guests de- 
 scended from their cars and swept across the side- 
 walk. The lantern which swung low from the 
 arched entrance showed a spot of rosy color — the 
 velvet wrap of a girl whose knot of dark curls 
 shone above the ermine collar. A Spanish comb, 
 encrusted with diamonds, was stuck at right angles 
 to the knot. 
 
 Beside the young woman in the rosy wrap walked 
 a young man in a fur coat who topped her by a 
 head. He had gray eyes and a small upturned mus- 
 tache — Jean uttered an exclamation. 
 
 " What's the matter? " her father asked. 
 
 " Oh, nothing — " she watched the two ascend the 
 stairs. " I thought for a moment that I knew him." 
 
 The great door opened and closed, the rosy wrap 
 and the fur coat were swallowed up. 
 
 " Of course it couldn't be," Jean decided as she 
 and her father continued on their wonderful way. 
 
 " Couldn't be what, my dear? " 
 
 " The same man. Daddy," Jean said, and changed 
 the subject. 
 
 27 
 
GHAPTEK n 
 
 CINDEEELLA 
 
 The next time that Jean saw Him was at the 
 theater. She and her father went to worship at 
 the shrine of Maude Adams, and He was there. 
 
 It was Jean's yearly treat. There were, of 
 course, other plays. But since her very-small-girl- 
 hood, there had been always that red-letter night 
 when " The Little Minister " or " Hop-o'-my- 
 Thumb " or " Peter Pan " had transported her 
 straight from the real world to that whimsical, 
 tender, delightful realm where Barrie reigns. 
 
 Peter Pan had been the climax ! 
 
 Do you believe in fairies? 
 
 Of course she did. And so did Miss Emily. 
 And so did her father, except in certain backslid- 
 ing moments. But Hilda didn't. 
 
 Tonight it was "A Kiss for Cinderella" — ! 
 The very name had been enough to set Jean's 
 cheeks burning and her eyes shiuing. 
 
 " Do you remember. Daddy, that I was six when 
 I fir^t saw her, and she's as young as ever? " 
 
 "Younger." It was at such moments that the 
 Doctor was at his best. The youth in him matched 
 
 28 
 
CINDERELLA 
 
 the youth in his daughter. They were boy and girl 
 together. 
 
 And now the girl on the stage, whose undying 
 youth made her the interpreter of dreams for those 
 who would never grow up, wove her magic spells of 
 tears and laughter. 
 
 It was not until the first satisfying act was over 
 that Jean drew a long breath and looked about her. 
 
 The house was packed.\ The old theater /with 
 its painted curtain had notjiing modem to /ecom- 
 mend it. But to Jean's mind it could not have 
 been improved. She wanted not One thing changed. 
 For years and years she had sat^n her favorite seat 
 in the seventh row of the parquet and had loved 
 the golden proscenium arch, the painted goddesses, 
 the red velvet hangings — she had thrilled to the 
 voice and gesture of the artists who had played to 
 please her. There had been " Wang " and " The 
 Wizard of Oz " ; " Eobih Hood " ; the tall comedian 
 of " Casey at the Bat " ; the short comedian who 
 had danced to fame on his crooked legs ; Mrs. Fiske, 
 most incomparable Becky; Mansfield, Sothem — 
 some of them, alas, already gods of yesterday ! 
 
 At first there had been matinees with her mother 
 — " The Little Princess," over whose sorrows she 
 had wept in the harrowing first act, having to be 
 consoled with chocolates and the promise of 
 brighter things as the play progressed. 
 
 Now and then she had come with Hilda. But 
 29 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 never when she could help it. " I'd rather stay at 
 home," she had told her father. 
 
 "But — why— ?" 
 
 " Because she laughs in the wrong places." 
 
 Her father never laughed in the wrong places, 
 and he squeezed her hand in those breathless mo- 
 ments where words would have been desecration, 
 and wiped his eyes frankly when his feelings were 
 stirred. 
 
 " There is no one like you. Daddy," she had told 
 him, " to enjoy things." And so it had come about 
 that he had pushed away his work on certain nights 
 and, sitting besid^- her, had forgotten the sordid 
 and suffering world which he knew so well, and 
 which she knew not at all. 
 
 As her eyes swept the house, they rested at last 
 with a rather puzzled look on a stout old gentlemau 
 with a wide shirt-front, who sat in the right-hand 
 box. He had white hair and a red face. 
 . Where had she seen Mm? 
 
 There were women in the box, a sparkling com- 
 pany in white and silver, and black and diamonds, 
 and green and gold. There was a big bald-headed 
 man, and quite in the shadow back of them all, a 
 slender youth. 
 
 It was when the slender youth leaned forward 
 to speak to the vision in white and silver that Jean 
 stared and stared again. 
 
 She knew now where she had seen the old gentle- 
 30 
 
CINDERELLA 
 
 man with the wide shirt front. He was the shabby 
 old gentleman of the Toy Shop! And the youth 
 was the shabby son ! 
 
 Yet here they were in state and elegance ! As if 
 a fairy godmother had waved a wand — ! 
 
 The curtain went up on a feverish little slavey 
 with her mind set on going to the ball, on Our Po- 
 liceman wanting a shave, on the orphans in boxes, 
 on bated potato offered as hospitality by a half- 
 starved hostess, on a waiting Cinderella asleep on 
 a frozen dooi-step. 
 
 And then the ball — and Mona Lisa, and the 
 Duchess of Devonshire, and The Girl with the 
 Pitcher and the Girl with the Muff — and Cinder- 
 ella in azure tulle and cloth-of-gold, dancing with 
 the Prince at the end like mad — . 
 
 Then the bell boomed — the lights went out — 
 and after a little moment, one saw Cinderella, 
 stripped of her finery, staggering up the stairs. 
 
 Jean cried and laughed, and cried again. Yet 
 even in the midst of her emotion, she found her eyes 
 pulled away from that appealing figure on the stage 
 to those faintly illumined figures in the box. 
 
 When the curtain went down, her father, most 
 surprisingly, bowed to the old gentleman and re- 
 ceived in return a genial nod. 
 
 " Oh, do you know him? " she demanded. 
 
 "Yes. It is General Drake." 
 
 " Who are the others? " 
 31 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " I am not sure about the women. The boy in 
 the back of the box is his son, DeRhymer Drake." 
 
 Derry! 
 
 " Oh," — she had a feeling that she was not being 
 quite candid with her father — " he's rather swank, 
 isn't he, Daddy?" 
 
 "Heavens, what slang! I don't see where you 
 get it. He is rich, if that's what you mean, and 
 it's a wonder he isn't spoiled to death. His mother 
 is dead, and the General is his own worst enemy; 
 eats and drinks too much, and thinks he can get 
 away with it." 
 
 " Are they very rich — ? " 
 
 " Millions, with only Derry to leave it to. He's 
 the child of a second wife." 
 
 Oh, lovely, lovely, lovely Cinderella, could your 
 godmother do more than this? To endow two 
 rained-on and shabby gentlemen with pomp and 
 circumstance ! 
 
 Jean tucked her hand into her father's, as if to 
 anchor herself against this amazing tide of revela- 
 tion. Then, as the auditorium darkened, and the 
 curtain went up, she was swept along on a wave 
 of emotions in which the play world and the real 
 world were inextricably mixed. 
 
 And now Our Policeman discovers that he is " ro- 
 mantical." Cinderella finds her Prince, who isn't 
 in the least the Prince of the fairy tale, but much 
 nicer under the circumstance — and the curtain 
 
 32 
 
CINDERELLA 
 
 goes down on a glass slipper stuck on the toes of 
 two tiny feet and a cockney Cinderella, quite con- 
 tent. 
 
 " Well," Jean drew a long breath. '' It was the 
 loveliest ever. Daddy," she said, as he helped her 
 with her cloak. 
 
 And it was while she stood there in that cloak 
 of heavenly blue that the young man in the box 
 looked down and saw her. 
 
 He batted his eyes. 
 
 Of course she wasn't real . 
 
 But whep he opened them, there she was, smiling 
 up into the face of the man who had helped her into 
 that heavenly garment. 
 
 It came to him, quite suddenly, that his father 
 had bowed to the man — the big man with the 
 classic head and the air of being at ease with him- 
 self and the world. 
 
 He did things to the velvet and ermine wrap that 
 he was holding, which seemed to satisfy its owner, 
 then he gripped his father's arm, "Dad, who is 
 that big man down there — with the red head — 
 the one who bowed to you? " 
 
 " Dr. McKenzie, Bruce McKenzie, the nerve spe- 
 , cialist — " 
 
 Of course it was something to know that, but one 
 didn't get very far. 
 
 " Let's go somewhere and eat," said the General, 
 and that was the end of it. Out of the tail of his 
 
 33 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 eye, Derry Drake saw the two figures v/ith the cop- 
 per-colored heads move down the aisle, to be finally 
 merged into the indistinguishable stream of hu- 
 manity which surged towards the door. 
 
 Jean and her father did not go to supper at the 
 big hotel around the corner as was their custom. 
 
 "I've got to get to the hospital before twelve," 
 the Doctor said. " I am sorry, dear — " 
 
 " It doesn't make a bit of difference. I don't 
 want to eat," she settled herself comfortably be- 
 side him in the car. " Oh, it is snowing, Daddy, 
 how splendid — " 
 
 He laughed. " You little bundle of — ecstasy — 
 what am I going to do with you ? " 
 
 "Love me. And isn't the snow — wonderful?" 
 
 " Yes. But everybody doesn't see it that way." 
 
 " I am glad that I do. I should hate to see noth- 
 ing in all this miracle, but — slush tomorrow — " 
 
 " Yet a lot of life is just — slush tomorrow — . 
 I wish you need never find that out — ." 
 
 When Jean went into the house, and her father 
 drove on, she found Hilda waiting up for her. 
 
 " Father had to go to the hospital." 
 
 " Did you have anything to eat? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I thought I might cook some oysters." 
 
 "I am really not hungry." Then feeling that 
 her tone was ungracious, she tried to make amends. 
 " It was nice of you to think of it — " 
 
 34 
 
CINDERELLA 
 
 i " Your father may like them. I'll have them hot 
 for him." 
 
 Jean lingered uncertainly. She didn't want the 
 food, but she hated to leave the field to Hilda. She 
 unfastened her cloak, and sat down. " How are 
 you going to cook them? " 
 
 " Panned — with celery." 
 
 " It sounds good — I think I'll stay down, 
 HUda." 
 
 " As you wish." 
 
 The Doctor, coming in with his coat powdered 
 with snow, found his daughter in a big chair in 
 front of the library fire. 
 
 " I thought you'd be in bed." 
 
 " Hilda has some oysters for us." 
 
 " Fine — I'm starved." 
 
 She looked at him, meditatively, " I don't see how 
 you can be." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Oh, on such a night as this. Daddy? Food 
 seems superfluous." 
 
 He sat down, smiling. " Don't ever expect to 
 feed any man over forty on star-dust. Hilda knows 
 better, don't you, Hilda? " 
 
 Hilda was bringing in the tray. There was a 
 copper chafing-dish and a percolator. She wore 
 her nurse's outfit of white linen. She looked well 
 in it, and she was apt to put it on after dinner, 
 when she was in charge of the office. 
 
 35 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " You know better than to feed a man on star- 
 dust, don't you? " the Doctor persisted. 
 
 Hilda lifted the cover of the chafing-dish and 
 stirred the contents. "Well, yes," she smiled at 
 him, "you see, I have lived longer than Jean. 
 She'll learn." 
 
 "I don't want to learn," Jean told her notly. 
 " I want to believe that — that — " Words failed 
 her. 
 
 " That men can live on star-dust? " her father 
 asked gently. " Well, so be it. We won't quarrel 
 with her, will we, HUda? " 
 
 The oysters were very good. Jean ate several 
 with healthy appetite. Her father, twinkling, 
 teased her, " You see — ? " 
 
 She shrugged, "All the same, I didn't need 
 them." 
 
 Hilda, putting things back on ihe tray, remarked : 
 "There was a message from Mrs. Witherspoon. 
 Her son is on leave for the week end. She wants 
 you for dinner on Saturday night — both of you." 
 
 Doctor McKenzie tapped a finger on the table 
 though tfullfy, " Oh, does she? Do you want to go, 
 Jeanie? " 
 
 " Yes. Don't you? " 
 
 " I am not sure. I should like to build a fence 
 about you, my dear, and never let a man look over. 
 Ealph Witherspoon wants to marry her, Hilda, 
 what do you think of that? " 
 
 86 
 
CINDERELLA 
 
 " Well, why not? " Hilda laid her long hands 
 flat on the table, leaning on them. 
 
 Jean felt little prickles of irritability. "Be- 
 cause I don't want to get married, Hilda." 
 
 Hilda gave her a sidelong glance, " Of course you 
 do. But you don't know it." 
 
 She went out with her tray. Jean turned, white- 
 faced, to her father, " I wish she wouldn't say such 
 things — " 
 
 " My dear, I am afraid you don't quite do her 
 justice." 
 
 " Oh, well, we won't talk about her. I've got to 
 go to bed, Daddy." 
 
 She kissed him wistfully. " Sometimes I think 
 there are two of you, the one that likes me, and the 
 one that likes Hilda." 
 
 With his hands on her shoulders, he gave an easy 
 laugh. "Who knows? But you mustn't have it 
 on your mind. It isn't good for you." 
 
 " I shall always have you on my mind — ." 
 
 " But not to worry about, baby. I'm not worth 
 it—." 
 
 Hilda came in with the evening paper. " Have 
 you read it. Doctor? " 
 
 " No." He glanced at the headlines and his face 
 grew hard. " More frightfulness," he said, storm- 
 ily. " If I had my way, it Should be an eye for an 
 eye, a tooth for a tooth. For every man they have 
 tortured, there should be one of their men — tor- 
 
 37 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 tured. For every child mutilated, one of theirs — 
 mutilated. For every woman — ." 
 
 He stopped. Jean had caught hold of his arm. 
 " Don't, Daddy," she said thickly, " it makes me 
 afraid of you." She covered her face with her 
 hands. 
 
 He drew her to him and smoothed her hair in 
 silence. Over her head he glanced at Hilda. She 
 was smiling inscrutably into the fire. 
 
 38 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 DKUSILLA 
 
 The thing that Derry Drake had on his mind the 
 next morning was a tea-cup. There were other 
 things on his mind — things so heavy that he turned 
 with relief to the contemplation of cups. 
 
 Stuck all over the great house were cabinets of 
 china — his father had collected and his mother 
 had prized. Berry, himself, had not cared for any 
 of it until this morning, but when Bronson, the old 
 man who served him and had served his father for 
 years, came in with his breakfast, Derry showed 
 him a broken bit which he had brought home with 
 him two nights before. " Have we a cup like this 
 anywhere in the house, Bronson? " 
 
 " There's a lot of them, sir, in the blue room, in 
 the wall cupboard." 
 
 " I thought so, let me have one of them. If Dad 
 ever asks for it, send him to me. He broke the 
 other, so it's a fair exchange." 
 
 He had it carefully wrapped and carried it down- 
 town with him. The morning was clear, and the 
 sun sparkled on the snow. As he passed through 
 
 39 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Dupont Circle he found that a few children and 
 their nurses had braved the cold. One small boy 
 in a red coat ran to Derry. 
 
 " Where are you going, Cousin Derry? " 
 
 " Down town." 
 
 " To-day is Margaret-Mary's birf-day. I am go- 
 ing to give her a wabbit — ." 
 
 "Rabbit, Buster. You'd better say it quick. 
 Nurse is on the way." 
 
 " Kab-yit. What are you going to give her? " 
 
 " Oh, must I give her something? " 
 
 " Of course. Mother said you'd forget it. I 
 wanted to telephone, and she wouldn't let me." 
 
 " Would a doll do? " 
 
 "I shouldn't like a doll. But she is littler. 
 And you mustn't spend much money. Mother said 
 I spent too much for my rab-yit. That I oUght to 
 save it for Our Men. And you mustn't eat what you 
 yike — we've got a card in the window, and there 
 wasn't any bacon for bref-fus." 
 
 " Breakfast." 
 
 " Yes. An' we had puffed rice and prunes — " 
 
 Nurse, coming up, was immediately on the job. 
 " You are getting mud on Mr. Derry's spats, Teddy. 
 Stand up like a little gentleman." 
 
 "He is always that, Nurse, isn't he? And I 
 should not have on spats at this hour in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 Derry smUed to himself as he left them. He 
 40 
 
DRVBILLA 
 
 knew that Nurse did not approve of him. He had 
 a way as it were of aiding and abetting Teddy. 
 
 But as he went on the smile faded. There were 
 many soldiers on the street, many uniforms, flags 
 of many nations draping doorways where were 
 housed the men from across the sea who were work- 
 ing shoulder to shoulder with America for the win- 
 ning of the war — . Washington had taken on a 
 new aspect. It had a waked-up look, as if its lazy 
 days were over, and there were real things to do. 
 
 The big church at the triangle showed a Eed 
 Cross banner. Within women were making ban- 
 dages, knitting sweaters and socks, sewing up the 
 long seams of shirts and pajamas. A few years ago 
 they had worshipped a Christ among the lilies. 
 They saw him now on the battlefield, crucified 
 again in the cause of humanity. 
 
 It seemed to Derry that even the civilians walked 
 with something of a martial stride. Men, who for 
 years had felt their strength sapped by the monot- 
 ony of Government service, were revived by the 
 winds of patriotism which swept from the four cor- 
 ners of the earth. Women who had lost youth and 
 looks in the treadmill of Departmental life held up 
 their heads as if their eyes beheld a new vision. 
 
 Street cars were crowded, things were at sixes 
 and sevens ; red tape was loose where it should have 
 been tight and tight where it should have been 
 loose. Little men with the rank of officer sat in 
 
 41 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 swivel chairs and tried to direct big things; big 
 men, without rank, were tied to the trivial. Many, 
 many things were wrong, and many, many things 
 were right, as it is always when war comes upon a 
 people unprepared. 
 
 And in the midst of all this clash and crash and 
 movement and achievement, Derry was walking to 
 a toy shop to carry a tea-cup ! 
 
 He found Miss Emily alone in the big front room. 
 
 She did not at once recognize him. 
 
 " You remember I was in here the other night — 
 and you wouldn't sell — tin soldiers — ." 
 
 She flushed a little. " Oh, with your father? " 
 
 " Yes. He's a dear old chap — ." 
 
 It was the best apology he could make, and she 
 loved Mm for it. 
 
 He brought out the cup and set it on the counter. 
 "It is like yours? " 
 
 " Yes.'' But she did not want to take it. 
 
 " Please. I brought it on purpose. We have a 
 dozen." 
 
 " Of these? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But it will break your set." 
 
 " We have oodles of sets. Dad collects — you 
 know — There are dishes enough in the house to 
 start a crockery shop." 
 
 She glanced at him curiously. It was hard to 
 reconcile this slim young man of fashion with the 
 
 42 
 
DRV8ILLA 
 
 shabby boy of the other night. But there were the 
 lad's eyes, smiling into hers ! 
 
 " I should like, too, if you don't mind, to find a 
 toy for a very little girl. It is her birthday, and I 
 had forgotten." 
 
 " It is dreadful to forget," Miss Emily told him, 
 " children care so much." 
 
 " I have never forgotten before, but I had so much 
 on my mind." 
 
 She brought forth the Lovely Dreams — " They 
 have been a great success." 
 
 He chose at once a rose-colored cat and a yellow 
 owl. The cat was carved impressionistically in a 
 series of circles. She was altogether celestial and 
 comfortable. The owl might have been lighted by 
 the moon. 
 
 " But why? " Derry asked, " a rose-colored cat? " 
 
 " Isn't a white cat pink and puffy in the firelight? 
 And a child sees her pink and puffy. If we don't 
 it is because we are blind." 
 
 " But why the green ducks and the amethyst 
 cows?" 
 
 " The cows are coming tinkling home in the twi- 
 light — the green ducks swim under the willows. 
 And they are longer and broader because of the 
 lights and shadows. That's the way you saw them 
 when you were six." 
 
 " By Jove," he said, staring, " I believe I did." 
 
 " So there's nothing queer about them to the 
 43 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 children — you ought to see them listen when Jean 
 tells them." 
 
 Jean — ! 
 
 " She — she tells the chUdren? " 
 
 " Yes. Charming stories. I am having them put 
 iu a little pamphlet to go with the toys." 
 
 "She's Dr. McKenzie's daughter, isn't she? I 
 saw her last night at the play." 
 
 " Yes. Such a dear chUd, She is usually here 
 in the afternoon." 
 
 He had hoped until then that Jean might be hid- 
 den in that rear room, locked up with the dolls in 
 a drawer, tucked away in a box — he had a blank 
 feeling of the futility of his tea-cup — 
 
 Then, suddenly, the gods being in a gay mood, 
 Jean arrived ! 
 
 At once his errand justified itself. She wore a 
 gray squirrel jacket and a hat to match — and her 
 crinkled copper-colored hair came out from under 
 the hat and over her ears. She carried a little muff. 
 Her eyes — the color of her cheeks ! A man might 
 walk to the world's end for less than this — ! 
 
 He was buying, he told her, pink pussy cats and 
 yellow owls. Had she liked the play last night? 
 He was glad that she adored Maude Adams. He 
 adored — Maude Adams. Did she remember 
 " Peter Pan "? Yes, he had gone to everything — 
 glorified matinees — glorified everything ! Wasn't 
 it remarkable that his father knew her father? 
 
 44 
 
DRVSILLA 
 
 And she was Jean McKenzie, and he was Derry 
 Drake ! 
 
 At last there was no excuse for him to linger. " I 
 shall come back for more — Lovely Dreams," he 
 told Miss Emily, and got away. 
 
 Alone in the shop the two women looked at each 
 other. Then Emily said, " Jean, darling, how 
 dreadful it must be for him." 
 
 " Dreadful — ." 
 
 " With such a father—." 
 
 " Oh, you mean — the other night." 
 
 " Yes. He isn't happy, Jean." 
 
 " How do you know? " 
 
 " He has lonesome eyes." 
 
 « 6h,-Emily." 
 
 " Well, he has, and it must be dreadful." 
 
 How dreadful it was neither of them could really 
 know. Derry, having lunched with a rather im- 
 portant committee, went to Drusilla Gray's in the 
 afternoon for a cup of tea. He was called almost 
 at once to the telephone. Bronson was at the other 
 end. " I am sorry, Mr. Derry, but I thought you 
 ougjit to know — " 
 
 Derry, with the sick feeling which always came 
 over him with the knowledge of what was ahead, 
 said steadily, " That's all right, Bronson — which 
 way did he go? " 
 
 " He took the Cabin John car, sir. I tried to get 
 on, but he saw me, and sent me back, and I didn't 
 
 45 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 like to make a scene. Shall I follow m a taxi? " 
 
 " Yes ; I'll get away as soon as I can and call you 
 
 up out there." 
 
 He went back to Drusilla. •* Sing for me,'' he said. 
 
 Drusilla Gray lived with her Aunt Marion in an 
 
 apartment which overlooked Rock Creek, Marion 
 
 Gray occupied herself with the writing of books. 
 
 Drusilla had varying occupations. Just now she 
 
 was interested in interior decoration and in the 
 
 war. 
 
 She was also interested in trying to flirt with 
 Derry Drake. " He won't play the game," she told 
 her aunt, " and that's why I like it — the game, I 
 mean." 
 
 " You like him because he hasn't surrendered." 
 " No. He is a rather perfect thing of his kind, 
 like a bit of jewelled Sevres or Sang de ioeuf. ^And 
 he doesn't know it. And that's another thing in 
 his favor — his modesty. He makes me think of a 
 little Austrian prince I once met at Palm Beach; 
 who wore a white satin shirt with a high collar of 
 gold embroidery, and white kid boots, and wonder- 
 ful rings — and his nails long like a Chinaman's. 
 At first we laughed at him — called him effemi- 
 nate — . But after we knew him we didn't laugh. 
 There was the blood in him of kings and rulers — 
 and presently he had us on our knees. And Derry's 
 like that. When you first meet him you look over 
 his head; then you find yourself looking up — " 
 
 46 
 
DRVmLLA 
 
 Marion smiled. " You've got it bad, Drusilla." 
 
 " If you think I am in love with him, I'm not. 
 I'd like to be, but it wouldn't be of any use. He's a 
 Galahad — a pocket-edition Galahad. If he, ever 
 falls in love, there'll be more of romance in it than 
 I can give him." 
 
 It was to this Drusilla that Derry had come. He 
 liked her immensely. And they had in common a 
 great love of music. 
 
 She had tea for him, and some rather strange lit- 
 tle spiced cakes on a red lacquer tray. There was 
 much dark blue and vivid red in the room, with 
 white woodwork. Drusilla herself was in unre- 
 lieved red. The effect was startling but stimulat- 
 ing. 
 
 " I am not sure that I like it," she said, " the red 
 and white and blue, but I wanted to see whether 
 I could do it. And Aunt Marion doesn't care. 
 The red things can all be taken out, and the rest 
 toned down. But I have a feeling that a man 
 couldn't sit in this room and be a slacker." 
 
 " No, he couldn't," Derry agreed. " You'd better 
 hang out a recruiting sign, Drusilla." 
 
 " I should if they would let me. The best I can 
 do is ask them to tea and sing for them." 
 
 It was right here that Bronson's message had 
 broken in, and Derry, coming back from the tele- 
 phone, had said, " Sing for me." 
 
 Drusilla lighted two red candles on the piano in 
 47 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 the alcove. She began with a medley of patriotic 
 songs. With her voice never soaring above a re- 
 pressed note, she managed to give the effect of cul- 
 minating emotion, so that when she reached a cli- 
 max in the Marseillaise, Derry rose, thrilled, to his 
 feet. 
 
 She whirled around and faced him. " They all do 
 that," she said, with a glowing air of triumph. 
 " It's when I get them." 
 
 " Why did you give the Marseillaise last? " 
 
 " It has the tramp in it of marching men — I love 
 it." 
 
 " But why not the ' Star Spangled Banner '? " 
 
 " That's for sacred moments. I hate to make it 
 common — but I'll sing it — now — " 
 
 Still standing, he listened. Drusilla held her 
 voice to that low note, but there was the crash ot 
 battle in the music that she made, the hush of 
 dawn, the cry of victory — 
 
 " Dear girl, you are a genius." 
 
 " No, I am not. But I can feel things — and I 
 can make others feel — " 
 
 She rose and went to the window. " There's a 
 new moon," she said, " come and see — " 
 
 The curtains were not drawn, and the apartment 
 was high up, so that they looked out beyond the 
 hills to a sky in which the daylight blue had faded 
 to a faint green, and saw the .little moon and one 
 star, 
 
 m 
 
DBV8ILLA 
 
 " Berry," Drusilla said, softly. "Derry, wliy 
 aren't you fighting? " 
 
 It was the question he had dreaded. He had 
 seen it often in her eyes, but never before had she 
 voiced it. 
 
 " I can't tell you, Drusilla, but there's a reason 
 — a good one. God knows I would go if I could." 
 
 The passion in his voice convinced her. 
 
 " Don't you know I'd be in it if I had my way. 
 But I've got to stay on the shelf like the tin soldier 
 in the fairy tale. Do you remember, Drusilla,? 
 And people keep asking me — why? " 
 
 " I shouldn't have asked it, Derry? " 
 
 " You couldn't know. And you had a right to 
 ask — everybody has a right — and I can't answer." 
 
 She laid her hand on his shoulder. " When I 
 was a little girl," she said, softly, " I used to cry — 
 because I was so sorry for the — tin soldier — " 
 
 " Are you sorry for me, Drusilla? " 
 
 " DreflBiy sorry." 
 
 They stood in silence among the shadows, with 
 only the red candles burning. Then Derry said, 
 heartily, "You are ^he best friend that a fellow 
 ever had, Drusilla." 
 
 And that was as far as he would play the game '. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE QUESTION 
 
 Whatever else might be said of General Drake, 
 his Bacchanalian adventures were those of a gen- 
 tleman. Not for him were the sinister streets and 
 the sordid taverns of the town. When his wild 
 moods came upon him, he struck out straight for 
 open country. Up hill and down dale he trudged, 
 a knight of the road, finding shelter and refresh- 
 ment at wayside inns, or perchance at some friendly 
 farm. 
 
 The danger lay in the lawless folk whom he 
 might meet on the way. Unshaven and unshorn he 
 met them, travelling endlessly along the railroad 
 tracks, by highways, through woodland paths. 
 They slept by day and journeyed by night. By re- 
 versing this program, the General as a rule avoided 
 them. But not always, and when the little lad 
 Derry had followed his strange quests, he had come 
 now and then upon his father, telling stories to an 
 unsavory circle, lord for the moment of them all. 
 
 " Come, Dad," Derry would say, and when the 
 men had growled a threat, he had flung defiance at 
 them. " My mother's motor is up the road with 
 
 50 
 
THE QUESTION 
 
 two men in it. If I don't get back in five minutes 
 they will follow me." 
 
 The General had always been tractable in the 
 hands of his son. He adored him. It was only of 
 late that he had found anything to criticise. 
 
 Derry, driving along the old Conduit road in the 
 crisp darkness, wondered how long that restless 
 spirit would endure in that ageing body. He shud- 
 dered as he thought of the two men who were his 
 father — one a polished gentleman ruling his world 
 by the power of his keen mind and of his money, 
 the other a self-made vagabond — pursuing an aim- 
 less course. 
 
 The stars were sharp in a sable sky, the river was 
 a thin line of silver, the hills were blotted out. 
 
 Bronson was waiting by the big bridge. " He is 
 singing down there," he said, " on the bank. Can 
 you hear him? " 
 
 Leaning over the parapet, Derry listened. The 
 quavering voice came up to him, 
 
 ' ' He has sounded forth the — trumpet — that shall never call 
 
 — retreat — 
 He is sifting out the — hearts of men — iefore his judgment — 
 
 seat — 
 Oh, he swift, my soul, to answer him I Be jubilant, my feet — ' " 
 
 Poor old soldier, beating time to the triumphant 
 tune, stumbling over the words — held pathetically 
 to the memory of those days when he had marched 
 
 * 51 
 
THE TIN. SOLDIER 
 
 in the glory of Ms youth, strength and spirit given 
 to a mighty cause ! 
 
 The pity of it wrung Berry's heart. " Couldn't 
 you do anything with him, Bronson? " 
 
 " No, sir, I tried, but he sent me home. Told me 
 I was discharged." 
 
 They might have laughed over that, but it was 
 not the moment for laughter. In the last twenty 
 years, the General had discharged Bronson more 
 than once, always without the least idea of being 
 taken at his word. To have lost this faithful serv- 
 ant would have broken his heart. 
 
 " I see. It won't do for you to show yourself 
 just now. You'd better go home, and have his hot 
 bath ready." 
 
 " Are you sure you can bring him, Mr. Derry? " 
 
 " Sure, Bronson, thank you." 
 
 Bronson walked a few steps and came back. 
 " It is freezing cold, sir, you'd better take the rug 
 from the car." 
 
 Laden thus, Derry made Ms way down. His 
 flashlight revealed the General, a humped-up figure 
 on the bank of a little frozen stream, 
 
 " Go home, Derry," he said, ^s he recognized his 
 son. " I want to sit by myself." 
 
 His tone was truculent. 
 
 Derry attempted lightness. " You'll be a lump 
 of ice in the morning, Dad. We'd have to chip you 
 off in chunks." 
 
 52 
 
THE QUESTION 
 
 " You go home with Bronsoii; son. He is up 
 there. Go home — " 
 
 He had once commanded a brigade. There were 
 moments when he was hard pushed that he remem- 
 bered it. 
 
 " Go home, Derry." 
 
 " Not till you come with me." 
 
 " I'm not coming." 
 
 Derry spread his rug on the icy ground. " Sit on 
 this and wrap up your legs — you'll freeze out 
 here." 
 
 His father did not move. " I am puf -f eckly com- 
 fa'ble." 
 
 The General rarely got his syllables tangled. 
 Things at times happened to his legs, but he usually 
 controlled his tongue. 
 
 "I am puf-feckly comfa'ble — go home, Derry." 
 
 " I can't leave you, Dad." 
 
 " I want to be left." 
 
 He had never been quite like this. There had 
 been moods of rebellion, but usually he had yielded 
 himself to his son's guidance. 
 
 " Dad, be reasonable." 
 
 " I'd rather sit here and freeze — than go home 
 with a — coward." 
 
 It was out at last. It struck Derry like a whip- 
 lash. He sprang to his feet. "You don't mean 
 that, Dad. You can't mean it." 
 
 " I do mean it." 
 
 53 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " I am not a coward, and you know it." 
 " Then why don't you go and fight? " 
 Silence! The only sound the chuckle of living 
 waters beneath the ice of the little stream. 
 " Why don't you go and fight like other men? " 
 The emphasis was insulting. Derry had only 
 one idea — to escape from that taunting voice. 
 " You'll be sorry for this, Dad," he flung out at 
 white heat, and scrambled up the bank. 
 
 When he reached the bridge, he paused. He 
 couldn't leave that old man down there to die of 
 the cold — the wind was rising and rattled in the 
 bare trees. 
 
 But Derry's blood was boUing. He sat down on 
 the parapet, thick blackness all about him. What- 
 ever had been his father's shortcomings, they had 
 always clung together — and now they were sep- 
 arated by words which had cut like a knife. It 
 was useless to tell himself that his father was not 
 responsible. Out of the heart the mouth had 
 spoken. 
 
 And there were other people who felt as his 
 father did — there had been Drusilla's questions, 
 the questions of others — there had been, too, 
 averted faces. He saw the little figure in the cloak 
 of heavenly blue as she had been the other night, 
 — in her gray furs as she had been this morning — ; 
 would her face, too, be turned from him? 
 Words formed themselves in his mind. He 
 54 
 
THE QUESTION 
 
 yearned to toss back at his father the taunt that 
 was on his lips. To fling it over the parapet, to 
 shout it to the world — ! 
 
 He had never before felt the care of his father a 
 sacrifice. There had been humiliating moments, 
 hard moments, but always he had been sustained by 
 a sense of the rightness of the thing that he was 
 doing and of its necessity. 
 
 Then, out of the darkness, came a shivering old 
 voice, " Derry, are you there? " 
 
 " Yes, Dad." ^ 
 
 " Come down — and help me — " 
 
 The General, alone in the darkness, had suffered 
 a reaction. He felt chilled and depressed. He 
 wanted warmth and light. 
 
 Mounting steadily with his son's arm to sustain 
 him, he argued garrulously for a sojourn at the 
 nearest hostelry, or for a stop at Chevy Chase. 
 He would, he promised, go to bed at the Club, and 
 thus be rid of Bronson. Bronson didn't know his 
 place, he would have to be taught — 
 
 Arriving at the top, he was led to Derry's car. 
 He insisted on an understandiug. If he got in, 
 they were to stop at the Club 
 
 " No," Derry said, " we won't stop. We are go- 
 ing home.'' 
 
 Derry had never commanded a brigade. But he 
 ,had in him the blood of one who had. He pos- 
 sessed also strength and determination tracked at 
 
 55 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 the moment by righteous indignation. He lifted 
 his father bodily, put him in the car, took his seat 
 beside him, shut the door, and drove off. He felt 
 remarkably cheered as they whirled along at top 
 speed. 
 
 The General, yielding gracefully to the inevi- 
 table, rolled himself up in the rugs, dropped his 
 head against the padded cushions and, soothed by 
 the warmth, fell asleep. 
 
 He waked to find himself being guided up his 
 own stairway by Bronson and the butler. 
 
 " Put him into a hot bath, Bronson," Derry di- 
 rected from the threshold of his father's room, and 
 the General, quite surprisingly, made no protest. 
 He had his bath, hot drinks to follow, and hot water 
 bags in his bed. When he jdrifted off finally, into 
 uneasy dreams, he was watched over by Bronson as 
 if he had been a baby. 
 
 Derry, looking at his watch, was amazed to find 
 that the evening was yet early. He had lived emo- 
 tionally through a much longer period than that 
 marked by the clocks. 
 
 He had no engagements. He had found himself 
 of late shrinking a little from his kind. The clubs 
 and the hotels were crowded with oflcers. Private 
 houses, hung with service flags, paid homage to 
 men in uniform. He was aware that he was, per- 
 haps, unduly sensitive, but it was not pleasant to 
 
 56 
 
THE QUESTION 
 
 meet the inquiring glance, the guarded question. 
 He was welcomed outwardly as of old. But, then, 
 he had a great deal of money. People did not like 
 to offend his father's son. But if he had not been 
 his father's son? What then? 
 
 He dined alone and in state in the great dining 
 room. The portraits of his ancestors looked down 
 on him. There was his mother's grandfather, who 
 had the same fair hair and strongly marked brows. 
 He had been an officer in the English army, and 
 wofe the picturesque uniform of the period. There 
 were other men in uniform — ancestors — . 
 
 But of what earthly use was an ancestor in uni- 
 form to the present situation? It would have been 
 better to have inherited Quaker blood. Derry 
 smiled whimsically as he thought how different he 
 might have felt if there had been benignant men in 
 gray with broad-brimmed hats, staring down. 
 
 But to grant a man an inheritance of fighting 
 blood, and then deny him the opportunity to exer- 
 cise his birthright, was a sort of grim joke which 
 he could not appreciate. 
 
 For dessert a great dish of fruit was set before 
 him. He chose a peach ! 
 
 Peaches in November ! The men in the trenches 
 had no peaches, no squabs^ no mushrooms, no ava- 
 cados — for them bully beef and soup cubes, a 
 handful of dates, or by good luck a bit of chocolate. 
 
 57 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 He left the peach untasted — he had a feeling that 
 he might thus, vicariously, atone for the hardships 
 of those others who fought. 
 
 After dinner he walked downtown. Passing Dr. 
 McKenzie's house he was constrained to loiter. 
 There were lights tipstairs and down. Was Jean 
 McKenzie's room behind the two golden windows 
 above the balcony? Was she there, or in the room 
 below, where shaded lamps shone softly among the 
 shadows? 
 
 He yearned to go in — to speak with her — to 
 learn her thoughts — to read her heart and mind. 
 As yet he knew only the message of her beauty. 
 He fancied her as having exquisite sensibility, 
 sweetness, gentleness, perceptions as vivid as her 
 youth and bloom. 
 
 The front door opened, and Jean and her father 
 came out. Berry's heart leaped as he heard her 
 laugh. Then her clear voice, " Isn't it a wonderful 
 night to walk, Daddy? " and her father's response, 
 " Oh, you with your ecstasies ! " 
 
 They went briskly down the other side of the 
 street. Derry found himself following, found him- 
 self straining his ear for that light laugh, found 
 himself wishing that it were he who walked beside 
 her, that her hand was tucked into his arm as it was 
 tucked into her father's. 
 
 Their destination was a brilliantly illumined pal 
 ace on F Street, once a choice little playhouse, now 
 
 58 
 
THE QUESTION 
 
 given over to screen productions. The house was 
 packed, and Jean and her father, following the 
 flashlight of the usher, found harbor finally in a 
 box to the left of the stage. Derry settled himself 
 behind them. He was an eavesdropper and he 
 knew it, but he was loath to get out of the range of 
 that lovely laughter. 
 
 Yet observing the closeness of their companion- 
 ship he felt himself lonely — they seemed so satis- 
 fied to be together — so sufficient without any 
 other. Once Dr. McKenzie got up and went out. 
 When he came back he brought a box of candy. 
 Derry heard Jean's "Oh, you darling — " and 
 thrilled with a touch of jealousy. 
 
 He wondered a little that he should care — his 
 experiences with women had heretofore formed gay 
 incidents in his life rather than serious epochs. He 
 had carried in his heart a vision, and the girl in the 
 Toy Shop had seemed to make that vision suddenly 
 real. 
 
 The play which was thrown on the screen had to 
 do with France ; with Joan of Arc and the lover who 
 failed her, with the reincarnation of the lover and 
 Mb opportunity, after long years, to redeem himself 
 from the blot of cowardice. 
 
 In the stillness, Derry heard the quick-drawn 
 breath of the girl in front of him. "Daddy, 1 
 should hate a man like that." 
 
 " But, my dear — " 
 
 59 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 " I should hate him, Daddy." 
 
 Th^ play was over. 
 
 The lights went up, and Jean stood revealed. 
 She was pinning on her hat. She saw Derry and 
 smiled at him. "Daddy," she said, "it is Mr. 
 Drake — you know him." 
 
 Dr. McKenzie held out his hand. " How do you 
 do? So you young people have met,- eh? " 
 
 " In Emily's shop, Daddy. He — he came to buy 
 my Lovely Dreams." 
 
 The two men laughed. "As if any man could 
 buy your dreams, Jeanie," her father said, " it 
 would take the wealth of the world." 
 
 " Or no wealth at all," said Derry quickly. 
 
 They walked otit together. As they passed the 
 portal of the gilded doof, Derry felt that the mo- 
 ment of parting had come. 
 
 " Oh, look here, Doctor," he said, desperately, 
 " won't you and your daughter take pity on me — 
 and join me at supper? There's dancing at the 
 Willard and all that — Miss McKenzie might enjoy 
 it, and it would be a life-saver for me." 
 
 Light leaped into Jean's eyes. " Oh, Daddy — " 
 
 " Would you like it, dear? " 
 
 " You know I should. So would you. And you 
 haven't any stupid patients, have you? " 
 
 " My patients are always ^tupid, Drake, when 
 they take me away from her. Otherwise she is 
 
 60 
 
TEE QUESTION 
 
 sorry for them." He looked at his watch. " When 
 I get to the hotel I'll telephone to Hilda, and she'll 
 know where to find us." 
 
 It was the Doctor who talked as they went along 
 — the two young people were quite ecstatically 
 silent. Jean was between her father and Derry. 
 As he kept step with her, it seemed to him that no 
 woman had ever walked so lightly; she laughed a 
 little now and then. There was no need for words. 
 
 While her father telephoned, they sat together 
 for a moment in the corridor. She unfastened her 
 coat, and he saw her white dress and pearls. " Am 
 I hue enough for an evening like this? " she asked 
 him ; " you see it is just the dress I wear at home." 
 
 " It seems to me quite a superlative frock — and 
 I am glad that your hat is lined with blue." 
 
 " Why? " 
 
 " Your cloak last night was heavenly, and now 
 this — it matches your eyes — " 
 
 " Oh." She sat very still. 
 
 " Shouldn't I have said that? I didn't think — " 
 
 " I am glad you didn't think — " 
 
 "Oh, are you?" 
 
 " Yes. I hate people ^who weigh their words — " 
 The color came up finely into her cheeks. 
 
 When Dr. McKenzie returned, Derry found a 
 'table, and gave his order. 
 
 Jean refused to consider anything but an ice. 
 "She doesn't eat at such moments," Doctor Mc- 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Kenzie told his young host. " She lives on star- 
 dust, and she wants me to live on star-dust. It is 
 our only quarrel. She'll think me sordid because 
 I am going to have broiled lobster." 
 
 Derry laughed, yet felt that it was after all a 
 serious matter. His appetite, too, was gone. He 
 too wanted only an ice! The Doctor's order was, 
 however, sufficiently substantial to establish a bal- 
 ance. 
 
 " May I dance with her? " Derry asked, as the 
 music brought the couples to their feet. 
 
 " I don't usually let her. Not in a place like this. 
 But her eyes are begging — and I spoil her, Drake." 
 
 Curious glances followed the progress of the 
 young millionaire and his pretty partner. But 
 Derry saw nothing but Jean. She was like thistle- 
 down in his arms, she was saying tremendously in- 
 teresting things to him, in her lovely voice. 
 
 " I cried all through the scene where Cinderella 
 sits on the door-step. Yet it really wasn't so very 
 sad — was it?" 
 
 " I think it was sad. She was such a little 
 starved thing — starved for love." 
 
 "Yes. It must be dreadful to be starved for 
 love." 
 
 He glanced down at her. " You have never felt 
 it?" 
 
 "No, except after my mother died — I wanted 
 her—" 
 
 62 
 
THE QUESTIOIf 
 
 " My mother is dead, too." 
 
 The Doctor sat alone at the head of the table aud 
 ate his lobster ; he ate war bread and a green salad, 
 and drank a pot of black coffee, and was at peace 
 with the world. Star-dust was all very well for 
 those young things out there. He laughed as they 
 came back to him. "Each to his own joye — the 
 lobster was very good, Drake." 
 
 They hardly heard him. Jean had a rosy parf ait 
 with a strawberry on top. Derry had another. 
 
 They talked of the screen play, and the man who 
 had failed. If he had really loved her he would 
 not have failed, Jean said. 
 
 " I think he loved her," was Derry's opinion ; 
 " the spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak." 
 
 Jean shrugged. " Well, Fate was kind to him — 
 to give him another chance. Oh, Daddy, tell him 
 the story the little French woman told at the meet- 
 ing of the Medical Association." 
 
 " You should have heard her tell it — but I'll do 
 my best. Her eloquence brought us to our feet. 
 It was when she was in Paris — just after the 
 American forces arrived. She stopped at the curb 
 one morning to buy violets of an ancient dame. 
 She found the old flower vendor inattentive and, 
 looking for the cause, she saw across the street a 
 young American trooper loitering at a corner. 
 Suddenly the old woman snatched up a bunch of 
 lilies, ran across the street, thrust them into the 
 
 63 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 hands of the astonished soldier. 'Take them, 
 American,' she said. 'Take the lilies of France 
 and plant them in Berlin.' " 
 
 " Isn't that wonderful? " Jean breathed. 
 
 "Everything is wonderful to her," the Doctor, 
 told Derry, " she lives on the heights." 
 
 " But the lilies of France, Daddy — ! Can't you 
 see our men and the lilies of France? " 
 
 Derry saw them, indeed, — a glorious com- 
 pany—! 
 
 " Oh, if I were a man," Jean said, and stopped. 
 She stole a timid glance at him. The question that 
 he had dreaded was in her eyes. 
 
 They fell into sUence. Jean finished her par- 
 fait. Derry's was untouched. 
 
 Then the music brought them again to their feet, 
 and they danced. The Doctor smoked alone. Back 
 of him somebody murmured, " It is Derry Drake." 
 
 " Confounded slacker," said a masculine voice. 
 Then came a warning " Hush," as Derry and Jean 
 returned. 
 
 " It is snowing," Derry told the Doctor. " I have 
 ordered my car." 
 
 Late that night when the Doctor rode forth again 
 alone in his own car on an errand of mercy, he 
 thought of the thing which he had heard. Then 
 came the inevitable question: why wasn't Derry 
 Drake fighting? j> 
 
 64 
 
GHAPTEE V 
 
 THE SLACKER 
 
 It was at the Witherspoon dinner that Jean Mc- 
 Kenzie first heard the things that were being said 
 about, Derry. 
 
 " I can't understand," someone had remarked, 
 " why Derry Drake is staying out of it." 
 
 " I fancy he'll be getting in," Ealph Witherspoon 
 had said. " Derry's no slacker." 
 
 Ealph could afford to be generous. He was in 
 the Naval Flying Corps. He looked extremely well 
 in his Ensign's uniform, and he knew it; he was 
 hoping, in the spring, for active service on the 
 other side. 
 
 " I don't see why Derry should fight. I don't see 
 why any man should. I never did believe in getting 
 into other people's fusses." 
 
 It was Alma Drew who said that. Nobody took 
 Alma very seriously. She was too pretty with her 
 shining hair and her sea-green eyes, and her way of 
 claiming admiration. 
 
 o3ar had recogniJied her when she first came in 
 as the girl she had seen descending from her motor 
 car with Derry Drake on the night of the Secre- 
 
 65 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 tail's dinner. Alma again wore the diamond- 
 encrusted comb. She was in sea-green, which 
 matched her eyes. 
 
 " If I were a man," Alma pursued, " I should 
 run away." 
 
 There was a rustle of uneasiness about the table. 
 In the morning papers had been news of Italy — 
 disturbing news; news from Eussia — Kerensky 
 had fled to Moscow — there had been pictures of 
 our men in gas masks! It wasn't a thing to joke 
 about. Even Alma might go too far. 
 
 Ealph relieved the situation. " Oh, no, you 
 wouldn't run away," he said ; " you don't do your- 
 self justice, Alma. Before you know it you will be 
 driving a car over there, and picking me up when I 
 fall from the skies." 
 
 " Well, that would be — compensation — ." 
 Alma's lashes flashed up and fluttered down. 
 
 But she turned her batteries on Kalph in vain. 
 Jean McKenzie was on the other side of him. It 
 would never be quite clear to him why he loved 
 Jean. She was neither very beautiful nor very 
 brilliant. But there was a dearness about her. 
 He hardly dared think of it. It had gone very 
 deep with him. 
 
 He turned to her. Her eyes were blazing. 
 " Oh," she said, u,nder her breath, " how can she say 
 things like that? If I knew a man who would run 
 away, I'd never speak to him." 
 
 66 
 
TEE SLACKER 
 
 " Of course. That's why I fell in love with you 
 — because you had red blood in your veins." 
 
 It was the literal truth. The first time that 
 Ralph had seen Jean McKenzie, he had been riding 
 in Rock Creek Park. She, too, was on horseback. 
 It was in April. War had just been declared, and 
 there was great excitement. Jean, taking the 
 bridle path over the hills, had come upon a band of 
 workers. A long-haired and seditious orator was 
 talking to them. Jean had stopped her horse to 
 listen, and before she knew it she was answering the 
 arguments of the speaker. Rising a little in her 
 stirrups, her riding-crop uplifted to emphasize her 
 burning words, her cheeks on fire, her eyes shining, 
 her hair blowing under her three-cornered hat, she 
 had clearly and crisply cTiallenged the patriotism of 
 the speaker, and she had presented to Ralph's ap- 
 preciative eyes a picture which he was never to 
 forget. 
 
 She had not been in the least embarrassed by his 
 arrival, and his uniform had made him seem at 
 once her ally. " I am sure this gentleman will be 
 glad to talk to you," she had said to her little audi- 
 ence. " I'll leave the field to him," and with a nod 
 and a smile she had ridden off, the applause of the 
 men following her. 
 
 Ralph, having put the long-haired one to rout, 
 had asked the men if they knew the young lady 
 who had talked to them. They had, it seemed, seen 
 
 67 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 her riding with Dr. McKenzie. They thought she 
 was his daughter. It had been easy enough after 
 that to find Jean on his mother's visiting list. 
 Mrs. Witherspoon and Mrs. McKenzie had ex- 
 changed calls during the life-time of the latter, but 
 they had lived in different circles. Mrs. Wither- 
 spoon had aspired, to smartness and to the friend- 
 ship of the new people who brought an air of sophis- 
 tication to the staid and sedate old capital. Mrs. 
 McKenzie had held to old associations and to old 
 ideals. 
 
 Mrs. Witherspoon was a widow and charming. 
 Dr. McKenzie was a widower and an addition to 
 any dinner table. In a few weeks the old acquaint- 
 ance had been renewed. Kalph had wooed Jean 
 ardently during the short furloughs which had been 
 granted him, and from long distance had writ- 
 ten a bit cocksurely. He had sent flowers, candy, 
 books and then, quite daringly, a silver trench 
 ring. 
 
 Jean had sent the ring back. "It was dear of 
 you to give it to me, but I can't keep it." 
 
 " Why not? " he had asked when he next saw her. 
 
 " Because — " 
 
 " Because is no reason." 
 
 She had blushed, but stood firm. She was very 
 shy — totally unawakened — a little dreaming girl 
 — with all of real life ahead of her — with her in- 
 nocence a white flower, her patriotism a red one. 
 
 68 
 
TEE SLACKER 
 
 If only he might wear that white and red above his 
 heart. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Jean resented, sub-con- 
 seiously, his air of possession, the certainty with 
 which he seemed to see the end of his wooing. 
 
 " You can't escape me," he had told her. 
 
 " As if I were a rabbit," she had complained aft- 
 erwards to her father. "When I marry a man I 
 don't want to be caught — I want to run to him, 
 with my arms wide open." 
 
 " Don't," her father advised ; " not many men 
 would be able to stand it. Let them worship you, 
 Jeanie, don't worship." 
 
 Jean stuck her nose in the air. " Falling in love 
 doesn't come the way you want it. You have to 
 take it as the good Lord sends it." 
 
 " Who told you that? " 
 
 " Emily — " 
 
 " What does Emily know of love? " 
 
 He had laughed and patted her hand. He was 
 cynical generally about romance. He felt that his 
 own perfect love affair with his wife had been the 
 exception. He looked upon Emily as a sentimental 
 spinster who knew practically nothing of men and 
 women. 
 
 He did not realize that Emily knew a great deal 
 about dolls that laughed and cried when you pulled 
 a string. ^ And that the world in Emily's Toy Shop 
 was not so very different from his own. 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Alma, having turned a cold shoulder to Ealph, 
 was still proclaiming her opinion of Derry Drake to 
 the rest of the table. " He is rich and young and 
 he doesn't want to die — " 
 
 "There are plenty of rich young men dying, 
 Alma," said Mrs. Witherspoon, " and it is probably 
 as easy for them as for the poor ones — " 
 
 " The poor ones won't mind being muddy and 
 dirty in the trenches," said Alma, " but I can't 
 fancy Derry Drake without two baths a day — " 
 
 " I can't quite fancy him a slacker." There was 
 a hint of satisfaction in Mrs. Witherspoon's voice. 
 Her son and Derry Drake had gone to school to- 
 gether and to college. Derry had outdistanced 
 Ealph in every way; but now it was Kalph who 
 was leaving Derry far behind. 
 
 Jean wished that they would stop talking. She 
 felt as she might had she seen a soldier stripped of 
 sword and stripes and shamed in the eyes of his 
 fellows. 
 
 " Wasn't he in the draft? " she asked Kalph. 
 
 " Too old. He doesn't look it, does he? It's a 
 bit hard for the rest of us fellows to understand 
 why he keeps out — " 
 
 " Doesn't he ever try to — explain? " 
 
 Ealph shook his head. " Not a word. And he's 
 beginning to stay away from things. You see, he 
 knows that people are asking questions, dnd you 
 hear what they are calling him? " 
 
 70 
 
TEE SLACKER 
 
 " Yes," said Jean, " a coward." 
 
 " Well, not exactly that — " 
 
 " There isn't much difference, is there? " 
 
 And now Alma's cool voice summed up the situ- 
 ation. "A man with as much money as that 
 doesn't have to be brave. What does he care about 
 public opinion? After the war everybody will for- 
 give and forget." 
 
 Coolly she challenged them to contradict her. 
 " You all know it. How many of you would dare 
 cut the fellow who will inherit his father's mil- 
 lions? " 
 
 Mrs. Witherspoon tried to laugh it off; but it was 
 true, and Alma was right. They might talk about 
 Derry Drake behind his back, but they'd never omit 
 sending a card to him. 
 
 Jean ate her duckling in flaming silence, ate her 
 salad, ate her ice, drank her coffee, and was glad 
 when the meal ended. 
 
 The war from the beginning had been for her a 
 sacred cause. She had yearned to be a man that 
 she might stand in the forefront of battle. She 
 had envied the women of Eussia who had formed 
 a Battalion of Death. Her father had laughed 
 at her. " You'd be like a white kitten in a dog 
 fight." 
 
 It seemed intolerable that tongues should be busy 
 with this talk of young Drake's cowardice. He had 
 seemed something so much more than that. And he 
 
 71 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 was a man — with a man's right to leadership. 
 What was the matter with him? 
 
 The night before she had slept little — Derry's 
 voice — Derry's eyes! She had gone over every 
 word that he had said. She had risen early in the 
 morning to write in her memory book, and she had 
 drawn a most entrancing border abont the page, 
 with melting strawberry ice, lilies of France, Cin- 
 derella slippers, and red-ink lobsters, rather night- 
 marishly intermingled ! 
 
 He had seemed so fine — so — she fell back on 
 her much overworked word wonderful — her heart 
 had run to meet him, and now — it would have to 
 run back again. How silly she had been not to see. 
 
 After dinner they danced in the Long Eoom, 
 which was rather famous from a decorative point 
 of view. It was medieval in effect, with a balcony 
 and tapestries, and some precious bits of armor. 
 There was a lion-skin flung over the great chair 
 where Mrs. Witherspoon was enthroned. 
 
 Between dances, Jean and Ealph sat on the bal- 
 cony steps, and talked of many things which 
 brought the red to Jean's cheeks, and a troubled 
 light into her eyes. 
 
 And it was from the balcony steps that, as the 
 evening waned, she saw Derry Drake standing in 
 the great arched doorway. 
 
 There was a black velvet curtain behind him 
 72 
 
I HAVEN T ANYTHING LEFT TOR YOU ' 
 
TEE BLACKER 
 
 which accentuated his fairness. He did not look 
 nineteen. Jean had a fleeting vision of a certain 
 steel engraving of the " Princes in the Tower " 
 which had hung in her grandmother's house. 
 Derry was not in the least like those lovely impris- 
 oned boys, yet she had an overwhelming sense of 
 his kinship to them. 
 
 As young Drake's eyes swept the room, he was 
 aware of Jean on the balcony steps. She was in 
 white and silver, with a touch of that heavenly blue 
 which seemed to belong to her. Her crinkled hair 
 was combed quaintly over her ears and back from 
 her forehead. He smiled at her, but she appar- 
 ently did not see him. 
 
 He made Ms way to Mrs. Withersi)oon. " I was 
 so sorry to get here late. But my other engage- 
 ments kept me. If I could have dined at two 
 places, you should have had at least a half of me." 
 
 " We wanted the whole. You know Dr. McKen- 
 zie, Derry? " 
 
 The two men shook hands. " May I dance with 
 your daughter? " Derry said, smiling. * 
 
 " Of course. She is up there on the stairs." 
 
 Jean saw him coming. Ever since Derry had 
 stood in the door she had been trying to make up 
 her mind how she would treat him when he came. 
 Somebody ought to show him that his millions 
 didn't count. She hadn't thought of his millions 
 
 73 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 last night. If he had been just the shabby boy of 
 the Toy Shop, she would have liked his eyes just as 
 much, and his voice ! 
 
 But a slacker was a slacker! A coward was a 
 coward ! All the money in the world couldn't take 
 away the stain. A man who wouldn't fight at this 
 moment for the freedom of the world was a rene- 
 gade ! She would have none of him. 
 
 He came on smiling. " Hello, Ralph. Miss Mc- 
 Kenzie, your father says you may dance with me — 
 I hope you have something left? " 
 
 The blood sang in her ears, her cheeks burned. 
 
 " I haven't anything left — for you — " The em- 
 phasis was unmistakable. 
 
 Even then he did not grasp what had happened 
 to him. " Ealph will let me have one of his — be 
 a good sport, Ralph." 
 
 " Well, I like that," Ealph began. Then Jean's 
 crisp voice stopped him. " I am not going to dance 
 any more — my head aches. I — I shall ask 
 Daddy to take me — home — " 
 
 It was all very young and obvious. Derry gave 
 her a puzzled stare. Ralph protested. " Oh, look 
 here, Jean. If you think you aren't going to dance 
 any more with me." 
 
 " Well, I'm not. I am going home. Please take 
 me down to Daddy." 
 
 It seemed a long time before the blurred good- 
 74 
 
THE SLACKER 
 
 byes were said, and Jean was alone with her father 
 in the cozy comfort of the closed car. 
 
 " 1)0 you love me, Daddy? " 
 
 " My darling, yes." 
 
 " May I live with you always — to the end of my 
 days? " 
 
 He chuckled. " So that was it? Poor Ealph ! " 
 
 " You know you are not sorry for him, Daddy. 
 Don't he a hypocrite." 
 
 He drew her close to him. " I should be sorry 
 for myself if he took you from me." 
 
 She clung to him. " He is not going to take me 
 away." 
 
 " Was that what you were telling him on the 
 balcony stairs? " 
 
 " Yes. And he said I was too young to know my 
 own mind. That I was a sleeping Princess — and 
 some day he would wake me — up — " 
 
 " Oh." 
 
 " And he is not the Prince, Daddy. There isn't 
 any Prince." 
 
 She had shut resolutely away from her the vision 
 of Derry Drake as she had seen him on the night of 
 Cinderella. She would have no white-feathered 
 knight ! Princes were brave and rode to battle ! 
 
 75 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE PROMISE 
 
 It was Alma who gave Derry Drake the key to 
 Jean's conduct. 
 
 " Did your ears burn? " she asked, as they danced 
 together after Jean and her father had gone. 
 
 " When? " 
 
 " We were talking about you at dinner." 
 
 " I hope you said nice things." 
 
 " I did, of course." Her lashes flashed up and 
 fluttered down as they had flashed and fluttered for 
 Ralph. Every man was for Alma a possible con- 
 quest. Derry was big game, and as yet her little 
 darts had not pierced him. She still hoped, how- 
 ever. " I did, but the rest didn't." 
 
 He shrank from the things which she might tell 
 him. " What did they say? " His voice caught. 
 
 "I shan't tell you. But it was about the war, 
 and your not flghting. As if it made any difference. 
 You are as brave as any of them." 
 
 He glanced down at her with somber eyes. Quite 
 unreasonably he hated her for her defense of him. 
 If all women defended men who wouldn't fight, 
 what kind of a world would it be? Women who 
 
 76 
 
THE PROMISE 
 
 were worth anything girded their men for battle. 
 
 He knew now the reason for Jean's high head and 
 burning cheeks, and in spite of his sense of agoniz- 
 ing humiliation, he was glad to think of that high- 
 held head. 
 
 For such women, for such women men died ! 
 
 But not for women like Alma Drew ! 
 
 He got away from her as soon as possible. He 
 got away from them all. He had a morbid sense of 
 whispering voices and of averted glances. He fan- 
 cied that Mrs. Witherspoon touched his hand coldly 
 as he bade her " good-night." 
 
 Well, he would not come again until he could 
 meet their eyes. 
 
 It was a perfectly clear night, and he walked 
 home. With his face turned up to the stars, he 
 told himself that the situation was intolerable — 
 tomorrow morning, he would go to his father. 
 
 When he reached home, his father was asleep. 
 Derry looked in on him and found Bronson sitting 
 erect and wide-eyed beside a night lamp which 
 threw the rest of the room into a sort of golden 
 darkness. The General was in a great lacquered 
 bed which he had brought with him years ago from 
 China. Gilded dragons guarded it and princes had 
 slept in it. Heavy breathing came from the bed. 
 ' " I think he has caught cold, sir," Bronson whis- 
 pered. " I'm a bit afraid of bronchitis." 
 
 Berry's voice lacked sympathy. " I shouldn't 
 77 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 worry, Bronson. He usually comes around all 
 right." 
 
 " Yes, sir. I hope so, sir," and Bronson's spare 
 figure rose to a portentous shadow, as he preceded 
 Derry to the door. 
 
 On the threshold he said, " Dr. Eichards has 
 gone to the front. Shall I call Dr. McKenzie if we 
 need someone — ? " 
 
 " Has he been left in charge? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Derry stood for a moment undecided. " I sup- 
 pose there's no reason why you shouldn't call 
 McKenzie. Do as you think best, Bronson." 
 
 On his way to his own room, Derry paused for a 
 moment at the head of the great stairway. His 
 mother's picture hung on the landing. The dress 
 in which she was painted had been worn to a din- 
 ner at the White House during the first Cleveland 
 Administration. It was of white brocade, with its 
 ostrich feather trimming making it a rather regal 
 robe. It had tight sleeves, and the neck was 
 square. Around her throat was a wide collar of 
 pearls with diamond slides. Her fair hair was 
 combed back in the low pompadour of the period,' 
 and there were round flat curls on her temples. 
 The picture was old-fashioned, but the painted 
 woman was exquisite, as she had always been, as 
 she would always be in Derry's dreams. 
 
 The great house had given to the General's wife 
 78 
 
TEE PROMISE 
 
 her proper setting. She had trailed her satins and 
 silks up and down the marble stairway. Her slen- 
 der hands, heavy with their rings, had rested on its 
 balustrade, its mirrors had reflected the diamond 
 tiara with which the General had crowned her. In 
 the vast drawing room, the gold and jade and 
 ivory treasures in the cabinets had seemed none too 
 fine for this greatest treasure of them all. In the 
 dining room the priceless porcelains had been 
 cheapened by her greater worth. The General had 
 travelled far and wide, and he had brought the 
 wealth of the world to lay at the feet of his young 
 wife. He adored her and he adored her son. 
 
 " It is just you and me, Derry," the old man had 
 said in the first moment of bereavement ; " we've got 
 to stick it out together — " 
 
 And they had stuck it out until the war had come, 
 and patriotism had fiared, and the staunch old sol- 
 dier had spurned this — changeling. 
 
 It seemed to Derry that if his mother could only 
 step down from the picture she might make things 
 right for him. But she would not step down. She 
 would go on smiling her gentle painted smile as if 
 nothing really mattered in the whole wide world. 
 
 Thus, with his father asleep in the lacquered bed, 
 and his mother smiling in her gilded frame, the son 
 stood alone in the great shell of a house which had 
 in it no beating heart, no throbbing soul to answer 
 his need. 
 
 79 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Derry'g rooms were furnished in a lower key than 
 those in which his father's taste had been followed. 
 There were gray rugs and gray walls, some old 
 mahogany, the snuff-box picture of Napoleon over 
 his desk, a dog-basket of brown wicker in a corner. 
 
 Muffin, Berry's Airedale, stood at attention as 
 his master came in. He knew that the length of 
 his sojourn depended on his manners. 
 
 A bright fire was burning, a long chair slanted 
 across the hearthrug. Derry got into a gray dress- 
 ing gown and threw himself into the chair. Muffin, 
 with a solicitous sigh, sat tentatively on his 
 haunches. His master had had no word for him. 
 Things were very bad indeed, when Derry had no 
 word for his dog. 
 
 At last it came. " Muffin — it's a rotten old 
 world." 
 
 Muffin's tail beat the rug. His eager eyes asked 
 for more. 
 
 It came — " Rotten." 
 
 Derry made room among the pillows, and Muf- 
 fin curled up beside him in rapturous silence. The 
 fire snapped and flared, flickered and died. Bron- 
 son tiptoed in to ask if Derry wanted him. Young 
 Martin, who valeted Derry when Bronson would 
 let him, followed with more proffers of assistance. 
 
 Derry sent them both away. "I am going to 
 bed." 
 
 But he did not go to bed. He read a letter which 
 80 
 
TEE PROMISE 
 
 Lis mother had written before she died. He had 
 never broken the seal until now. For on the out- 
 side of the envelope were these words in fine femi- 
 nine script : " Not to be opened until the time 
 comes when my boy Derry is tempted to break his 
 promise." 
 It began, " Boy dear — " 
 
 " I wonder if I shall make you understand what 
 it is so necessary that you should understand? It 
 has been so hard all of these years when your clear 
 little lad's eyes have looked into mine to feel that 
 some day you might blame — me. Youth is so un- 
 compromising, Derry, dear — and so logical — so 
 demanding of — justice. And life isn't logical — 
 or just — not with the sharp-edged justice which 
 gives cakes to the good little boys and switches to 
 the bad ones. And you have always insisted on the 
 cakes and switches, Derry, and that's why I am 
 afraid of you. 
 
 " Even when you were only ten and I hugged you 
 close in the night — those nights when we were 
 alone, Derry, and your father was out on some wild 
 road under the moonlight, or perhaps with the snow 
 shutting out the moon, you used to whisper, ' But 
 he oughtn't to do it. Mother — ' iiad I knew that 
 he ought not, but, oh, Derry, I loved him, and do 
 you remember, I used to say, * But he's so good to 
 us, Laddie, — and perhaps we can loye him enough 
 to make him stop.' 
 
 " But you are a man now, Derry. I am sure you 
 will be a man before you read this, for my little boy 
 will obey me until he comes to man's estate, and 
 
 81 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 then he may say * She was only a foolish loving 
 woman, and why should I be bound? ' 
 
 " I know when that moment comes that all your 
 father's money will not ho^a you. You will not 
 sell your soul's honor for your inheritance. 
 Haven't I known it all along? Haven't I seen you 
 a little shining knight ready to do battle for your 
 ideals? And haven't I seen the clash of those 
 ideals with the reality of your father's fault? 
 
 " Well, there's this to think of now, Derry, now 
 that you are a man — that life isn't white and black, 
 it isn't sheep and goats — it isn't just good people 
 and bad people with a great wall between. Life is 
 gray and amethyst, it is a touch of dinginess on 
 the fleece of the whole flock, and the men and women 
 whom you meet will be those whose great faults are 
 balanced by great virtues and whose little mean- 
 nesses are contradicted by unexpected generosities. 
 
 " I am putting it this way because I want you to 
 realize that except for the one fault which has 
 shadowed your father's life, there is no flaw in him. 
 Other men have gone through the world apparently 
 untouched by any temptation, but their families 
 could tell you the story of a thousand tyrannies, 
 their clerks could tell you of selfishness and hard- 
 ness, their churches and benevolent societies could 
 tell you of their lack of charity. Oh, there are 
 plenty of good men in the world, Derry, strong and 
 fine and big, I want you to believe that always, but 
 I want you to believe, too, that there are men who 
 struggle continually with temptation and seem to 
 fail, but they fight with an enemy so formidable 
 that I, who have seen the struggle, have shut my 
 eyes — afraid to look — . 
 
 82 
 
THE PROMISE 
 
 " And now I shall go back to the very beginning, 
 and tell you how it all happened. Your father was 
 only a boy when the Civil War broke out. He came 
 down from Massachusetts with a regiment which 
 had in it the blood of the farmers who fired the 
 shot heard round the world — . He felt that he 
 was fighting for Freedom — he had all of your 
 ideals, Derry, plus, perhaps, a few of his own. 
 
 " You kuow how the war dragged, four years of 
 it — and much of the time that Massachusetts regi- 
 ment was in swamp and field, on the edge of fever- 
 breeding streams, never very well fed, cold in win- 
 ter, hot in summer. 
 
 " They were given for medicine quinine and — 
 whiskey. It kept them alive. Sometimes it kept 
 them warm, sometimes it lifted them above reality 
 and granted them a moment's reckless happiness. 
 
 " It was all wrong, of course. I am making no 
 plea for its rigbtness; and it unchained wild beasts 
 in some of the men. Your father for many years 
 kept his chained, but the beasts were there. 
 
 " He was almost fifty when I married him, and 
 he was not a General. That title was given to him 
 during the Spanish War. I was twenty when I 
 came here a bride. There was no deception on 
 your father's part. He told me of the dragon he 
 fought — he told me that he hoped with God's help 
 and mine to conquer. And I hoped, too, Derry. 
 I did more than that. I was so sure of Mm — my 
 King could do no wrong. 
 
 " But the day came when he went on one of those 
 desolate pilgrimages where you and I so often fol- 
 lowed in later years. I am not going to try to tell 
 you how we fought together, Derry ; how I learned 
 
 83 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 with such agony of soul that a man's will is like 
 wax in the fire of temptation — oh, Derry, Derry — . 
 
 " I am telling you this for more reasons than one. 
 What your father has been you might be. With all 
 your ideals there may be in you some heritage of 
 weakness, of appetite. Wild beasts can conquer 
 you, too, if you let them in. And that's why I have 
 preached and prayed. That's why I've kept you 
 from that which overcame your father. You are 
 no better, no stronger, than he was in the glory of 
 his youth. But I have barred the doors against 
 the flaming dragon. 
 
 " I have no words eloquent enough to tell you of 
 his care of me, his consideration, his devotion. Yet 
 nothing of all this helped in those strange moods 
 that came upon him. Then you were forgotten, I 
 was forgotten, the world was forgotten, and he let 
 everything go — . 
 
 " I have kept what I have suffered to some extent 
 from the world. If people have pitied they have 
 had the grace at least not to let me see. The trag- 
 edy has been that you should have been sacrificed 
 to it, your youth shadowed. But what could I do? 
 I felt that you must know, must see, and I felt, too, 
 that the salvation of the father might be accom- 
 plished through the son. 
 
 "And so I let you go out into the night after him, 
 I let you know that which should, perhaps, have 
 been hidden from you. But I loved him, Derry — 
 I loved you — I did the best I could for both of 
 you. 
 
 " And now because of the past, I plead for the 
 future. I want you to stay with him, Derry. No 
 matter what happens I beg that you will stay — 
 
 84 
 
THE PROMISE 
 
 for the sake of the boy who was once like you, for 
 the sake of the man who held your mother always 
 close to his heart, for the sake of the mother who in 
 Heaven holds you to your promise." 
 
 The great old house was very still. Somewhere 
 in a shadowed room an old man slept heavily with 
 his servant sitting stiff and straight beside him, at 
 the head of the stairway a painted bride smiled in 
 the darkness, the dog Muffin stirred and whined. 
 
 Derry's head was buried deep in the cushion. 
 His hands clutched the. letter which had cut the 
 knot of his desperate decision. 
 
 Ifo — one could not break a promise to a mother 
 in Heaven. . . . 
 
 He waked heavily in the morning. Bronson was 
 beside his bed. " I am sorry to disturb you, sir, 
 but Dr. McKenzie would like to speak to you." 
 
 " McKenzie? " 
 
 "Yes, sir. I had to call him last night. Your 
 father was worse." 
 
 " Bring him right in here, Bronson, and have 
 some coffee for us." 
 
 When Dr. McKenzie was ushered into Derry's 
 sitting room, he found a rather pale and languid 
 young man in the long chair. 
 
 " I hated to wake you, Drake. But it was rather 
 necessary that I should talk your father's case over 
 with you." 
 
 " Is he very ill? " 
 
 85 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " It isn't that — there are complications that I 
 don't care to discuss with servants." 
 
 " You mean he has been drinking? " 
 
 "Yes. Heavily. You realize that's a rather 
 serious thing for a man of his age." 
 
 " I know it. But there's nothing to be done." 
 
 " What makes you say that? " 
 
 " We've tried specialists — cures. I've been half 
 around the world with him." 
 
 The Doctor nodded. " It's hard to pull up at 
 that age:." 
 
 ^' My mother's life was spent in trying to help 
 him. He's a dear old chap, really." 
 
 " There is, of course, the possibility that he may 
 get a grip on himself." 
 
 Derry's languor left him. " Do you think there's 
 the least hope of it? Frankly? No platitudes? " 
 
 " We are making some rather interesting experi- 
 ments — psycho-analysis — things like that — " 
 
 He stood up. He was big and breezy. " What's 
 the matter with you this morning? You ought to 
 be up and out." 
 
 Derry flushed. " Nothing — much ." 
 
 The Doctor sat down again. " I'd tell most men 
 to take a cold shower and a two hours' tramp, but 
 it's more than that with you — ." 
 
 " It's a case of suspended activity. I want to 
 get into the war — " 
 
 "Why don't you?" 
 
 86 
 
THE PROMISE 
 
 " I can't leave Dad. Surely you can see that." 
 
 " I don't see it. He must reap, every man 
 must." 
 
 " But there's more than that. My mother tied 
 me by a promise. And people are calling me a 
 coward: — even Dad thinks I am a slacker, and I 
 can't say to him, ' If you were more than the half 
 of a man I might be a whole one.' " 
 
 " Your mother couldn't have foreseen this war." 
 
 " It would have made no difference. Her world 
 was centered in him. You know, of course, Doctor, 
 that I wouldn't have spoken of this to anyone 
 else — " 
 
 " My dear fellow, I am father confessor to half 
 of my patients." The Doctor's eyes were kind. 
 " My lips will be sealed. But if you want my advice 
 I should throw the old man overboard. Let him 
 sink or swim. Your life is your own." 
 
 " It has never been my own." He went to a desk 
 and took out an envelope. " It's a rather sacred 
 letter, but I want you to read it — I read it for the 
 first time last night." 
 
 When at last the Doctor laid the letter down, 
 Derry said very low, " Do you blame me? " 
 
 " My dear fellow, she had no right to ask it." 
 
 " But having asked — ? " 
 
 " It is a moving letter, and you loved her — but I 
 still contend she had no right to ask." 
 
 " I gave my sacred word." 
 87 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "I question whether any promise should stand 
 between a man and his country's need of him." 
 
 They faced each other. " I wonder -^' Derry 
 said, "I — I must think it over, Doctor." 
 
 " Give yourself a chance if you do. We can go 
 too far in our sacrifice for others — ." He resumed 
 his brisk professional manner. " In the meantime 
 you've a rather sick old gentleman on your hands. 
 You'd better get a nurse." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 HILDA 
 
 Thk argument came up at breakfast two days be- 
 fore Thanksgiving. It was a hot argument. Jean 
 beat her little hands upon the table. Hilda's hands 
 were still, but it was an irritating stillness. 
 
 " What do you think, Daddy? " 
 
 " Hilda is right. There is no reason why we 
 should go to extremes." 
 
 " But a turkey — ." 
 
 " Nobody has said that we shouldn't have a turkey 
 on Thanksgiving — not even Hoover." Hilda's 
 voice was as irritating as her hands. 
 
 "Well, we have consciences, Hilda. And a 
 turkey would choke me." 
 
 " You make so much of little things." 
 
 " Is it a little thing to sacrifice our appetites? " 
 
 " I don't think it is a very big thing." The office 
 bell rang, and HUda rose. " If I felt as you do I 
 should sacrifice something more than things to eat. 
 I'd go over there and nurse the wounded. I could 
 be of real service. But you couldn't. With all 
 your big ideas of patriotism you couldn't do one 
 single practical thing." 
 
 89 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 It was true, and Jean knew that it was true, but 
 she fired one more shot. "Then why don't you 
 go? " she demanded fiercely. 
 
 " I may," Hilda said slowly. " I have been think- 
 ing about it. I haven't made up my mind." 
 
 Dr. McKenzie glanced at her in surprise. "I 
 didn't dream you felt that way." 
 
 " I don't think I do mean it in the way you mean. 
 I should go because there was something worth do- 
 ing — not as a grandstand play." 
 
 She went out of the room. Jean stared after her. 
 
 The Doctor laughed. "She got you there, 
 girlie." 
 
 " Yes, she did. Do you really think she intends 
 to go. Daddy? " 
 
 " It is news to me." 
 
 " Good news? " 
 
 He shook his head. " She is a very valuable 
 nurse. I should hate to lose her." He sat for a 
 moment in silence, then stood up. " I shouldn't 
 hold out for a turkeyless Thanksgiving if I were you. 
 It isn't necessary." 
 
 " Are you taking Hilda's part. Daddy? " 
 
 " No, my dear, of course not." He came over and 
 kissed her. ">Vill you ride with me this morn- 
 ing? " 
 
 " Oh, yes — how soon? " 
 
 " In ten minutes. After I see this patient." 
 
 In less time than that she was ready and waiting 
 90 
 
HILDA 
 
 for him in her squirrel coat and hat and her little 
 mufE. 
 
 Her father surveyed her. " Such a lovely lady." 
 
 " Do you like me, Daddy? " 
 
 " What a question — I love you." 
 
 Safe in the car, with the glass screen shutting 
 away the chauffeur, Jean returned to the point of 
 attack. 
 
 "Hilda makes me furious, Daddy. I came to 
 talk about her." 
 
 " I thought you came because you wanted to ride 
 with me." 
 
 " Well, I did. But for this, too." 
 
 Over her muff, her stormy eyes surveyed him. 
 " You think I am unreasonable about meatless and 
 wheatless days. But you don't know. Hilda ig- 
 nores them. Daddy — you should see the breadbox. 
 And the other day she ordered a steak for dinner, 
 one of those big thick ones — and it was Tuesday, 
 and I happened to go down to the kitchen and saw 
 it — and I told the cook that we wouldn't have it, 
 and when I came up I told Hilda, and she laughed 
 and said that I was silly. 
 
 " And I said that if she had that steak cooked I 
 would not eat it, and I should ask you not to eat 
 it, and she just stood with her hands flat on your 
 desk, you know the way she does — I hate her 
 hands — and she said that of course if I was going 
 to make a fuss about it she wouldn't have the steak, 
 
 91 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 but that it was simply a thing she couldn't under- 
 stand. The steak was there, why not eat it? And 
 I said it was because of the psychological effect on 
 other people. And she said we were having too 
 much psychology and not enough common sense in 
 this war ! 
 
 " Well, after that, I went to my Eed Cross meet- 
 ing at the church. I expected to have lunch there, 
 but I changed my mind and came home. Hilda was 
 at the table alone, and. Daddy, she was eating the 
 steak, the whole of it — ," She paused to note the 
 effect of her revelation. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " She was eating it when all the world needs 
 food! She made me think of those dreadful crea- 
 tures in the fairy books. She's — she's a ghoul — " 
 
 " My dear." 
 
 " A ghoul. You should have seen her, with great 
 chunks of bread and butter." 
 
 " Hilda has a healthy appetite." 
 
 " Of course you defend her." 
 
 " My dear child — " 
 
 "Oh you do. Daddy, always, against me — and 
 I'm your daughter — " 
 
 She wept a tear or two into her muff, then raised 
 her eyes to find him regarding her quizzically, 
 "Are you going to spoil my ride? " 
 
 " You are spoiling mine." 
 
 " We won't quarrel about it. And we'll stop at 
 92 
 
EILDA 
 
 Small's. Shall it be roses or violets, to-day, my 
 dear? " 
 
 She chose violets, as more in accord with her 
 pensive mood, lighting the bunch, however, with 
 one red rose. The question of Hilda was not set- 
 tled, but she yielded as many an older woman has 
 yielded — to the sweetness of tribute — to man's 
 impulse to make things right not by justice but by 
 the bestowal of his bounty. 
 
 From the florist's, they went to Huyler's old shop 
 on F Street, where the same girl had served Jean 
 with ice-cream sodas and hot chocolate for fifteen 
 years. Administrations might come and adminis- 
 trations go, but these pleasant clerks had been cup- 
 bearers to them all — Presidents' daughters and 
 diplomats' sons — the sturdy children of plain Con- 
 gressmen, the scions of noble families across the 
 seas. 
 
 It was while Jean sat on a high stool beside her 
 father, the sunshine shining on her through the 
 wide window, that Derry Drake, coming down 
 Twelfth, saw her ! 
 
 Well, he wanted a lemonade. And the fact that 
 she was there in a gray squirrel coat and bunch of 
 violets with her copper-colored hair shining over 
 her ears wasn't going to leave him thirsty ! 
 
 He went in. He bowed to the Doctor and re- 
 ceived a smile in return. Jean's eyes were cold 
 above her chocolate. Derry bought his check, went 
 
 93 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 to a little table on the raised platform at the back 
 of the room, drank his lemonade and, hurried out. 
 
 " A nice fellow," said the Doctor, watching him 
 through the window. " I wonder why he didn't stop 
 and speak to us? " 
 
 " I'm glad he didn't." 
 
 " My dear, why? " 
 
 " I've found out things — " 
 
 " What things? " 
 
 " That he's a — coward," with tense earnestness. 
 " He won't fight." 
 
 " Who told you that? " 
 
 " Everybody's saying it." 
 
 " Everybody is dead wrong." 
 
 " What do you mean, Daddy? " 
 
 "What I have just said. Everybody is dead 
 wrong." 
 
 " How do you know? " 
 
 " A doctor knows a great many things which he 
 is not permitted to tell. I am rather bound not to 
 tell in this case." 
 
 " Oh, but you could tell me." 
 
 " Hardly — it was given in confidence." 
 
 « Did he? Oh, Daddy, did he tell you? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And he isn't a slacker? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I knew it—." 
 
 " You didn't. You thought he was a coward." 
 94 
 
HILDA 
 
 " Well, I ought to have known better. He looks 
 brave, doesn't he? " 
 
 " I shouldn't call him exactly a heroic figure." 
 
 " Shouldn't you? " 
 
 She finished her chocolate in silence, and followed 
 him in silence to his car. They sped up F Street, 
 gay with its morning crowd. 
 
 Then at last it came. " Isn't it a wonderful day, 
 Daddy?" 
 
 He smiled down at her. " There you go." 
 
 " Well, it is wonderful." She fell again into si- 
 lence, then again bestowed upon him her raptures. 
 " Wouldn't it be dreadful if we had loveless days. 
 Daddy, as well as meatless ones and wheatless? " 
 
 That night, after Jean had gone to bed, the Doc- 
 tor, having dismissed his last patient, came out of 
 his inner office. Hilda, in her white nurse's cos- 
 tume, was busy with the books. He stood beside 
 her desk. His eyes were dancing. "Jean told 
 me about the steak." 
 
 " I knew she would — I suppose it was an awful 
 thing to do. But I was hungry, and I hate fish — " 
 She smiled at him lazily, then laughed. 
 
 He laughed back. He felt that it would be un- 
 bearable for Hilda to go hungry, to spoil her red 
 and white with abstinence. 
 
 "My dear girl," he said, "what did you mean 
 when you spoke of going away? " 
 
 " Haven't you been thinking of going? " 
 95 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 The color came up in his cheeks. " Yes, but how 
 did you know it? " 
 
 "Well, a woman knows. Why don't you make 
 up your mind? " 
 
 " There's Jean to think of." 
 
 "Emily Bridges could take care of her. And 
 you ought to go. Men are seeing things over there 
 that they'll never see again. And women are." 
 
 " If my country needs me — " 
 
 Hilda was cold. " I shouldn't go for that. As I 
 told Jean, I am not making any grand stand plays. 
 I should go for all that I get out of it, the experi- 
 ence, the adventure — ." 
 
 He looked at her with some curiosity. Jean's 
 words of the afternoon recurred to him. " She's a 
 ghoul — " 
 
 Yet there was something almost fascinating in 
 her frankness. She tore aside ruthlessly the cur- 
 tain of self-deception, revealing her motives, as if 
 she challenged him to call them less worthy than 
 his own. 
 
 " If I go, it will be because I want to become a 
 better nurse. I like it here, but your practice is 
 necessarily limited. I should get a wider view of 
 things. So would you. There would be new worlds 
 of disease, men in all conditions of nervous shock." 
 
 " I know. But I'd hate to think I was going 
 merely for selfish ends." 
 
 96 
 
HILDA 
 
 She shrugged. "Why not that as well as any 
 other? " 
 
 He had a smouldering sense of irritation. 
 
 " When I am with Jean she makes me feel rather 
 big and fine; when I am with you — " He paused. 
 
 " I make you see yourself as you are, a man. She 
 thinks you are more than that." 
 
 All his laughter left him. " It is something to 
 be a hero to one's daughter. Perhaps some day I 
 shall be a little better for her thinking so." 
 
 She saw that she had gone too far. "You 
 mustn't take the things I say too seriously." 
 
 The bell of the telephone at her eJbow whirred. 
 She put the receiver to her ear. "It is General 
 Drake's man ; he thinks you'd better come over be- 
 fore you go to bed." 
 
 " I was afraid I might have to go. He is in 
 rather bad shape, Hilda." 
 
 She packed his bag for him competently, and 
 telephoned for his car. " I'll have a cup of coffee 
 ready for you when you get back," she said, as she 
 stood in the door. " It is going to be a dreadful 
 night." 
 
 The streets were icy and the sleet falling. 
 " You'd better have your overshoes," HUda decided, 
 and went for them. 
 
 As he put them on, she stood under the hall light, 
 smiling. " Have you forgiven me? " she asked as 
 he straightened up. 
 
 97 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "For telling me the truth? Of course. You 
 take such good care of me, Hilda." 
 
 Upstairs in her own room Jean was writing a 
 letter. It was a very pretty room, very fresh and 
 frilly with White dimity and with much pink and 
 pale lavender. The night-light which shone 
 through the rose taffeta petticoats of a porcelain 
 lady was supplemented at the moment by a bed-side 
 lamp which flung a ring of gold beyond Jean's blot- 
 ter to the edge of the lace spread. For Jean was 
 writing in bed. All day her mind had been revolv- 
 ing around this letter, but she had had no time to 
 write. She had spent the afternoon in the Toy 
 Shop with Emily, and in the evening there had been 
 a Eed Cross sale. She h3.d gone to the sale with 
 Ealph Witherspoon and his mother. She had not 
 been able to get out of going. All the time she had 
 talked to Kalph she had thought of Derry. She 
 had rather hoped that he might be there, but he 
 wasn't. 
 
 The letter required much thought. She tore up, 
 extravagantly, several sheets of note-paper with 
 tiny embossed thistles at the top. Doctor Me- 
 Kenzie was intensely Scotch, and he was entitled 
 to a crest, but he was also intensely American, and 
 would have none of it. He had designed Jean's 
 note-paper, and it was lovely. But it was also ex- 
 pensive, and it was a shame to waste so much of it 
 on Derry Drake. 
 
 98 
 
HILDA 
 
 The notfe when it was finished seemed very simple. 
 Just one page in Jean's firm, clear script: 
 
 " Dear Mr. Drake : — 
 
 " Could you spare me one little minute tomor- 
 row? I shall be at home at four. It is very impor- 
 tant — to me at least. Perhaps when you hear what 
 I have to say, it will seem important to you. I 
 hope it may. 
 
 " Very sincerely yours, 
 
 " Jean McKenzib." 
 
 She read it over several times. It seemed very 
 stiff and inadequate. She sealed it and stamped it, 
 then in a panic tore it open for a re-reading. She 
 was oppressed by doubts. Did nice girls ask men 
 to come and see them ? Didn't they wait and weary 
 like Mariana of the Moated Grange — ? " He com- 
 eth not, she said? " 
 
 New times ! New manners ! She had branded a 
 man as a coward. She had condemned him un- 
 heard. She had slighted him, she had listened 
 while others slandered — why should she care what 
 other women had done? Would do? Her way was 
 clear. She owed an apology to Derry Drake, and 
 she would make it. 
 
 So with a new envelope, a new stamp, the note 
 was again sealed. 
 
 It had to be posted that night. She felt that 
 under no circumstance could she stand the sus- 
 pense of another day. 
 
 99 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 She had heard her father go out. Hilda was com- 
 ing up, the maids were asleep. She waited until 
 Hilda's door was shut, then she slipped out of bed, 
 tucked her toes into a pair of sandals, threw a 
 furry motor coat around her, and sped silently 
 down the stairs. She shrank back as she opened 
 the front door. The sleet rattled on the steps, the 
 pavements were covered with white. 
 
 The mail-box was in front of the house. She 
 made a rush for it, dropped in the precious letter, 
 and gained once more the haven of the warm hall. 
 
 She was glad to get back to her room. As she 
 settled down among her pillows, she had a great 
 sense of adventure, as if she had travelled far in a 
 few moments. 
 
 As a matter of fact she had made her first real 
 excursion into the land of romance. She found her 
 thoughts galloping. 
 
 At the foot of the bed her silver Persian, Polly 
 Ann, lay curled on her own gray blanket. 
 
 " Polly Ann," Jean said, " if he doesn't come, I 
 shall hate myself for writing that note." 
 
 Polly Ann surveyed her sleepily. 
 
 " But it would serve me right if he didn't, Polly 
 Ann." 
 
 She turned off the light and tried to sleep. 
 Downstairs the telephone rang. It rang, too, in 
 Hilda's room. Hilda's door opened and shut. 
 
 100 
 
HILDA 
 
 She came across the hall and tapped on Jean's door. 
 " May I come in? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Your father has just telephoned," Hilda said 
 from the threshold, " that General Drake's nurse is 
 not well, and will have to be taken off the case. I 
 shall have to go in her place. There is a great short- 
 age at the hospital. Will you be afraid to stay 
 alone, or shall I wake up EUen and have her sleep 
 on the couch in your dressing room? " 
 
 " Of course I am not afraid, Hilda. Nothing can 
 happen until father comes back." 
 
 As Hilda went away, Jean had a delicious feeling 
 of detachment. She would be alone in the house 
 with her thoughts of Derry. 
 
 She got out of bed to say her prayers. With 
 something of a thrill she prayed for Derry's father. 
 She was not conscious as she made her petitions of 
 any ulterior motive. Yet a placated Providence 
 would, she felt sure, see that the General's sickness 
 should not frustrate the plans which she had quite 
 daringly made for his son. 
 
 101 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE SHADOWED ROOM 
 
 Debey had dined that night with his cousin, Mar- 
 garet Morgan. Margaret's husband was some- 
 where in France with Pershing's divisions. Mar- 
 garet was to have news of him this evening, 
 brought by a young English officer, Dawson Hewes, 
 who had been wounded at Ypres, and who had come 
 on a recruiting mission among his countrymen in 
 America. 
 
 The only other guest was to be Drusilla Gray. 
 
 Derry had gone over early to have the twilight 
 hour with Margaret's children. There was Theo- 
 dore, the boy, and Margaret-Mary, on the edge of 
 three. They had their supper at five in the nurs- 
 ery, and after that there was always the story hour, 
 with nurse safely downstairs for her dinner, their 
 mother, lovely in a low-necked gown, and father 
 coming in at the end. For several months their 
 father had not come, and the best they could do 
 was to kiss his picture in the frame with the eagle 
 on it, to put flowers in front of it, and to say their 
 little prayers for the safety of men in battle. 
 
 It was Cousin Derry who dropped in now at the 
 102 
 
THE SHADOWED ROOM 
 
 evening hour. He was a famous story-teller, and 
 they always welcomed him uproariously. 
 
 Margaret Morgan, perhaps better than any other, 
 knew in those days what was in Derry's heart. 
 She knew the things against which he had strug- 
 gled, and she had rebelled hotly. " Why should he 
 be sacrificed? " she had asked her husband more 
 than once during the three years which had pre- 
 ceded America's entrance into the war. " He wants 
 to be over there driving an ambulance — doing his 
 bit. Aunt Edith always idealized the General, and 
 Derry is paying the price." 
 
 " Most women idealize the men they love, honey- 
 girl." Winston Morgan was from the South, and he 
 drew upon its store of picturesque endearments to 
 express his joy and pride in his own Peggy. " And 
 if they didn't where should we be? " 
 
 She had leaned her head against him. " I don't 
 need to idealize you," she had said, comfortably, 
 "but the General is different. Aunt Edith made 
 Derry live his father's life, not his own, and it has 
 moulded him into something less than he might have 
 been if he had been allowed more initiative." 
 
 Winston had shaken his head. " Discipline is a 
 mighty good thing in the Army, Peggy, and it's a 
 mighty good thing in life. Derry Drake is as hard 
 as steel, and as finely tempered. If he ever does 
 break loose, he'll be all the more dynamic for having 
 held himself back." 
 
 103 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Margaret, cqnceding all that, was yet constrained 
 to pour out upon Derry the wealth of her womanly 
 sympathy. It was perhaps the knowledge of this 
 as well as his devotion to her children which 
 brought him often to her door. 
 
 Tonight she was sitting on a low-backed seat in 
 front of the fire with a child on each side of her. 
 She was in white, her dark hair in a simple shining 
 knot, a little pearl heart which had been Captain 
 Morgan's parting gift, her only ornament. 
 
 " Go on with your story," he said, as he came 
 in. " I just want to listen and do nothing." 
 
 She glanced up at him. He looked tired, unlike 
 himself, depressed. 
 
 "Anything the matter? " 
 
 " Father isn't well. Dr. McKenzie has taken the 
 case. Kichards has gone to the front. Bronson 
 will call me if there are any unfavorable develop- 
 ments." 
 
 Margaret-Mary, curled up like a kitten in the 
 curve of Cousin Deriy's arm, was exploring his vest 
 pocket. She found two very small squares of Wash- 
 ington taffy wrapped in wax paper, one for herself 
 and one for Teddy. It was Berry's war-time offer- 
 ing. No other candies were permitted by Mar- 
 garet's patriotism. Her children ate molasses on 
 their bread, maple sugar on their cereal. Her sol- 
 dier was in France, and there were other soldiers, 
 not one of whom should suffer because of the wan- 
 
 104 
 
TEE SHADOWED ROOM 
 
 ton waste of food by the people who stayed softly at 
 home. 
 
 " You tell us a story, Uncle Derry," Teddy 
 pleaded as he ate his taffy. 
 
 " I'd rather listen to your mother." 
 
 " They are tired of me," Margaret told him. 
 
 " We are not ti-yard," her small son enunciated 
 carefully, " but you said you had to fix the f 'owers." 
 
 " Well, I have. May I turn them over to you, 
 Derry?" 
 
 " For a minute. But you must come back." 
 
 She came back presently, to find the lights out 
 and only the glow of the fire to illumine faintly the 
 three figures on the sofa. She stood unseen in the 
 door and listened. 
 
 " And so the Tin Soldier stood on the shelf where 
 the little boy had put him, and nothing happened 
 in the old, old house. There was just an old, old 
 man, and walls covered with old, old portraits, and 
 knights in armor, and wooden trumpeters carved 
 on the door who blew with all their might, ' Trutter- 
 a-trutt, Trutter-a-trutt ' — . But the old man and 
 the portraits and the wooden trumpeters had no 
 thought for the Tin Soldier who stood there on the 
 shelf, alone and longing to go to the war. And at 
 last the Tin Soldier cried out, ' I can't stand it. I 
 want to go to the wars — I want to go to the wars ! ' 
 But nobody listened or cared." 
 
 " Poor 'itte sing," Margaret-Mary crooned. 
 105 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " If I had been there," Teddy proclaimed, " I'd 
 have put him on the floor and told him to run and 
 run and run ! " 
 
 " But there was nobody to put him on the floor," 
 said Derry, " so at last the Tin Soldier could stand 
 it no longer. * I will go to the wars, I will go to the 
 wars,' he cried, and he threw himself down from 
 the shelf." 
 
 The story stopped suddenly. " Go on, go on," 
 urged the little voices in the dark. 
 
 " Perhaps you think that was the end of it, and 
 that the Tin Soldier ran away to the wars, to help 
 iis country and save the world from ruin. But 
 Fate wasn't as kind to him as that. For when the 
 little boy came again to the old house, he looked 
 for the Tin Soldier. But he wasn't on the shelf. 
 And he looked and looked and the old man looked, 
 and the wooden trumpeters blew out their cheeks, 
 ' Trutter-a-trutt, trutter-a-trutt — where is the Tin 
 Soldier? — trutter-a-trutt — .' 
 
 " But they did not find him, for the Tin Soldier 
 had fallen through a crack in the floor, and there 
 he lay as in an open grave." 
 
 Drusilla's voice was heard in the lower hall, and 
 the deeper voice of Captain Hewes. Margaret sped 
 down to meet them, leaving the story, reluctantly, 
 in that moment of heart-breaking climax. 
 
 When later Derry followed her, she had a chance 
 to say, " I hope you gave it a happy ending." 
 
 106 
 
THE SHADOWED BOOM 
 
 "Oh, did you hear? Yes. They found him in. 
 time to send him away to war. But Hans Ander- 
 sen didn't end it that way. He knew life." 
 
 She stared at him in amazement. Was this the 
 Derry whose supply of cheerfulness had seemed in- 
 exhaustible? Whose persistent optimism had been 
 at times exasperating to his friends? 
 
 Throughout the evening she was aware of his de- 
 pression. She was aware, too, of the mistake which 
 she had made in bringing Derry and Captain Hewes 
 together. 
 
 The Captain had red hair and a big nose. But 
 he was a gentleman in the fine old English sense; 
 he was a soldier with but one idea, that every physi- 
 cally able man should fight. Every sentence that he 
 spoke was charged with this belief, and every sen- 
 tence carried a sting for Derry. 
 
 More than once Peggy found it necessary to 
 change the subject frantically. Drusilla supple- 
 mented her efforts. 
 
 But gradually the Captain s manner froze. With 
 a sort of military sixth sense, he felt that he had 
 been asked to break bread and eat salt with a 
 slacker, and he resented it. 
 
 After dinner Drusilla sang for them. Sensitive 
 always to atmosphere, she soothed the Captain with 
 old and familiar songs, " Flow gently, sweet Afton," 
 and "Believe me if all those endearing young 
 charms." 
 
 107 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Then straight from these to " I'm going to marry 
 'Arry on the Fifth of January." 
 
 "Oh, I say — Harry Lauder," was Captain 
 Hewes' eager comment. " I heard him singing to 
 the chaps in the trenches just before I sailed — a 
 little stocky man in a red kilt. He'd laugh, and 
 you'd want to cry." 
 
 Drusilla gave them "Wee Hoose among the 
 Heather," with the touch of pathos which the little 
 man in the red kUt had imparted to it as he had 
 sung it in October in New York before an audi- 
 ence which had wept as it had welcomed him. 
 
 " Queer thing," Captain Hewes mused, " what the 
 war has done to him, set him preaching and all that." 
 
 " Oh, it isn't queer," Margaret was eager. " That 
 is one of the things the war is doing, bringing men 
 back to — God — " A sob caught in her throat. 
 
 DrusUla's hands strayed upon the keys, and into 
 the Battle Hymn of the Republic. 
 
 " I have seen Him in the watch fires of a hundred circling 
 
 camps, 
 They have tuilded Sim an altar in the evening dews and 
 
 damps, 
 I can read His righteous sentence hy the dim and flaring lamps. 
 His day is marching on — " 
 
 It was an old tune, but the words were new to 
 Captain Hewes — as the girl chanted them, in that 
 repressed voice that yet tore the heart out of him. 
 
 "He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call re- 
 treat, 
 
 108 
 
THE SHADOWED ROOM 
 
 He is sifting out the hearts of men 'before Bis judgment seat. 
 Oh, he stoift, my soul, to answer Sim, be jubilant my feet. 
 Our Ood is marching on — " 
 
 The Captain sat on the edge of his chair. His 
 
 face was illumined. 
 
 " By Jove," he ejaculated, " that's topping ! " 
 Drusilla stood up with her back to the piano, and 
 
 sang without music. 
 
 "In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was bom across the sea — 
 With the glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me. 
 As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free. 
 While God is marching on — " 
 
 She wore a gown of sheer dull blue, there was a 
 red rose in her hair — her white arms, her white 
 neck, the blue and red, youth and fire, strength and 
 purity. 
 
 When she finished the room was very still. The 
 big Englishman had no words for such a moment. 
 The music had swept him up to unexpected heights 
 of emotion. While Drusilla sang he had glimpsed 
 for the first time the meaning of democracy, he had 
 seen, indeed, in a great and lofty sense, for the first 
 time — America. 
 
 Among the shadows a young man shrank in his 
 seat. His vision was not of Democracy, but of a 
 freezing night — of a ragged old voice rising from 
 the blackness of a steep ravine — 
 
 " Oh, be swift, my soul — to answer — Him — 
 Be jubilant my feet — " 
 109 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Why had Drusilla chosen that of all songs? Oh, 
 why had she sung at all? 
 
 A maid came in to say that Mr. Drake was 
 wanted at the telephone. The message was from 
 Dr. McKenzie. The General was much worse. It 
 might be well for Derry to come home. 
 
 So Derry, with a great sense of relief, got away 
 from the frigid Captain, and from the flaming Dru- 
 silla, and from Peggy with her flushed air of apol- 
 ogy, and went out into the stormy night. He had 
 preferred to walk, although his shoes were thin. 
 " It isn't far," he had said when Margaret expostu- 
 lated, " and I'll send my car for Drusilla and Cap- 
 tain Hewes." 
 
 The sleet drove against his face. His feet were 
 wet before he reached the flrst corner, the wind buf- 
 feted him. But he felt none of it. He was con- 
 scious only of his depression and of his great dread 
 of again entering the big house where a sick man 
 lay in a lacquered bed and where a painted lady 
 smiled on the stairs. Where there was nothing 
 alive, nothing young, nothing with lips to welcome 
 him, or with hands to hold out to him. 
 
 He found when at last he arrived that the Doctor 
 had sent for Hilda Merritt. 
 
 She came presently, in her long blue cloak and 
 small blue bonnet. Hilda made no mistakes in the 
 matter of clothes. She realized the glamour which 
 
 110 
 
THE SHADOWED ROOM 
 
 her nurse's uniform cast over her. In evening dress 
 she was slightly commonplace. In ordinary street 
 garb not an eye would have been turned upon her, 
 but the nun's blue and white of her uniform added 
 the required spiritual effect to her rather full- 
 blown beauty. 
 
 As she passed the painted lady at the head of the 
 stairway she gave her a slight glance. Then on and ' 
 up she went to her appointed task. 
 
 " It is pneumonia," Dr. McKenzie told Derry ; 
 "that's why I wanted Miss Merritt. She is very 
 experienced, and in these days of war it is hard to 
 get good nurses." 
 
 Derry found his voice shaking. " Is there any 
 danger? " 
 
 " Naturally, at his age. But I think we are going 
 to pull him through." 
 
 Derry went into the shadowed room. His father 
 was breathing heavily. Something clutched at the 
 boy's heart — the fear of the Thing which lurked in 
 the darkness — a chill and sinister figure with a 
 skeleton hand. 
 
 He could not have his father die. He would feel 
 as if his thoughts had killed him — a murderer in 
 intention if not in deed. Not thus must the Ob- 
 stacle be removed. He raised haggard eyes to the 
 Doctor's face. "You — you mustn't think that I 
 store things up against him. He's all I have." 
 
 Ill 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 The Doctor's keen glance appraised him. " Don't 
 get morbid over it ; he has everything in his favor — 
 and Miss Merritt is famous in such cases." 
 
 Hilda took his praise with downcast eyes. Her 
 manner with the Doctor when others were present 
 was professionally deferential. It was only when 
 they were alone that the nurse was submerged in 
 the woman. 
 
 With her bonnet off and a white cap in its place, 
 she moved about the room. " I shall be very com- 
 fortable," she said, when Derry inquired if any- 
 thing could be done for her. 
 
 "We haven't any women about the place but 
 Cook," he explained. " She has been in our family 
 forever — " 
 
 " I'll put a day nurse on tomorrow," the Doctor 
 said, " but I want HUda with him at night ; she can 
 call me up if there's any change, and I'll come right 
 over." 
 
 When the Doctor had gone, Derry, seeking his 
 room, found Muffin waiting. Bronson bustled in 
 to see that his young master got out of his wet 
 clothes and into a hot bath. "All the time the 
 Doctor was talking to you, I was worrying about 
 your shoes. Your feet are soaked, sir. Whatever 
 made you walk in the rain? " 
 
 " I couldn't ride — I couldn't." 
 
 Tlie old man on his knees removing the wet shoes 
 looked up. " Bestless, sir? " 
 
 112 
 
THE 8HAD0WED BOOM 
 
 "Yes. There are times, Bronson, when I want 
 — my mother." 
 
 He could say it in this room to Bronson and Muf- 
 fin — to the gray old dog and the gray old man who 
 adored him. 
 
 Bronson put him to bed, settled Muffin among his 
 blankets in a basket by the hot water pipes, opened 
 the windows wide, said " God bless you," and went 
 away. 
 
 " Sweet dreams. Muffin," said Derry from the big 
 bed. 
 
 The old dog whuffed discreetly. 
 
 It was their nightly ceremony. 
 
 The sleet came down in golden streaks against 
 the glow of the street lights. Derry lay watching 
 it, and it was a long time before he slept. Not 
 since his mother's death had he been so weighed 
 down with heaviness. 
 
 He kept seeing Jean with her head up, declining 
 to dance with him; on the high stool at the con- 
 fectioner's, her eyes cold above her chocolate; the 
 English Captain and his contemptuous stare ; Alma, 
 basely excusing him ; Drusilla, in her red and blue 
 and white — singing — ! 
 
 He waked in the morning with a sore throat. 
 Young Martin came in to light the fire and draw 
 the water for his bath. Later Bronson brought his 
 breakfast and the mail. 
 
 " You'd better stay in bed, Mr. Derry." 
 113 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 « I think I shall. How is Dad? " 
 
 " The nurse says he is holding his own." 
 
 « I am glad of that." 
 
 Bronson, feeding warm milk and toast to Muffin, 
 ventured an opinion, " I am not sure that I like the 
 nurse, sir." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " She's not exactly a lady, and she's not exactly 
 a nurse." 
 
 " I see." Deny, having glanced over a letter or 
 two, had picked up an envelope with embossed 
 thistles on the flap. "But she is rather pretty, 
 Bronson." 
 
 " Pretty is as pretty does," sententiously. 
 
 Silence. Bronson looked across at the young 
 man propped up among the pillows. He was re- 
 reading the letter with the thistles on the flap. 
 The strained look had gone out of his eyes, and his 
 lips were smiling. 
 
 " I think I'll get up." 
 
 " Changed your mind, sir? " 
 
 " Yes." He threw back the covers. " I've a thou- 
 sand things to do." 
 
 But there was just one thing which he was going 
 to do which stood out beyond all others. Neither 
 life nor death nor flood nor fire should keep him 
 from presenting himself at four o'clock at Jean 
 McKenzie's door, in response to the precious note 
 which in a moment had changed the world for him. 
 
 114 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 eose-colob! 
 
 Jean found the day stretching out ahead of her 
 in a series of exciting events. At the breakfast 
 table her father told her that Hilda would stay on 
 General Drake's case, and that she had better have 
 EmUy Bridges up for a visit. 
 
 " I don't like to have you alone at night, if I am 
 called away." 
 
 " It will be heavenly, Daddy, to have Emily — " 
 
 And how was he to know that there were other 
 heavenly things to happen? She had resolved that 
 if Derry came, she would tell her father afterwards. 
 But he might not come, so what was the use of be- 
 ing premature? 
 
 She sallied down to the Toy Shop in high feather. 
 " You are to stay with us, Emily." 
 
 " Oh, am I? How do you know that I can make 
 it convenient? " 
 
 " But you will, darling." 
 
 Jean's state of mind was beatific. She painted 
 Lovely Dreams with a touch of inspiration which 
 resulted in a row of purple camels. " Midnight on 
 the Desert," Jean called them. 
 
 " Oh, Emily," she said, " we must have them in 
 115 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 the window on Christmas morning, with the Wise 
 Men and the Star — " 
 
 Emily, glancing at the face above the blue apron, 
 was struck by the radiance of it. 
 
 " Is it because Hilda is away? " she asked. 
 
 "Iswhat— ?" 
 
 " Your — rapture." 
 
 Jean laughed. "It is because Hilda is away, 
 and other things. But I can't tell you now." 
 
 Then for fear Emily might be hurt by her secrecy, 
 she flew to kiss her and again call her " Darling." 
 
 At noon she put on her hat and ran home, or at 
 least her heart ran, and when she reached the house 
 she sought the kitchen. 
 
 " I am having company for tea, Ellen — at four. 
 And I want Lady-bread-and-butter, and oh, Ellen, 
 will you have time for little pound cakes? " 
 
 She knew of course that pound cakes were — 
 verioten. She felt, however, that even Mr. Hoover 
 might sanction a fatted calf in the face of this su- 
 preme event. 
 
 She planned that she would receive Derry in the 
 small drawing room. It was an informal room 
 which had been kept by her mother for intimate 
 friends. There was a wide window which faced 
 west, a davenport in deep rose velvet, some chairs 
 to match, and there were always roses in an old 
 blue bowl. 
 
 Jean knew the dress she was going to wear in this 
 116 
 
ROBE-COLOR! 
 
 room — of blue to match the bowl, with silver lace, 
 and a girdle of pink brocade. 
 
 Alone in her room with PoUy-Ann to watch pro- 
 ceedings, she got out the lovely gown. 
 
 "Oh, I do want to be pretty, Polly-Ann," she 
 said with much wistfulness. 
 
 Yet when she was all hooked and snapped into it, 
 she surveyed herself with some dissatisfaction in 
 the mirror. 
 
 "Why not?" she asked the mirror. "Why 
 shouldn't I wear it? " 
 
 The mirror gave back a vision of beauty — but 
 behind that vision in the depths of limitless space 
 Jean's eyes discerned something which made her 
 change her gown. Quite soberly she got herself into 
 a little nun's frock of gray with collars and cuffs 
 of transparent white, and above it all was the glory 
 of her crinkled hair. 
 
 Neither then nor afterwards could she analyze 
 her reasons for the change. Perhaps sub-con- 
 sciously she was perceiving that this meeting with 
 Derry Drake was to be a serious and stupendous 
 occasion. Throughout the world the emotions of 
 men and women were being quickened to a pace 
 set by a mighty conflict. Never again would Jean 
 McKenzie laugh or cry over little things. She 
 would laugh and cry, of course, but back of it all 
 would be that sense of the world's trayail and 
 
 117 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 tragedy, made personal by her own part in it. 
 
 Julia, the second maid, was instructed to show 
 Mr. Drake into the little drawing room. Jean 
 came down early with her knitting, and sat on the 
 deep-rose Dayenport. The curtains were not 
 drawn. There was always the chance of a sunset 
 view. Julia was to turn on the light when she 
 brought in the tea. 
 
 There was the whir of a bell, the murmur of 
 voices. Jean sat tense. Then as her caller en- 
 tered, she got somewhat shakily on her feet. 
 
 But the man in the door was not Derry Drake ! 
 
 In his intrusive and impertinent green, pinched-in 
 as to waist, and pufEed-out as to trousers, his cheeks 
 red with the cold, his brown eyes bright with eager- 
 ness, Ealph Witherspoon stood on the threshold. 
 
 " Of all the good luck," he said, " to find you 
 in." 
 
 She shook hands with him and sat down. 
 
 " I thought you had gone back to Bay Shore. 
 You said yesterday you were going." 
 
 " I got my orders in the nick of time. We are to 
 go to Key West. I am to join the others on the 
 way down." 
 
 "How soon?" 
 
 He sat at the other end of the davenport. " In 
 three days, and anything can happen in three days." 
 
 He moved closer. She had a sense of panic. 
 Was he going to propose to her again, in this room 
 
 118 
 
B08E-C0L0R! 
 
 which she had set aside so sacredly for Derry 
 Drake? 
 
 " Won't you have some tea? " she asked, desper- 
 ately. " I'll have Julia bring it in." 
 
 " I'd rather talk." 
 
 But she had it brought, and Julia, wheeling in the 
 tea-cart, offered a moment's reprieve. And Ralph 
 ate the Lady-bread-and-butter, and the little pound 
 cakes with the nuts and white frosting which had 
 been meant for Derry, and then he walked around 
 the tea-cart and took her hand, and for the seventh 
 time since he had met her he asked her to marry 
 him. 
 
 " But I don't love you." She was almost in tears. 
 
 " You don't know what love is — I'll teach you." 
 
 " I don't Want to be taught." 
 
 " You don't know what it means to be taught — " 
 
 Jean had a stifling sense as of some great green 
 tree bending down to crush her. She put out her 
 hand to push it away. 
 
 In the silence a bell whirred — . 
 
 Derry Drake, ushered in by Julia, saw the room 
 in the rosy glow of the lamp. He saw Ralph 
 Witherspoon towering insolently in his aviator's 
 green. He saw Jean, blushing and perturbed. 
 The scene struck cold against the heat of his an- 
 ticipation. 
 
 He sat down in one of the rose-colored chairs, and 
 Julia brought more tea for him, more Lady-bread- 
 
 119 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 and-btittep, more pound cakes with nuts and frost- 
 ing. 
 
 Ealph was frankly curious. He was also frankly 
 jealous. He was aware that iDerry had met Jean 
 for the first time at his mother's dinner dance. 
 And Derry's millions were formidable. It did not 
 occur to Balph that Derry, without his millions, 
 was formidable. Ralph's idea of a man's attract- 
 iveness for women was founded on his belief in 
 their admiration of good looks, and their liking 
 for the possession of, as he would himself have ex- 
 pressed it, " plenty of pep " and " go." From 
 Ealph's point of view Derry Drake was not hand- 
 some, and he was utterly unaware that back of 
 Derry's silver-blond slenderness and apparent lau- 
 guidness were banked fires which could more than 
 match his own. 
 
 And there was this, too, of which he was uncon- 
 scious, that Derry's millions meant nothing to 
 Jean. Had he remained the shabby son of the 
 shabby old man in the Toy Shop, her heart would 
 still have followed him. 
 
 So, fatuously hopeful, Ealph stayed. He stayed 
 until five, until half -past five. Until a quarter of six. 
 
 And he talked of the glories of war ! 
 
 Derry grew restless. As he sat in the rose-col- 
 ored chair, he fingered a tassel which caught back 
 one of the curtains of the wide window. It was a 
 
 120 
 
BOSE-COLOR! 
 
 silk tassel, and he pulled at one strand of it until it 
 was flossy and frayed. He was unconscious of Ms 
 work of destruction, unconscious that Jean's eyes, 
 lifted now and then from her knitting, noted his 
 fingers weaving in and out of the rosy strands. 
 
 Balph talked on. With seeming modesty he 
 spoke of the feats of other men, yet none the less it 
 was Ealph they saw, poised like a bird at incredible 
 heights, looping the loop, fearless, splendid — beat- 
 ing the air with strong wings. 
 
 Six o'clock, and at last Kalph rose. Even then 
 he hesitated and hung back, as if he expected that 
 Derry might go with him. But Derry, stiff and 
 straight beside the rose-colored chair, bade him fare- 
 well! 
 
 And now Derry was alone vdth Jean ! 
 
 They found themselves standing close together in 
 front of the fire. The garment of coldness and of 
 languor which had seemed to enshroud Derry had 
 dropped from him. The smile which he gave Jean 
 was like warm wine in her veins. 
 
 "Well—?" 
 
 " I asked you to come — to say — that I am — 
 sorry — ," her voice breaking. " Daddy told me 
 that he knew why — you couldn't fight — " 
 
 " I didn't intend that he should tell." 
 
 "He didn't," eagerly, "not your reasons. He 
 said it was a — confidence, and he couldn't break 
 
 121 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Ms word. But he knew that you were brave. 
 That the things the world is saying are all wrong. 
 Oh, I ought to go down on my knees." 
 
 Her face was white, her eyes deep wells of tears. 
 
 "^ It is I," he said, very low, " who should be on 
 my knees — do you know what it means to me to 
 have you tell me this? " 
 
 " I wasn't sure that I ought to write. To some 
 men I couldn't have written — " 
 
 His face lighted. " When your note came — I 
 can't tell you what it meant to me. I shouldn't 
 like to think of what this day would have been for 
 me if you had not written. Everybody is calling 
 me — a coward. You know that. You heard 
 Witherspoon just now pitying me, not in words, but 
 his manner." 
 
 " Oh, Ralph," how easily she disposed of Mm. 
 " Ralph crows, like a — rooster." 
 
 They looked at each other and tried to laugh. 
 But they were not laughing in their hearts. 
 
 He lifted her hand and kissed it — then he stood 
 well away from her, anchoring himself again to the 
 silken tassel. " Now that you know a part," he 
 said, from that safe distance, " I'd like to tell you 
 all of it, if I may." 
 
 As he talked her fingers were busy with her knit- 
 ting, but there came moments when she laid it down 
 and looked up at him with eyes that mirrored his 
 own earnestness. 
 
 122 
 
ROSE-COLOR! 
 
 ii ■ 
 
 It — it hasn't been easy," he said in conclusion, 
 " but — but if you will be my friend, nothing will 
 be hard." 
 
 She tried to speak — was shaken as if by a strong 
 wind, and her knitting went up as a shield. 
 
 " My dear, you are crying," he said, and was on 
 his knees beside her. 
 
 And now they were caught in the tide of that 
 mighty waye which was sweeping the world ! 
 
 When at last she steadied herself, he was again 
 anchored to the rose-colored tassel. 
 
 " You — you must forgive me — but — it has 
 been so good to talk it out — to some one — who 
 cared. I had never dreamed until that night in 
 the Toy Shop of anybody — like you. Of any- 
 body so — adorable. When your note came this 
 morning, I couldn't believe it. But now I know it 
 is true. And that night of Cinderella you were so 
 — heavenly." 
 
 It was a good thing that Miss Emily came in at 
 that moment — for his eloquence was a burning 
 flood, and Jean was swept up and on with it. 
 
 The entrance of Emily, strictly tailored and prac- 
 tical, gave them pause. 
 
 " You remember Mr. Drake, don't you, EmUy? " 
 
 Emily did, of course. But she had not expected 
 to see him here. She held out her hand. " I re- 
 member that he was coming back for more of your 
 Lovely Dreams." 
 
 123 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "I want all df her dreams," said Derry, and 
 something in the way that he said it took Miss 
 Emilj's breath away. " Please don't sell them to 
 anyone else. You have a wholesale order from 
 me." 
 
 Miss Emily looked from one to the other. She 
 was conscious of something which touched the 
 stars — something which all her life she had 
 missed, something which belongs to youth and 
 ecstasy. 
 
 " Wholesale orders are not in my line," she said. 
 " You can settle that with Jean." 
 
 She surveyed the tea-wagon. " I'm starved. 
 And if I eat I shall spoil my dinner." 
 
 " I can ring for hot water, Emily, and there are 
 more of the pound cakes." 
 
 " My dear, no. I must go upstairs and dress. 
 Your father sent for my bag, and Julia says it is 
 in my room." 
 
 She bade Derry a cheerful good-bye, and left 
 them alone. 
 
 "I must go, too," said Derry, and took Jean's 
 hand. He stood looking down at her. "May I 
 come tomorrow? " 
 
 "Oh,— yes— " 
 
 " There's one thing that I should like more than 
 anything, if we could go to church together — to be 
 thankful that — that we've found each other — " 
 
 Tears in the shining eyes ! 
 124 
 
BOSE-COLOBl 
 
 " Why are you crying? " 
 
 " Because it is so — sweet." 
 
 " Then youll go? " 
 
 " I'd love it." 
 
 He dropped her hiand and got away. She was 
 little and young, so divinely innocent. He felt that 
 he must not take unfair advantage of that mood of 
 exaltation. 
 
 He drove straight downtown and ordered flowers 
 for her. Remembering the nun's dress, he sent 
 violets in a gray basket, with a knot on the handle 
 of heavenly blue. 
 
 The flowers came while Jean was at dinner. 
 Emily was in Hilda's place, a quiet contrast in her 
 slenderness and modest black to Hilda's opulence. 
 Dr. McKenzie had not had time to dress. 
 
 " I am so busy, Emily." 
 
 " But you love the busy-ness, don't you? I can't 
 imagine you without the hours crammed full." 
 
 " Just now I wish thiat I could push it away as 
 Richards pushed it — " 
 
 Jean looked up. " But Dr. Richards went to 
 France, Daddy." 
 
 " I envy him." 
 
 " Oh, do you — ? " Then her flowers came, and 
 she forgot everything elsa 
 
 The Doctor whistled as Julia set the basket in 
 front of Jean. " Ralph is generous." 
 
 Jean had opened the attached envelope and was 
 125 
 
ROSE -COLOR! 
 
 reading a card. A wave of self-conscious color 
 swept over her cheeks. " Ealph didn't send them. 
 It — it was Derry Drake." 
 
 " Drake? How did that happen? " 
 
 " He was here this afternoon for tea, and Ealph, 
 and Emily — ■ only Emily was late, and the tea was 
 cold—" 
 
 " So you've made up? " 
 
 " We didn't have to make up much, Daddy, did 
 we?" mendaciously. 
 
 Miss Emily came to the rescue. " He seems very 
 nice." 
 
 " Splendid fellow. But I am not sure that I 
 want him sending flowers to my daughter. I don't 
 want anyone sending flowers to her." 
 
 Miss Emily took him up sharply. " That's your 
 selfishness. Life has always been a garden where 
 you have wandered at will. And now you want to 
 shut the gate of that garden against your daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 " Well, there are flowers that I shouldn't care to 
 have her pluck." 
 
 " Don't you know her well enough to understand 
 that she'll pluck only the little lovely blooms? " 
 
 His eyes rested on Jean's absorbed face. " Yes, 
 thank God. And thank you, too, for saying it, 
 Emily." 
 
 After dinner they sat in the library. Doctor 
 McKenzie on one side of the fire with his cigar, 
 
 126 
 
ROSE-COLOR! 
 
 Emily on the other side with her knittiag. Jean 
 between them in a low chair, a knot of Berry's vio- 
 lets fragrant against the gray of her gown, her 
 fingers idle. 
 
 " Why aren't you knitting? " the Doctor asked. 
 
 " I don't have to set a good example to Emily." 
 
 "And you do to Hilda?" He threw back his 
 head and laughed. 
 
 " You needn't laugh. Isn't it comfy with 
 Emily? " 
 
 " It is." He glanced at the slender black figure. 
 He was still feeling the fineness of the thing she 
 had said about Jean. " But when she is here I am 
 jealous." 
 
 " Oh, Daddy." 
 
 " And I am never jealous of Hilda. If you had 
 Emily all the time you'd love her better than you do 
 me." 
 
 He chuckled at their hot eyes. " If you are teas- 
 ing," Jean told him, " I'll forgive you. But Emily 
 won't, will you, Emily?" 
 
 " No." Emily's voice was gay, and he liked the 
 color in her cheeks. " He doesn't deserve to be 
 forgiven. Some day he is going to be devoured by 
 a green-eyed monster, like a bad little boy in a 
 Sunday School story." 
 
 Her needles clicked, and her eyes sparkled. 
 There was no doubt that there was a sprightliness 
 about Emily that was stimulating. 
 
 127 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " But one's only daughter, Emily. Isn't jealousy 
 pardonable? " 
 
 " Not in you." 
 
 « Why not? " 
 
 " Well," with obvious reluctance, " you're too big 
 for it." 
 
 " Oh," he was more pleased than he was willing 
 to admit, " did you hear that, Jean? " 
 
 But Jean, having drifted away from them, came 
 back with, " I am going to church with him tomor- 
 row." 
 
 "Him? Whom?" 
 
 " Derry Drake, Daddy, and may I bring him home 
 to dinner? " 
 
 " Do you think a man like that goes begging for 
 invitations? He has probably been asked to a 
 dozen places to eab his turkey." 
 
 " He can't eat it at a dozen places. Daddy. And 
 anyhow I should like to ask him. I — I think he is 
 lonely — " 
 
 " A man with millions is never lonely." 
 
 She did not attempt to argue. She felt that her 
 fatheir could hot possibly grasp the truth about 
 Derry Drake. Her own understanding of his need 
 had been a blinding, whirling revelation. He had 
 said, " I wanted some one — who cared — ." Not 
 for a moment since then had the world been real to 
 her. She had seemed in the center of a golden- 
 lighted sphere, where Derry's voice spoke to her, 
 
 128 
 
B08EC0L0B! 
 
 where Berry's smile warmed her, where Derry, a 
 silver-crested knight, knelt at her feet. 
 
 Julia came in to say that Miss Jean was wanted 
 at the telephone. 
 
 Miraculously Derry's voice came over the wire. 
 Was she going to the dance at the Willard? The 
 one for the benefit of the Eye and Ear Hospital? 
 The President and his wife would be there — the 
 only ball they had attended this season — every- 
 body would be there. Could he come for Jean and 
 her father? And he'd bring Drusilla and Marion 
 Gray. She knew Drusilla? 
 
 Jean on tiptoe. Oh, yes. But she was not sure 
 about her father. 
 
 "But you — you — ?" 
 
 " I'll ask." 
 
 She flew on winged feet and explained excitedly. 
 
 " Tonight? Tonight, Jean? " 
 
 " Yes, Daddy." 
 
 " But what time is it? " 
 
 " Only ten. He'll come at eleven — " 
 
 " But you can't leave Emily alone, dear." 
 
 "Emily won't mind — darling — will you. 
 Emily? " 
 
 " Of course not. I am often alone." 
 
 It was said quietly, without bitterness, but Dr. 
 McKenzie was quite suddenly and unreasonably 
 moved by the thought of all that Emily had missed. 
 He felt it utterly unfair that she should sit alone 
 
 129 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 by an empty hearth while he and Jean frivolled. 
 He had never thought of Hilda by an empty heai-th 
 — and she had been often alone — but there was 
 this which made the difference, he would not have 
 asked Hilda to meet his daughter's friends. She 
 had her place in his household, but it was not the 
 place which Emily filled. 
 
 Yet he missed her. He missed her blond pic- 
 turesqueness at the dinner table, her trim whiteness 
 as she served him in his ofSce. 
 
 He came back to the question of Emily. " You 
 can tell Drake we will go, if Emily can accompany 
 us." 
 
 " But, Doctor, I'd rather not." 
 
 " Why not? " 
 
 " I'm not included in the invitation." 
 
 " Don't be self-conscious." 
 
 " And I haven't anything to wear." 
 
 " You never looked better than you do at this 
 moment. And Jean can get you that scaif of her 
 mother's with the jet and spangles." 
 
 "The peacocky one — oh, yes, Daddy." Jean 
 danced back to the telephone. 
 
 Derry was delighted to include Miss Bridges. 
 " Bring a dozen if you wish." 
 
 " I don't want a dozen. I want just Daddy smd 
 Emily." 
 
 " And me? " 
 
 " Of course — silly — " 
 130 
 
ROSE-COLOBl 
 
 Laughter singing along the wire, " May I come 
 now?" 
 
 " I have to change my dress." 
 
 " In an hour, then? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I can't really believe that we are going — to- 
 gether ! " 
 
 "Together—" 
 
 131 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 A MAN WITH JfOWBY 
 
 White and silver for Jean, the peacocky scarf 
 making EmUy shine with the best of them, Dr. Mc- 
 Kenzie called away at the last moment, and prom- 
 ising to join them later ;'^erry catching Ms breath 
 when he saw his violets among Jean's laces ; Dru- 
 silla wondering a little at this transfigured "JJerry; 
 Marion Gray settling down to the comfort of a 
 chat with Emily — what had these to do with a JSin 
 iSoldieE-Oft-arsfedt? ^r*J^i «lfts»J<:<«irfc^^-' 
 
 " How is your father, Perry? " 
 
 "Better, Drusilla. He has a fine nurse." Dr.' 
 McKenzie sent her." jp^t , 
 
 " And I have "^SmUj^" Jean sang from the corner <; 
 of-the-MgTjm" where '^^erry had her penned in, with 
 the fragrance of her violets sweeping over him as 
 he sat next to her. " I want Emily always, but 
 Daddy has to have a nurse in the office, and Emily 
 won't give up her toys. And in the meantime 
 Hilda and I are ready to scratch each other's eyes 
 out. Please keep her as long as you, can on your 
 father's case, Mr. Drake." 
 
 " Say * Derry,' " he commanded under cover of 
 the light laughter of the women. 
 
 " Not before — everybody — " 
 132 
 
A MAN WITH MONET 
 
 "Whisper it, then," 
 
 "Iperry, ^eny." 
 
 His pulses pounded. Durmg. j^e rest of the 
 dpiTC, --he spoke to his other guoBt s and seemed to 
 listen, but he heard nothing — nothing but thp 
 whisper e#4ha t beluvfe J vo ic e, o^'^'^ ^.'.."j •fr-rri 
 
 As Derrj-hM said, all the woridof - Waohington -^ 
 was at tli^^SIrTPlre President and his wife in a 
 flag-draped box, she in black with a turquoise fan, 
 he towering a little above her, v^^vv. than Piesldont 
 i\jH of war TheiLloaked down 
 
 on sMa in the uniforms of the - battXi ag world — 
 l^oL and Bl'lLuilll'Ud Odwh — in plaid and khaki and 
 horizon blue — . j^ ^^^. t^^tlJ of ^* <^* 
 
 They looked down on weiuen kiilLLijiy. <* 
 
 Mrs. Witherspoon and a party of young people 
 sat in a box adjoining "ferry's. Ralph was there 
 and Alma Drew, and Alma>was more than ever 
 lovely in gold-embroidered 4«BfejK>f^ , 
 
 Ralph knew whathad happened when he saw 
 Jean dancing with'^erry. There was no mistak- 
 ing the soft raptures of the youthful pair. In the 
 days to come Ralph was to suffer wounds, but none 
 to tear his heart like this. And so when he danced 
 with Jean a littleJater he did not spare her. 
 
 " A man with moaey always gets what he wants." 
 " I don't know what you mean." 4rvA***^ 
 " I think you do. You are going to Haae^^erry, 
 Sxaker" 
 
 133 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 She shrank at this. She had in her meetings 
 with Derry never looked beyond the bliss of the 
 moment. To have Ealph's rough fingers tearing at 
 the veil of her future was revolting. 
 
 She breathed quickly. " I shan't dance with you, 
 if you speak of it again." 
 
 "You shall dance with me," grimly, "this mo- 
 ment is my own — " 
 
 She was like wax in his strong arms. ""Oh, 
 liow dare you." She was cold with anger. " I 
 want to stop/'- 
 
 " And I could dance forever. That's the irony of 
 it — that I cannot make you. But if I had Drake's 
 money, I'd make you." 
 
 " Do you think it is his money? " 
 
 " Perhaps not. But the world will think it." 
 
 " If — if he wanted me, I'd marry him if he were 
 a beggar in the streets." 
 
 " Has it gone as far as that? But you wouldn't 
 many a beggar. A troubadour beneath your bal- 
 cony, yes. But not a beggar. You'd want him 
 silken and blond and singing, and staying at home 
 while other men fought — " 
 
 She stopped at once. " If you knew what you 
 were talking about, I'd never speak to you again. 
 But because I was fool enough once to believe that 
 Derry Drake was a coVard, I am going to forgive 
 you. But I shall not dance with you again, 
 
 134 
 
A MAN WITH MONEY 
 
 Making her way back alone to the box, she saw 
 with a throb of relief that her Mthec had joined 
 Emily and Marion Gray. ^* 
 
 He uttered a quick exclamation as she came up. 
 « What's the matter, daughte r? "^c♦^r 
 
 Her throat was dry. "I can't tell you now — 
 there are too many people. It was Ralph. 1 haLe- 
 him, Daddj." ' 
 
 "My dear— " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 " Please, I don't want to talk about it — wait 
 until T^ift^getluaBfi." f^ ****^'7 ^^ Aft-t-e j^ . H^ ^ 
 
 Looking out over the heads of the swaying crow^, 
 
 she saw that Derry was dancing with Alma Drew, 
 
 -ABd4#^aa -iy .' «Ki - w>b<H igdr^ga9'-alrt^^ " 
 
 WsMt, l^Everybody will forgiye W man with 
 
 4 
 
 And that was what Ralph had_^QUght of her, 
 that she was like Alma — that moa^ could buy 
 her-^i^at she would sell the honor of her country 
 for geld — . 
 
 But worse than any hurt of her own was the hurt 
 of the thing for J ow yf Ralph Witherspoon had 
 dared to point a finger of scorn at him — other 
 people had dared — 
 
 She suffered intensely, not as a child, but as a 
 woman. 
 
 Alma, out on the floor, was saying to "^erry, " I 
 135 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 saw you dancing with Jean McKenzie. -Sbe-'s a 
 
 " ^Uit a diu-k, A1ma,^Hrenray"fimM}iiT^-'*°r'iylittg 
 dove — OP a silver swan." £Tlie look that he sent 
 across the room to Jean was a revelation. 
 
 Like Ealph, she grew hateful. " So that's it? 
 " Well,7i^man with mo&erj can get anything." 
 
 He had no anger for her. Jean might blaze in 
 his defense, but his own fires were not to be fanned 
 by any words of Alma Drew. If he lost his for- 
 tune, Jean would still care for him. It was fore- 
 ordained, as fixed as the star^'fe £*»•-' Ma «*• 
 
 So he went back to her, and when she saw him 
 coming, the burden of her distress fell from her. 
 The world became once more hers and Derry's, with 
 everybody else shut out. When they had supper 
 with the Witherspoon party joining them, and 
 Ealph palely repentant beside her, she even, to the 
 utter bewilderment of her father, smiled at him, 
 and talked as if their quarrel had never been. 
 
 Drusilla watched her with more than a tinge of 
 envy. She was aware that her own vivid charm 
 was shadowed and eclipsed by the white flame of 
 Jean's youth and innocence. " And m loves her," 
 she thought with a tug of her heartstrings; "-be'" 
 loves her, and there'll never be anything like it for 
 '%im~a.gsdn."i 
 
 She sat rather silently between Captain Hewes • 
 and Dr. McKenzie. Dr. McKenzie had always ad- 
 
 136 
 
A MAN WITH MONET 
 
 mired Drusilla, but tonight his attention was rather 
 more than usual fixed upon her by a remark which 
 Captain Hewes had made when the two men had 
 stood alone together watching the dancers. " I 
 have seen very little of American women — but to 
 me Drusilla Gray seems the supreme type." 
 
 " She is very attractive." 
 
 " She is more than that. - She is inspiring, the 
 embodiment of your best ideals. When she sings 
 one wonders that all men have not fought for democ- 
 racy." 
 
 That was something to say of a woman. Doctor 
 McKenzie wondered if it could be said of his own 
 daughter. Set side by side with Drusilla, Jean 
 seemed a childish creature, unstable, swayed by 
 the emotion of the moment. Yet her fire matched 
 DrusUla's, her dreams outran Drusilla's dreams. 
 
 Two ofl&cers passed the table. 
 
 "How any man can keep out of it," Drusilla 
 said. " Some day I shall put on a uniform and 
 pass for a boy — " 
 
 " Why not go over as you are? " 
 
 " They won't let me now. But some day they 
 will. I can drive a car — there ought to be a place 
 for me." 
 
 " There is one for me," he said, " and my decision 
 must be made tonight. , They are asking me to head 
 a hospital staff in France. A letter came this 
 morning, and I've got to answer it." 
 
 137 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Her eyes went to the flame-white maiden on the 
 other side of the table. " What does Jean saiy? " 
 
 " I haven't asked her. She wouldn't keep me 
 back. But I am all she has, and it would hurt.'' 
 
 " It would hurt. But you are not all that she 
 has — you might as well try to sweep back the sea 
 as to stop what is going on over there. I have been 
 sitting here green with envy. Oh, if love might 
 only come to me like that." 
 
 "Like what?" 
 
 " Heaven-sent — never a doubt, never a specula- 
 tion ; just knowing and believing — souls stripped 
 bare of all pretence." 
 
 How splendid she was — how beautiful! He 
 bent down to her. "Why shouldn't it come to 
 you?" 
 
 " Men don't love me that way. They admire and 
 respect and then love. But Jean? She's a moon 
 maiden, luring them to — madness." She smiled 
 up at him, ' 
 
 " Captain Hewes says you are the supreme type 
 — the perfect American." 
 
 " Yes, but he thinks of me as a type. Some day 
 perhaps 'he will think of me as a woman." 
 
 She brought the conversation badk to Jean. 
 "You need not let the thought of her loneliness 
 trouble you." 
 
 " You think then that I am going to lose her? " 
 
 " You have lost her already." 
 138 
 
A MAN WITH MONEY 
 
 Sparks burned in the Doctor's eyes. "I don't 
 believe it. She has known him a few days — and 
 I've given her my whole life." 
 
 " ' Forsaking all others,' " murmured Drusilla. 
 
 " Yet she loves me." 
 
 "It isn't that she loves you less — she loves him 
 more." 
 
 "Don't," he lifted his hand. "I am not sure 
 that I can stand it." 
 
 " It makes your way clear. That's why I have 
 said it. There will be nothing now to keep you 
 back from France." 
 
 Once upon a time she had said to Derry, " I can 
 feel things, and I can make others feel." She had, 
 perhaps, tonight, been a little cruel, but she had 
 been cruel with a purpose. 
 
 All the way home Doctor McKenzie was very 
 silent. When he kissed his daughter before she 
 wenit upstairs, he held her close and smoothed her 
 hair, but not a word did he say of the thing which 
 had come to him. 
 
 He asked EmUy, however, to wait a moment. " I 
 have a letter to answer. I should like your ad- 
 vice." 
 
 Wondering a little, she sat down by the fire. The 
 peacocky scarf gave out glittering lights of blue and 
 green. She was tired and there were shadows un- 
 der her eyes. 
 
 He came at once to his proposition. " I am 
 
 139 
 
 / 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 thinking of going to France, Emily. If I do, can 
 you stay with Jean? " 
 
 She turned her startled gaze upon him. "To 
 France? Why?" 
 
 He told her. " They have been writing to me for 
 weeks, and now the moment for my decision has 
 come. I haven't said anything to Jean. But she 
 won't keep me back. You know how she feels. 
 But unless you can come, I can't leave her." 
 
 " I should have to be all day in my shop." 
 
 " I know, but you could be here in the evening 
 and at night, and she could, of course, be with you 
 in the shop, she likes that — and it would keep her 
 from brooding. Or, if you will give up the shop, I 
 should like to make it financially possible for you, 
 Emily." 
 
 She shook her head. " No. You will be coming 
 back, and then my occupation would be gone." 
 She hesitated. " But if I come — what of Hilda? " 
 
 " She may decide to go over, too, as a nurse. 
 We work well together." 
 
 She was silent, searching for the words which 
 she felt that she ought to say. So that was it? 
 They would go together, and the tongues of the 
 world would wag. And Hilda would know that 
 they were wagging, and would not care. But he, 
 with his mind on bigger things, would never know, 
 and would blunder unseeing into the net which 
 was set for him. She felt that she ought to warn 
 
 140 
 
A MAN WITH MONEY 
 
 him, that the good friendship which existed be- 
 tween them demanded it. Yet it was a hard thing 
 to say, and she hated it. So the moment passed. 
 
 It was he who spoke first — of Jean and Derry. 
 " What do you think of it, Emily? " 
 
 " He is very much in love ^th. her." 
 
 "And Jean?" 
 
 " Oh, I think you know. You saw her tonight." 
 
 He felt a sudden sense of age and loneliness. 
 " She won't miss me, then? " 
 
 " Do you think that anyone could make up to 
 your little Jean for the loss of her father? " 
 
 He covered his face with his hand. "You are 
 feeling it like that? " she asked, gently. 
 
 " Yes. She is all I have, Emily. And I am jeal- 
 ous — > desperately — desperately." 
 
 She searched for words to comfort him, and at 
 last they came. " She ^v'ill be very proud of her 
 Daddy in France." 
 
 " Do you think she will? " 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " And yet — I am not really worthy of all that 
 she gives — " 
 
 She leaned forward, her white hands in her lap. 
 Jean's comment echoed once more in his ears. " I 
 like Emily's hands much better than Hilda's." 
 They seemed, indeed, to represent all that was lovely 
 in Emily, her refinement, her firmness, her gentle 
 spirit. 
 
 141 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "Bruce," she said — she rarely called him that 
 -T-" your dear wife would never have loved you if 
 you hadn't been worthy of love." 
 
 " I need her — to hold me to my best." 
 
 " Hold yourself to it, Bruce — " She stood up. 
 " I must go to bed, and so must you. We have 
 busy days before us." 
 
 He spoke impulsively. " You are a good woman, 
 Emily — there's no one in the world that I would 
 trust to stay with Jean but you." 
 
 She smiled a little wistfully as she went upstairs. 
 She had perhaps comforted him, but she had left 
 unsaid the words she should have spoken. " You 
 must not take Hilda with you. If you take her 
 with you, will your Jean be proud of her Daddy in 
 France? " 
 
 1^ 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 HILDA WEARS A CEOWN 
 
 At two o'clock on Thanksgiving morning the 
 light burned low in the General's room. Hilda, 
 wide awake, was reading. Derry stopped at the 
 door. 
 
 She rose at once and went to him. 
 
 " Is he all right, Miss Merritt? " 
 
 " Yes. He's sound asleep." 
 
 " Then you think he's better? " 
 
 " Much better." 
 
 " Good. I hope you can stay on the case. Dr. 
 McKenzie says it is all because of your splendid 
 care of him. I just left McKenzie, by the way. I 
 took him and his daughter to the ball at the Wil- 
 lard. We had a corking time." 
 
 Her eyes saw a change in him. This was not the 
 listless Derry with whom she had talked the day 
 before — here were flushed cheeks and shining eyes 
 — gay youth and gladness — . 
 
 " A corking time," Derry reiterated. " The Pres- 
 ident was there, and his wife — and we danced a 
 lot — and — " he caught himself up. " Well, good- 
 night. Miss Merritt." 
 
 143 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " Good-night." She went back to the shadowed 
 room. 
 
 Bronson, following Derry, came back in a half 
 hour with a dry, " Is there anything I can do for 
 you, Miss Merritt? " and then the house was still. 
 
 And now Hilda was alone with the old man in 
 the lacquered bed. There would be no interrup- 
 tions until morning. It was the moment for which 
 she had waited ever since the hour when the Gen- 
 eral had sent her into his wife's room for a minia- 
 ture of Derry, which was locked in the safe. 
 
 The suite which had belonged to Mrs. Drake con- 
 sisted of three rooms — a sitting room, a bedroom 
 and a sun-parlor which had been Berry's nursery. 
 Nothing had been changed since her death. Every 
 day a maid cleaned and dusted, and at certain sea- 
 sons the clothes in the presses were brushed and 
 aired and put back again. In a little safe in the 
 •wall were jewels, and the key was on the General's 
 ring. He had given the key to Hilda when he had 
 sent her for the miniature. His fever had been 
 high, and he had not been quite himself. Even a 
 nurse with a finer sense of honor might have argued, 
 however, that her patient must be obeyed. So she 
 knew now where his treasure was kept — behind a 
 Chinese scroll, which when rolled ud revealed the 
 panel which hid the safe. 
 
 Hilda had never worn a jewel of value in her 
 life. She possessed, it is true, a few trinkets, a 
 
 144 
 
HILDA WEARS A CROWN 
 
 gold ring with her monogram engraved in it, a 
 string of Roman pearls, and a plain wrist watch. 
 But such brilliance as that which met her startled 
 eyes when she" had first looked into the safe was 
 beyond anything conceived by her rather limited 
 imagination. 
 
 She opened the door between the rooms quietly, 
 and went in, leaving a crack that she might hear 
 any movement on the part of her patient. She 
 crossed the sitting room in the dark. Eeaching the 
 bedroom she pulled the chain of the lamp, then set 
 a screen to hide any ray of light which might 
 escape. 
 
 The room was furnished with a feeling for deli- 
 cate color — gold and ivory — Japanese prints — 
 pale silks and crapes — a bit of jade — a cabinet 
 inlaid with mother-of-pearl. But Hilda's eyes were 
 not for these. Indeed, she knew nothing of their 
 value, nothing, indeed, of the value of the Chinese 
 scroll which so effectually hid the panel in the wall. 
 
 Within the safe was a large velvet box, and sev- 
 eral smaller ones. It was from the big box that 
 Hilda had taken the miniature, and it contained 
 also the crown which she yearned to wear. 
 
 She called it a crown! It was a tiara of dia- 
 monds, peaked up to a point in front. There was, 
 also, the wide collar of pearls with the diamond 
 slides which had been worn by the painted lady on 
 the stairs. In the smaller boxes were more pearls, 
 
 145 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Jong strings of them ; sapphires like a midnight sky, 
 opals, fire in a mist; rubies, emeralds — . They 
 should have been locked in a vault at the General's 
 bank, but he had wanted nothing taken away, noth- 
 ing disturbed. Yet with that touch of fever upon 
 him he had given the key to Hilda. 
 
 She took off her cap and turned in the neck of 
 her white linen gown. The pearl collar was a bit 
 small for her, but she managed to snap the three 
 slides. She set the sparkling circlet on her head. 
 
 Then she stood back and surveyed herself in the 
 oval mirror ! 
 
 Gone was the Hilda Merritt whom she had 
 known, and in her place was a queen with a crown ! 
 She smiled at her reflection and nodded. For once 
 she was swayed from her stillness and stolidity. 
 She loaded her long hands with rings, and held 
 them to her cheeks ; then, struck by the contrast of 
 her white linen sleeve, she rummaged in one of the 
 big closets, and threw on the bed a drift of exqui- 
 site apparel. 
 
 The gowns were all too small for her, but there 
 was a cloak of velvet and ermine. The General's 
 wife had worn it to the White House dinner over 
 the gown in which she had been painted. Hilda 
 drew the cloak about her shoulders, and laughed 
 noiselessly. She could look like this, and she had 
 never known it ! But now that she knew — ! 
 
 There was the soft click of the telephone in the 
 146 
 
HILDA WEARS A CROWN 
 
 General's room. Fearful lest the sound should 
 waken her patient, she tore oflE the tiara, turned up 
 the neck of her dress to hide the shining collar, 
 dropped the cloak, pulled the chain of the lamp, 
 then sped breathless to the shadowed room. 
 
 Dr. McKenzie was at the other end of the wire. 
 
 " I am coming over, Hilda." 
 
 "You need not," — her voice was a whisper, — 
 " he is sound asleep." 
 
 " I want to see you for a moment. It is very im- 
 portant." 
 
 She hesitated. " It is very late." 
 
 " Has young Drake arrived? " 
 
 " Yes. He has gone to bed." 
 
 " I'll be there in ten minutes. You can meet me 
 downstairs." 
 
 The General stirred. " Miss Merritt." 
 
 She hung up the receiver and went to him at once. 
 
 " Has the Doctor come? " 
 
 "No. But he has just telephoned. He- will be 
 here shortly." 
 
 His sick old eyes surveyed her. "I never saw 
 you before without your cap — " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " You are very pretty." 
 
 She smiled down at him. " It is nice of you to 
 say it." 
 
 "Don't wear your cap again. I don't like uni- 
 forms for women." 
 
 147 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " But when I am on duty I must wear it. You 
 know enough of discipline to understand that I 
 must." 
 
 "Yes. But women don't need discipline, God 
 bless 'em," His old eyes twinkled. " Has Derry 
 come in? " 
 
 " Yes, and gone to bed. He asked after you." 
 
 " And it's Thanksgiving morning? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 "And no turkey for me. But you'll get me a 
 glass of wine? " 
 
 " I'm not sure. I'll ask the Doctor." 
 
 She sat beside him until he again dozed. Then 
 made her way once more to the room where the 
 Ibvely gowns were pUed high on the bed, and the 
 jewels sparkled on the dressing-table. Quickly and 
 noiselessly she put them in place. Then she tried 
 to take off the collar, but the snaps held. She 
 tugged and pressed, but with no result. She was 
 afraid to pull too hard lest she break the snaps. 
 
 At last she was forced to button the collar of her 
 linen gown above it. She smoothed her hair and 
 put on her cap. The room as she surveyed it 
 showed no sign of her occupation. She put out the 
 light and returned to her patient. 
 
 She was at the front door to let the Doctor in 
 when he arrived. 
 
 " The General is awake, and wants to see you. 
 I'll come down when you go, and we can talk." 
 
 148 
 
HILDA WEARS A GROWN 
 
 As they entered the shadowed room together, the 
 old man opened his eyes. " Hello, McKenzie. 
 Nurse, what made you put on your cap? I don't 
 like it." 
 
 " I shouldn't dare leave it off when the Doctor's 
 here." 
 
 " Does she have to take your orders or mine, Mc- 
 Kenzie?" 
 
 "Mine," smiling; "that's one of the perquisites 
 of my profession, to have all the nurses under my 
 thumb." 
 
 " Don't you try to please your patients? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then tell her to leave off her cap." 
 
 He began to cough. The Doctor bent over him. 
 Hilda helped to make the old man comfortable. 
 
 When at last the General drifted into slumber, 
 the two went down together. The haU clock 
 pointed to four. 
 
 They stood at the foot of the great stairway. 
 From the landing the painted lady smiled at them. 
 
 " Hilda, I am going to France." 
 
 She expressed no surprise. "When did you 
 make up your mind? " 
 
 "In a sense it is not made up. I think I am 
 waiting for you to confirm my decision. They 
 want me at the head of a hospital staff, to deal with 
 cases of shock. I should like to have you in charge 
 of my nurses." 
 
 149 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 She meditated. " I am not sure that J care to go." 
 
 He showed his surprise. " I understood that if 
 I went, you would go — " 
 
 " I don't think I said that." 
 
 " Perhaps not. But it didn't occur to me that 
 you would back out.'' His voice showed the irrita- 
 tion of a man balked in the thing he wants. 
 
 " I haven't backed out. I don't know what I 
 want to do. I have to think it over." 
 
 He ran his fingers through his hair. " What 
 made you change your mind? " 
 
 " I like to be comfortable. And it isn't comfort- 
 able over there." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Hilda — don't make your- 
 self out as selfish as that." 
 
 " I am not any more selfish than other people, 
 but I am honest. I don't go around deceiving my- 
 self with the idea that if I go I shall be doing 
 something wonderful. But you — that's why you 
 are going — to be wonderful in your own eyes, and 
 Jean's eyes and in the eyes of the world." 
 
 " I don't think it is that," he said soberly. " I 
 hope not. I have tried to see straight. I some- 
 times think it is you who are seeing crooked, Hilda." 
 
 They faced each other squarely. Her chin was 
 slightly lifted. He caught the gleam of jewels at 
 her throat. 
 
 " Hilda," he said sharply, " where did you get 
 those diamonds? " 
 
 150 
 
HILDA WEARS A CROWN 
 
 Her hand flew up to them. She was not in the 
 least disconcerted. " I might as well tell you. 
 They belonged to the General's wife. I didn't have 
 anything to do tonight, so I've been trying them 
 on. There isn't any harm in that, is there? " 
 
 " It's rather dangerous," slowly ; " why didn't 
 you take the collar off? " 
 
 " The snap caught Just as you came, and I 
 couldn't unfasten it." 
 
 " Did the General know that you tried them on? " 
 
 " Of course not. He was asleep." 
 
 " Bend your head down, and let me look at the 
 snap." 
 
 She leaned towards him, bringing her neck 
 against his hand. The little curls of bright hair 
 sprang up towards his fingers as he worked at the 
 obstinate catch. But he did his work steadily, and 
 as she straightened up again, he dropped the collar 
 into her hand. 
 
 " If you will take my advice," he said, " you won't 
 do a thing like that again. People might not un- 
 derstand." 
 
 " You mean that they might think I had stolen it? 
 I am not a thief. Doctor — " 
 
 " Of course not. Do you think you have to tell 
 me that? And are we quarrelling, Hilda? " 
 
 She swung back to her normal calm. " I am 
 tired and cross — " 
 
 " I know you are tired. I hope the day nurse 
 151 
 
TEE TIN 80LDIEB 
 
 will relieve you. I can get two nurses, and let you 
 off entirely." 
 
 She shook her head. " I'll stay here. I am in- 
 terested in the case. And I want to see it through. 
 By the way, he has asked again for wine." 
 
 " He can't have it. I told you. You must say 
 that my orders are strict." 
 
 He held out his hand. " Then you won't go to 
 France with me? " 
 
 " Let me sleep on it," — her fingers were firm on 
 his own — " and dont scold me any more." 
 
 " Did I scold? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " i am sorry." 
 
 She smiled at him. The slow smile which trans- 
 formed her. " I'll forgive you. Call me up in the 
 morning, please." 
 
 She let him out, and went silently up the stairs. 
 The General was again awake. " I want to talk," 
 he told her ; " take off your cap, and sit where I 
 can look at you." 
 
 He was still feverish, still not quite responsible 
 for what he might say. 
 
 She sat with the light falling full upon her. 
 She never made an unnecessary movement, and her 
 stillness soothed him. She was a good listener, 
 and he grew garrulous. 
 
 At last he spoke of his wife. " Sometimes I think 
 she is here and I find myself speaking. A little 
 
 152 
 
HILDA WEARS A CROWN 
 
 while ago, I thought I heard her moving in her 
 room, but when I opened my eyes you were bending 
 over me. Sometimes I seem to hear her singing — 
 there is never a moment that I do not miss her. If 
 I were good enough I might hope to meet her — 
 perhaps the Lord will let the strength of my love 
 compensate for the weakness of my wUl." 
 
 So on and on in the broken old voice. 
 
 Bronson came at six, and Hilda went away to 
 have some sleep. While the General drowsed she 
 had put the collar safely away behind the Chinese 
 scroll. 
 
 As she passed through the hall, she stopped for 
 a moment at the head of the stairs. The painted 
 lady smiled at her, the painted lady who was loved 
 by the old man in the shadowed room. 
 
 No, Hilda was not a thief. Yet as she stood 
 there, in the cold dawn of that Thanksgiving morn- 
 ing, she had it in her mind to steal from the painted 
 lady things more precious than a pearl collar or an 
 ermine cloak or the diamonds in a crown ! 
 
 153 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHEN THE MORNING STAES SANG 
 
 Jean was having her breakfast in bed. Emily 
 had slipped downstairs to drink an early cup of 
 coffee with the Doctor and to warn him, " Don't tell 
 her to-day." 
 
 " Why not? " 
 
 " It will spoil her feast. Derry Drake is coming 
 to dinner." 
 
 "The robber—" 
 
 " Do you really feel that way about it? " 
 
 " I don't know how I feel." 
 
 iEe rose and went to the window. " It's a rotten 
 morning." 
 
 " It is Thanksgiving." 
 
 " I haven't much to be thankful for," moodily. 
 " I am, you tell me, about to lose my daughter. I 
 am, also, it wpuld seem, to part company with my 
 best nurse." 
 
 " Hilda? " 
 
 " Yes, I wanted her to take charge of things for 
 me in France. She elects to stay here." 
 
 " But why? " 
 
 " She's a — woman." 
 
 154 
 
WEEN TEE MORNING STABS SANG 
 
 " You don't mean that. And I must say that I 
 am rather glad that she is not going." 
 
 It was out at last ! She had a feeling as if she 
 had taken a cold plunge and had survived it! 
 
 " Glad? What do you mean, Emily? " 
 
 " Every time I waked in the night, I thought of 
 Jean and of how she would feel if Hilda went with 
 you. Do you realize that if she goes, there are 
 things that the world will say? " 
 
 His face was stern. " You are very brave to tell 
 me that, Emily." 
 
 " It had to be said, and last night I shirked it." 
 
 " But Hilda is a very good nurse." 
 
 " Do you think of her only as a — good nurse? " 
 
 He turned that over in his mind. "No. In a 
 sense she's rather attractive. She satisfies a cer- 
 tain side of me — ." 
 
 " The best side? " 
 
 He avoided an answer to that. "When she is 
 away I miss her." 
 
 And now Miss EmUy, shaking a little, but not 
 showing it, made him face the situation squarely. 
 "Have you ever thought that, missing her, you 
 might want to marry her? " 
 
 " I have thought of it. Why not, EmUy? " 
 
 " Have you thought that it would make her 
 your Jean's — mother — ? " 
 
 His startled look met her steadfast one. His 
 mind flew back to Hilda as she had bent down to 
 
 155 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 him the night before, that he might unfasten the 
 necklace. He thought of the evU that her eyes saw 
 in him, and in the rest of the world. He thought of 
 Jean, and of her white young dreams. 
 " No," he said, as if to himself, " not that—" 
 She laid her hand on his arm. " Go by yourself 
 
 — there's a big work over there, and you can do it 
 best — alone." 
 
 He looked down at her, smiling a little, but smil- 
 ing sadly. " If Jean's mother had lived I should 
 not have been such a weathercock. Will you write 
 to me — promise me that you will write." 
 
 " Of course," cheerfully. " Oh, by the way, Julia 
 tells me that dinner will be at three, and that two 
 soldier boys are coming. I rather think I shall 
 like that." 
 
 He ran his fingers through .his crinkled hair. 
 " What a lot you get out of life, Emily." 
 
 " What makes you say that? " 
 
 " Little things count so much with you. You are 
 like Jean. She is in seventh Heaven over a snow- 
 storm — or a chocolate soda. It's the youth in her 
 
 — and it's the youth, too, in you — " 
 
 She liked that, and flushed a little. " Perhaps 
 it is because there have been so few big things, 
 Bruce, that the little ones look big." 
 
 He had a fleeting sense of what Emily would be 
 like with some big thing in her life — how far 
 would it swing her from her sedate course? 
 
 156 
 
WHEN THE MORNING STABS SANG 
 
 " You have done me a lot of good," he said 
 heartily when she left him to go upstairs to Jean. 
 
 Jean was still in bed. " I must run down to the 
 shop," Emily informed her. " But I'll be back in 
 plenty of time to dress for dinner." 
 
 " Darling — " Jean reminded her, " you must go 
 to church." 
 
 " Of course. I shall stop on my way down." 
 
 "Pray for me, Emily." She reached out her 
 arms. Emily came to them and they clung to- 
 gether. "I am so happy, darling — " Jean whis- 
 pered, " but there isn't anything to tell, not really 
 — yet — Emily — " 
 
 When Emily had gone, Jean got out her memory 
 books. She had made of breakfast a slight affair. 
 How could one eat in the face of such astounding 
 events. Already this morning flowers had arrived 
 for her, heather and American Beauties. And 
 Derry had written on his card, "The heather be- 
 cause of you — the roses because of the day — " 
 
 There were two hours on her hands before 
 church. She could dress in one — the intervening 
 time must be filled. 
 
 Her memory books were great fat volumes kept 
 on a shelf by themselves, and forming a record of 
 everything that had happened to her since her first 
 day at boarding school. They were in no sense 
 diaries, nor could they be called scrap-books. They 
 had, rather, been compiled with an eye to certain 
 
 157 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 red-letter events — and their bulkiness had been 
 enhanced by the insertion between the leaves of 
 various objects not intended for such limited space. 
 There was a mask which she had worn at Hallow- 
 e'en; the tulle which had tied her roses at gradua- 
 tion; a little silver ring marking a childish ro- 
 mance; a flattened and much-dried chocolate drop 
 with tender associations; dance-favors, clippings, 
 photographs, theater programs, each illumined and 
 emphasized by a line or two of sentiment or of 
 nonsense in Jean's girlish scrawl. 
 
 Even now, as she turned the leaves, she found 
 herself laughing over a rhyme which her father had 
 cut from his daily paper, and had sent in response 
 to her wild plea for a box of something good to eat : 
 
 " Mary had a little lamb, 
 A little pork, a little jam, 
 A little egg on toast, 
 A little potted roast, 
 A. little stew with dumplings white, 
 A little shad, 
 For Mary, had, 
 A little appetite." 
 
 The big box had followed — how dear Daddy had 
 always been — but had she ever wanted to eat like 
 that? 
 
 There were letters which her father had written, 
 pasted in, envelopes and all, to be read in certain 
 longing moments when she had missed him and her 
 mother. TJiere were love letters from certaia cal- 
 
 158 
 
WEEN THE MORNING STARS SANQ 
 
 low college boys — love — / She laughed now as 
 she thought of the pale passion they had offered 
 her. 
 
 Derry had had no word for her the night before 
 when he had left her at her door. Her father had 
 been witk her, so Derry could only press her hand 
 and watch her as she went in. But there had been 
 no need for words. All the evening what they had 
 felt had flamed between them — . 
 
 So with the desire to preserve a record of these 
 marvellous moments which were crowding into her 
 life, she chose a perfectly new book to be devoted 
 to Derry. And on the first page she pasted, not the 
 faded violet from the basket which had come to her 
 yesterday — oh, day of days ! — not the dance pro- 
 gram on which Derry's name was m6st magic- 
 ally scrawled, nor the spring of heather, nor a 
 handful of rose leaves from the offering of the 
 morning — no, the very first thing that went into 
 Jean's memory book was a frayed silken tassel that 
 had been cut from a rose-colored curtain! She 
 had carried down her little scissors the night be- 
 fore, and had snipped it, and here it was — an 
 omen for her own rose-colored future ! 
 
 Starry-eyed she lay back among her pillows. 
 
 " Oh, Polly-Ann, Polly-Ann," she said tensely, to 
 the small cat on the cushions, "if I should ever 
 wake up and find that it wasn't true — " 
 
 Polly- Ann stared at her with mystical green orbs. 
 159 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 She could offer no help, but she served as a peg 
 upon which Jean could hang her eloquence. She 
 stretched herself luxuriously and purred. 
 
 " But it is true, Polly-Ann," Jean said, " and I 
 am going to church with him — wasn't it beautiful 
 that he should think of going to church with me on 
 Thanksgiving morning, Polly-Ann? " 
 
 She dressed herself presently, making a sort of 
 sacred rite of it — because of Derry. She was glad 
 that she was pretty — because of Derry. Glad that 
 her gray fur coat was becoming — glad of the red 
 rose against it. 
 
 He came in his car, but they decided to walk. 
 
 " I always walk to church," said Jean. 
 
 " There's sleet falling," said Derry. 
 
 " I don't care," said Jean, 
 
 " Nor I," said Derry. 
 
 And so they started out together ! 
 
 It was a dismal day, but they did not know it. ' 
 They knelt together in the old church. They 
 prayed together. And when at last the benedic- 
 tion had been said and they stood together for a 
 moment alone in the pew, Derry looked down at 
 her and said, "Beloved," and the morning stars 
 sang — ! 
 
 When they went out, the sleet was coming thick 
 and fast, and Derry's car was waiting. And when 
 they were safe inside, he turned to her and his voice 
 exulted, " I haven't even told you that I love you — 
 
 160 
 
WHEN TEE MORNING STABS SANG 
 
 I haven't asked you to marry me — I haven't done 
 any of the conventional things — it hasn't needed 
 words, and that's the wonder of it." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But yoii knew." 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " From the first? " 
 
 " I think it was from the first — " 
 
 " In the Toy Shop? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you thought I was poor — and I thought 
 you were just the girl in the shop? " 
 
 "Isn't it wonderful?" 
 
 It was more wonderful than they knew. 
 
 " Do you know that my money has always been 
 more important to some people than I have been? 
 I have thought they cared for me because of it." 
 
 "Ralph said last night that I eared — for the 
 money." 
 
 She would not tell him of the other thing^ that 
 Ralph had said. And even as she thought of him, 
 across the path of her rapture fell the shadow of 
 Ralph's scorn of Derry. 
 
 He bent down to her. " Jean, if I had been that 
 shabby boy that you first saw in the shop would you 
 have been happy with me, in a plain little house? 
 Would you? " 
 
 Up the streets came the people from the churches 
 — the crowds of people who had thanked the Lord 
 
 161 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 soberly, feeling meantime a bit bewildered as to 
 the workings of His Providence. Most of them 
 were going home to somewhat modified feasts. 
 Many of them were haying a soldier or two to dine 
 with them. And presently these soldiers whom 
 they feasted would be crossing the sea to that dread 
 land of death and desolation. 
 
 Should they thank the Lord for that? 
 
 Some of the clergymen, craving light, had sought 
 it in the Old Testament. But one, more inspired 
 than the rest, had found it in the ISTew. 
 
 "And there was war in Heaven; Michael and 
 his angels fought against the dragon; and the 
 dragon fought and his angels. And prevailed not 
 — neither was their place found any more in 
 Heaven." 
 
 Those who came from that church spoke of a 
 Holy War, and were thankful that there were men 
 in America going forth to fight the Dragon. 
 
 The two soldiers who were to dine at Dr. Mc- 
 Kenzie's were plain young fellows from an upper 
 county in Maryland. They were waiting somewhat 
 awkwardly in the drawing-room when Jean ar- 
 rived. She took them at once to the less formal 
 library, left Derry with them and went upstairs to 
 dress. 
 
 As she came into the fresh and frilly room so 
 identified with her child life and her girl life, she 
 stopped on the threshold. 
 
 162 
 
WHEN THE .MORNING STABS SANG 
 
 Oh, little room, little room, the chUd that once 
 lived here will never come again ! 
 
 She knelt beside the bed, her face buried in her 
 hands. No words came, but in her heart she was 
 saying, " My beloved is mine — and I am his — " 
 
 When she went down, Dr. McKenzie was there, 
 and Emily, and the two young soldiers had lost 
 their awkwardness. When they found out after- 
 wards that the young Drake who talked to them so 
 simply and unaffectedly was DeEhymer Drake, the 
 multi-millionaire, they refused to believe it. " He 
 was a mighty nice chap. He didn't put on a bit of 
 side, and the dinner was some feast." 
 
 And how could they know that Derry was envy- 
 ing them their cavalry yellow and their olive drab? 
 
 As for Jean, throughout the afternoon they gazed 
 upon her as upon an enchanting vision. When 
 they told her " Good-bye " it was the boldest who 
 asked, with a flush on his hard cheek, if he might 
 have a bit of the heather which she wore. " I am 
 Scotch myself, and my mother was, and it would 
 seem a sort of mascot." 
 
 If she hesitated for a moment it was only Derry 
 who noticed it. And he helped her out. " It will 
 be a proud day for the heather." 
 
 So she gave away a part of Ms gift, and thanked 
 him with her eyes. 
 
 It was after the boys had gone that Derry had a 
 talk alone with Dr, McKeazie. 
 
 163 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " But you haven't known her a month — ^' 
 
 *' I have wanted her all my life." 
 
 " I see — how old are you? " 
 
 " Thirty-one." 
 
 « You don't look it" 
 
 "No. And I don't feel it Not to-day." 
 
 " And you think that she cares? ", 
 
 " What do you think, sir? " 
 
 The Doctor threw up his hands. " Oh, lad, lad, 
 there's all the wonder of it in her eyes when she 
 looks at you." 
 
 When Derry went at last to find Jean, she was 
 not in the library. He crossed the hall to the little 
 drawing-room. His love sat by the fire alone. 
 
 " My darling — " 
 
 Thus she came to Ms arms. But even then he 
 held her gently, worshipping her innocence and re- 
 specting it. 
 
 The next morning he brought her a ring. It was 
 such a wonderful ring that she hdd her breath. 
 She sat on the rose-colored davenport while he put 
 it on her finger. 
 
 " If I had been the girl in the Toy Shop," she told 
 him, " and you had been the shabby boy, you would 
 have given me a gold band with three little stones — 
 and I should have liked that, too." 
 
 " You shall have the gold ring some day, and it 
 won't have stones in it — and it will be a wedding 
 ring." 
 
 164 
 
WETm THE MORNING STAJtS SAJ^a 
 
 «0h— " 
 
 "And when you wear it I shall call you- 
 Friend Wife— " 
 
 165 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ABB MEN MADE ONLY FOE THIS? 
 
 In the afternoon the lovers made a triumphant 
 pilgrimage to the place where they had first met. 
 All the toys in the little shop stared at them — the 
 clowns and the dancers in pink and yellow and the 
 bisque babies and the glassy-eyed dogs and cats. 
 
 The white elephant was again in the window. 
 " He seemed so lonely," Emily explained, " and 
 with Christmas coming I couldn't feel comfortable 
 to think of him away from it all." 
 
 Jean showed Derry her midnight camels. " I am 
 going to do peacocks next," she told him. " I am 
 so proud." 
 
 He bought all of the camels and a lot of other 
 things. " We'll take them to Margaret Morgan's 
 kiddies tomorrow ; I want you to meet her." 
 
 Miss Emily found her lavish customer interest- 
 ing, but demoralizing. "Eun away with him, 
 Jean," she said. " I am not used to Croesuses. 
 He won't leave anything to sell, and then what 
 shall I say to the people who want to buy? " 
 
 "Shut up your shop and go to tea with us at 
 Chevy Chase," Derry suggested. 
 
 166 
 
ARE MEN MADE ONLY FOR THIS? 
 
 Emily smiled at him. " It is good of you to ask 
 me, but I can't. I am not in love, and I have my 
 day's work to do. But I think if yoUj would like to 
 take Jean — " 
 
 " Alone? " eagerly. " Do you think I might? " 
 
 " Why not? " 
 
 " I was almost afraid to suggest it." 
 
 " I am not a dragon. And there will never be a 
 day like this for you again." 
 
 Jean broke in at that. " Oh, Emily, they will 
 be wonderfuller ! " 
 
 " But not this day — " 
 
 Derry knew what she meant. " How sweet you 
 are." 
 
 Miss Emily, flushing, was a transformed Miss 
 Emily. " Well, old people are apt to forget, and I 
 have not forgotten." 
 
 " Darling, darling," Jean chanted. " I am go- 
 ing to paint dragons, and they shall all have lovely 
 faces, and I shall call them the Not-Forgetting 
 Dragons." 
 
 It was all very superlative. Miss Emily tried 
 to send them away, but they still lingered. Jean 
 set the music boxes going to celebrate the occasion, 
 then stopped them because the only tunes they 
 played were German tunes. 
 
 Derry laughed at her, then came to silence be- 
 fore a box of tin soldiers. They were little French 
 soldiers, flat on their backs, bright with paint — 
 
 167 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "I wonder how they feel about it?" he asked 
 Jean. 
 
 " About what? " 
 
 " Shut up in a box, doing nothing — " 
 
 As the lovers drove away, Emily stood at the 
 window looking after them. There was one cus- 
 tomer in the shop, but Miss Emily had a feeling 
 that he would keep himself amused until she was 
 ready to wait on him. She had intuitions about 
 the people who came to buy, and this tall spare man 
 with the slight droop of his shoulders, his upstand- 
 ing bush of gray hair, his shell glasses on a black 
 ribbon was, she was aware, having the time of his 
 life. No little boy could have speni more time over 
 the toys. He fingered them lovingly as he peered 
 through his big horn glasses. 
 
 He saw Miss Emily looking at him and smiling. 
 "It was the white elephant that brought me in. 
 He was made in Germany? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " It is not easy to get them any more? " 
 
 " No. You see I have a little card on him ' Not 
 for sale.' " 
 
 He nodded. " I should like to buy him — " 
 
 She shook her head. " I have refused many of- 
 fers." 
 
 " I can understand that. Yet, perhaps if I 
 should tell you? " 
 
 There was a slight trace of foreign accent in his 
 168 
 
ABE MEN MADE ONLY FOR THIS? 
 
 speech. She stiffened. She felt that he was capa- 
 ble of calling her " Fraulein." There was not the 
 least doubt in her mind as to the Teutonic extrac- 
 tion of this gentleman who was shamelessly trying 
 to induce her to sell her elephant. 
 
 " I can't imagine any reason that would make me 
 change my mind." 
 
 " My father is German ; he makes toys." 
 She showed her surprise. " Makes toys? " 
 " Yes. He is an old man — eighty-five. He was 
 born in Nuremberg. Until he was twenty-five he 
 made elephants like the one in your window. Now 
 do you see?" 
 
 She was not sure that she did see. " Well? " 
 " I want him for my father's Christmas present." 
 " Impossible," coldly ; " he is not for sale." 
 He was still patient. " He will make you an- 
 other — many others." 
 
 He had her attention now. "Make — ele- 
 phants? " 
 
 " Yes. He needs only a pattern. There are cer- 
 tain things he has forgotten. I should like to make 
 him happy." 
 
 Miss Emily, hostilely convinced that it was not 
 her business to contribute to the happiness of any 
 octogenarian Hun, shook her head, " I'm sorry." 
 " Then you won't sell him? " 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 He stUl lingered. " You love your toys — I have 
 169 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 been here before, and I have watched you. They 
 are not just sawdust and wood and cloth and paint 
 to you — they are real — " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " My father is like that. They are real to him. 
 There's an old wax doll that was my mother's. He 
 loves her and talks to her — . Because she was 
 made in that Germany which is dead — " 
 
 The fierceness in his voice, the flash of his eye, the 
 thrust of his hand as if it held a rapier ! 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 " The Germany he knew died when Prussia throt- 
 tled her. Her poetry died, her music — there is no 
 echo now from the Ehine but that of — guns " 
 
 " You feel — that way — ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then sit down and tell me — tell me — " She 
 was eager. 
 
 " Tell you what? " 
 
 "About your father, about the toys, about the 
 Germany that is — dead." 
 
 He was glad to tell her. It poured forth, with 
 now and then an offending phrase, " Gott in Him- 
 mel, do they think we have forgotten? My father 
 came to America because he loved freedom — he 
 fought in the Civil War for freedom — he loves 
 freedom still ; and over there they are fighting for 
 slavery. The slavery of the little nations, the 
 slavery of those who love democracy. They want 
 
 170 
 
ARE MEN MADE ONLY FOR THIS? 
 
 Prussia, and more Prussia, and more Prussia — " 
 He struck his hand on the counter so that all the 
 dolls danced. 
 
 " They are fighting to get the whole world under 
 an iron heel — to crush — to grind — to destroy. 
 My father reads it and weeps. He is an old man, 
 Fraulein, and his mind goes back to the Germany 
 which sang and told fairy tales, and made toys ; do 
 you see? 
 
 "Yet there are people here who do not under- 
 stand, who point their fingers at him, at me. Who 
 think because I am Ulrich StoUe that I am not — 
 American. Yet what am I but that? " 
 
 He got up and walked around the room restlessly. 
 " I am an American. If I was not bom here, can I 
 help that? But my heart has been moulded here. 
 For me there is no other country. Germany I love 
 — yes, but as one loves a woman who has been led 
 away — because one thinks of the things she might 
 have been, not of the thing she is." 
 
 He came back to her. " Will you sell me your 
 elephant, Fraulein? " 
 
 She held out her hand to him. Her eyes were 
 wet. " I will lend him to your father. Indeed, I 
 cannot sell him." 
 
 He took her hand in a strong grasp. " I knew 
 you were kind. If you could only see my father." 
 
 " Bring him here some day." 
 
 " He is too old to be brought. He sticks close to 
 171 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 his chair. But if you would j come and see him? 
 You and perhaps the young lady who waited on me 
 when I came before, and who was here to-day with 
 the young man whose heart is singing." 
 
 " Oh, you saw that? " 
 
 " It was there for the whole world to see, was it 
 not? A man in love hides nothing. You will bring 
 them then? We have flowers even in December in 
 our hothouses ; you will like that, and you shall see 
 my father. I think you will love my father, Frau- 
 lein." 
 
 After he had gone she wondered at herself. She 
 had trusted her precious elephant to a perfect 
 stranger. He might be anything, a spy, a thief, 
 with his " Gotts in Himmel " and his " Frauleins " < 
 — how Jean would laugh at her for her sof thearted- 
 
 ness 
 
 Oh, but he wasn't a thief, he wasn't a spy. He 
 was a poet and a gentleman. She made very few 
 mistakes in her estimates of the people who came to 
 her shop. She had made, she was sure, no mistake 
 in trusting Ulrich StoUe. 
 
 Jean and Derry motoring to Chevy Chase were 
 far away from the world of the Toy Shop. As they 
 whirled along the country roads the bare trees 
 seemed to bud and bloom for them, the sky was gold. 
 
 The lovely clubhouse as they came into it was 
 gay with big-flowered curtains and warm with its 
 roaring fires. 
 
 172 
 
ABE MEN MADE ONLY FOB THIS? 
 
 As they crossed the room together, they attracted 
 much attention. There was about them a fine air 
 of exaltation — . 
 
 " Young blood, young blood," said an old gentle- 
 man in a comer. " Gad, I en-vy him. Look at her 
 eyes — ! " 
 
 But there wajs) more than her eyes to look at. 
 There were her cheeks, and her crinkled copper hair 
 under the little hat, and the flower that she wore, 
 and her white hands as she poured the tea. 
 
 They drank unlimited quantities of Orange Pe- 
 koe, and ate small mountains of toast. They were 
 healthily happy and quite unexpectedly hungry, 
 and the fact that they were sitting alone at the table 
 gave the whole thing an enchanting atmosphere of 
 domesticity. 
 
 " Ealph spoOed it the other day," Jean confided. 
 " I had everything ready for you." 
 
 " How I hated him when I came in." 
 
 " Oh, did you? " 
 
 " Of course," and then they both laughed, and the 
 old gentleman in the corner said to the woman who 
 sat with him, " Let's get away. I can't stand it." 
 
 '' I don't see why." 
 
 " Tou wouldn't see. But there was a time once 
 when I loved a girl like that." 
 
 Drusilla and Captain Hewes coming in, after a 
 canter through the Park, broke in upon the Para- 
 dise of the young pair. 
 
 173 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Drusilla in riding togs still managed to preserve 
 the picturesque quality of her beauty — a cockade 
 in her hat, a red flower in her lapel, a blue tie 
 against her white shirt. 
 
 " And she does it so well," Derry said, as the two 
 came towards them. "In most women it would 
 have an air of bad taste, but Drusilla never goes too 
 far — " 
 
 Captain Hewes in tow showed himself a captured 
 man. " I didn't know that American women could 
 ride until Miss Gray showed me — today. It was 
 rippin'." 
 
 Drusilla laughed. " It is worth more than the 
 ride to have yon say ' rippin' ' like that." 
 
 " She makes fun of me," the Captain complained; 
 "some day I shall take her over to England and 
 show her how our gentle maidens look up to me." 
 
 "Your gentle maidens," Drusilla stated, "are 
 driving ambulances or making munitions. ' When 
 the Tommies come marching home again they will 
 find comrades, not clinging vines." 
 
 " And they'll jolly ^ell like it," said the big Eng- 
 lishman ; " a man wants a woman who under- 
 stands — " 
 
 This was law and gospel to Derry. " Of course. 
 Jean, dear, may I tell Drusilla? " 
 
 " As if you had to tell me," Drusilla scoffed ; "it 
 is written all over you." 
 
 " Is it? " Derry marvelled. 
 174 
 
ARE MEN MADE ONLY FOR THIS? 
 
 "It is. The whole room is lighted up with it. 
 You are a lucky man, Derry," — for a moment her 
 bright eyes were shadowed — " and Jean is a lucky 
 girl." She leaned down and kissed the woman that 
 Derry loved. " Oh, you Babes in the Wood — " 
 
 " By Jove," the Captain ejaculated, much taken 
 by the little scene, " do you mean that they are go- 
 ing to be married? " 
 
 "Bather," DrusUla mocked him. "But don't 
 shout it from the housetops. Derry is a public per- 
 sonage, and it might get in the papers." 
 
 " It is not to get in the papers yet," Derry said. 
 " Dr. McKenzie won't let me tell Dad — he's too ill 
 — but we told you because you are my good friend, 
 Drusilla." 
 
 She might have been more than that, but he did 
 not know it. When he went away with Jean, she 
 looked after him wistfully. 
 
 " Good-bye, little Galahad," she said. 
 
 The Captain stared. " Oh, I say, do you call him 
 that? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " He's a knight in shining armor — " 
 
 " I can't understand why he's not fightin'." 
 
 " Nobody understands. There's something back 
 of it, and meantime people are calling him a 
 coward — " 
 
 " Doesn't look like a slacker." 
 
 " He isn't. I have sometimes thought," said wise 
 175 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Drusilla, " that it might be his father. He's a gay 
 old bird, and Derxy has to jack him up." 
 
 "Drink?" 
 
 "Yes. They say that Derry has followed him 
 night after night — getting him home if he could ; 
 if not, staying with him." 
 
 "Hard lines—?' 
 
 " And yet he is asking little Jean to marry him. 
 I wonder if she will keep step with him." 
 
 " Why shouldn't she? " 
 
 " Because Derry is going to travel far and fast in 
 the next few months," DrusOla prophesied. 
 
 Her face settled into tired lines. For the first 
 time the Captain saw her divorced from her radi- 
 ance. He set himself to cheer her. 
 
 " What is troubling you, dear woman? " 
 
 She was very frank, and she told him the truth. 
 " I should have been glad to keep sttep with him 
 myself." 
 
 He laid his hand over hers. " If you had, where 
 would I be? From the moment I saw you, you filled 
 my heart." 
 
 So, after all, she had been to him from the first, 
 not a type but a woman. It had come to him like 
 that, but not to her. " You're the bravest and best 
 man I have ever met," she told him, " but I don't 
 love you." 
 
 " I should be glad to wait," said the poor Captain, 
 " untU you could find something in me to like." 
 
 176 
 
ARE MEN MADE ONLY FOR THIS? 
 
 " I find a great deal to like," she said, " but it 
 wouldn't be fair to give you anything less than 
 love." 
 
 " At least you'll let me have your friendship — 
 to take back with me." 
 
 She looked at him, startled. " Oh, you are going 
 back? " 
 
 " I may get my orders any day. There are things 
 I can be doing over there." 
 
 Some day she was to see him " over there," to see 
 him against a background of fire and flame and 
 smoke, to see him transfigured by heroism, and she 
 was to remember then with an aching heart this mo- 
 ment when he had told her that he loved her. 
 
 It was dark when Derry brought Jean home. 
 There had been a sunset and an afterglow, and a 
 twilight, and an evening star to ravish them as they 
 rode, to say nothing of the moon — they came to the 
 Doctor's door quite dizzy with the joy of it. 
 
 Derry was loath to leave. " Can't we all go to a 
 play tonight? " he asked Jean's father. " Tou and 
 Miss Bridges and the two of us? " 
 
 "Certainly not. Jean has done enough to-day. 
 She isn't made of iron." 
 
 " She is made of fire and dew," Derry flung at 
 him, lightly. 
 
 " Heavens, has it come to that? Well, she is still 
 my daughter. I won't have her ill on my hands." 
 
 "But, Daddy!" 
 
 177 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "You are to have a quiet dinner with me, my 
 dear, and go to bed — and young Lochinvar may 
 call for you in the morning — " 
 
 Young Lochinvar was repentant. "1 didn't 
 think it would tire her." 
 
 " Henceforth you will have to think." 
 
 " I know, sir." 
 
 He was so meek that the Doctor melted. " Run 
 along and say ' Good-bye ' to her. I'll give you ten 
 minutes." 
 
 They wanted ten eternities. But there was, of 
 course, tomorrow. They comforted themselves 
 with that. 
 
 At dinner, the Doctor spoke of Derry's father. 
 "All real danger is past, but he will have to be 
 careful." 
 
 " When is Hilda coming back? " 
 
 " She told me last night that she'd rather stay 
 until there was no further need for a nurse. The 
 General hates a change, and he has asked her to 
 stay." 
 
 " Does she like it? " 
 
 " She is very comfortable." 
 
 " Derry says that his father is an old dear." 
 
 " He would think so, naturally." 
 
 There were things about the General's case which 
 were troubling Dr. McKenzie, and of which he could 
 not speak. The old man had, undoubtedly been 
 given something to drink on Thanksgiving Day. 
 
 178 
 
ABE MEN MADE ONLY FOR THIS? 
 
 Hilda had had strict orders, aad the day nurse, and 
 the only other person who had had access to the 
 General's room was Bronson. He had made up his 
 mind to speal^ to Derry about Bronson. 
 
 The meal progressed rather silently. The Doctor 
 was preoccupied, taciturn. Miss Emily made fu- 
 tile efforts at conversation. Jean dallied with her 
 dinner. 
 
 " My dear," the Doctor commented as she pushed 
 away her salad, " you can't live on love." 
 
 "I'm not hungry. We had tea at the Club. 
 Drusilla was there — and — we told her." 
 
 " Told her what? " 
 
 Blushing furiously, " That Derry and I are going 
 to be — married." 
 
 " But you are not. Not for months. If that cub 
 thinks he can carry you off from under my eyes he 
 is mistaken. You've got to get acquainted with 
 each other — I have seen too many unhappy mar- 
 riages." 
 
 " But we are not going to be unhappy, Daddy." 
 
 " How do you know? " 
 
 Her cheeks were blazing. Miss Emily interposed. 
 " Don't tease her, she's too tired." 
 
 " If he is teasing, I don't care," Jean said, " but 
 it always sounds as if he meant it" 
 
 After dinner, the Doctor laid his hand on his 
 daugbt^'s shoulder. "I want to talk to you, 
 daughter." 
 
 179 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 « Is it about Derry, Daddy? " 
 
 " About myself." 
 
 Emily, understanding, left them alone. Jean sat 
 in her low chair in front of the fire, her earnest eyes 
 on her father. " Well, Daddy." 
 
 He patted her hand. It was hard for him to 
 speak. 
 
 She saw his emotion. " Is — is it because I am 
 going to marry Derry? " 
 
 " That, and more than that. Jean, dear, I must 
 go to France — " 
 
 "To France?" 
 
 "Yes. They want me to head a hospital. I 
 don't see how I can refuse, and keep my self-respect. 
 But it means — leaving you." 
 
 " Leaving me — " 
 
 "My little girl — don't look like that." He 
 reached out his arms to her. 
 
 She came, and clung to him. " How soon? " 
 
 " As soon as I can wind things up here." 
 
 " It — it seems as if I couldn't let you." 
 
 " Then you'll miss me, dearest? " 
 
 " You know I will. Daddy." 
 
 " But you will have your Deny." His jealousy 
 forced that 
 
 " As if it makes any difference about — you." 
 
 She hid her face, against his coat. She felt sud- 
 denly that the war was assuming a new and very 
 
 180 
 
ABE MEN, MADE ONLY FOR THISf 
 
 personal aspect. Of course men had to go. But 
 she and her father had never been separated — '■ not 
 for more than a day or week, or a month when she 
 was at the shora 
 
 " How long, Daddy? " 
 
 " God knows, dearest. Until I am not needed." 
 
 " But — " her Up trembled. 
 
 " You are going to be my brave little girl." 
 
 "I'll try — " the tears were running down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " You wouldn't have me not go, would you? " 
 
 She shook her head and sobbed on his shoulder. 
 He soothed her and jH-esently she sat up. Quite gal- 
 lantly she agreed that she would stay with Emily. 
 If he thought she was too young to marry Derry 
 now, she would wait If Derry went into it, it 
 might be easier to let him go as a lover than as a 
 husband --- she thought it might be easier. Yes, 
 she would try to sleep when she went upstairs — 
 and she would remember that her old Daddy loved 
 her, loved her, and she was to ask God to bless him 
 — and keep him — when tJiey were absent one from 
 the other — . 
 
 She kissed him and clung to Tiim and then went 
 upstairs. She undressed and said her prayers, put 
 Polly- Ann on her cushion, turned off the light, and 
 got into bed. 
 
 Then she lay in the dark, facing it squarely. 
 181 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 The things she had said to her father were not 
 true. She didn't want him to go to France. She 
 didn't want Derry to go. She was glad that Ber- 
 ry's mother had made him promise. She didn't 
 care who called him a coward. She cared only to 
 keep her own. 
 
 There wasn't any sense in it, anyhow. Why 
 should Daddy and Derry be blown to pieces — or 
 made blind — or not come back at all? Just be- 
 cause a barbarian had brought his hordes into Bel- 
 gium? Well, let Belgium take care of herself — 
 and France. 
 
 She shuddered deeper down into the bed. She 
 wasn't heroic. Hilda had been right about that. 
 She was willing to knit miles and miles of wool, to 
 go without meat, to go without wheat, to wear old 
 clothes, to let the furnace go out and sit shivering 
 in one room by a wood fire, she was willing to 
 freeze and to starve, but she was not willing to 
 send her men to France. 
 
 She found herself shaking, sobbing — . 
 
 Hitherto war had seemed a glorious thing, an in- 
 spiring thing. She had thrilled to think that she 
 was living in a time which matched the days of 
 Caesar and Alexander and of Napoleon, of that first 
 Eichard of England, of Charlemagne, of Nelson 
 and of Francis Drake, of Grant and Lee and Lin- 
 coln. 
 
 182 
 
ABE MEN MADE ONLY FOB THIS? 
 
 Even in fiction there had been Ivanhoe and — 
 and Alan Breck — and even poor Eawdon Crawley 
 at Waterloo — fighters all, even the poorest of them, 
 exalted in her eyes by their courage and the clash 
 of arms. 
 
 But there wasn't any glory, any romance in this 
 war. It was machine guns and bombs and dirt, 
 and cold and mud; and base hospitals, and men 
 screaming with awful wounds — and gas, and hor- 
 rors, and nerve-shock and — frightfulness. She 
 had read it all in the papers and in the magazines. 
 And it had not meant anything to her, it had been 
 just words and phrases, and now it was more than 
 words and phrases — . 
 
 When the hordes of people had swept into Wash- 
 ington, changing it from its gracious calm into a 
 seething and unsettling center of activities, she had 
 been borne along on the wings of enthusiasm and 
 of high endeavor. She had scolded women who 
 would not work, she had scorned mothers and wives 
 who had sighed and sobbed because their men must 
 go. She had talked of patriotism ! 
 
 Well, she wasn't patriotic. Derry would prob- 
 ably hate her when she told him. But she was go- 
 ing to tell him. She wouldn't have him blown to 
 pieces or made blind or not come back at all. And 
 in the morning, she would beg Daddy — she would 
 beg and beg ! 
 
 18S 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 As she sat up in bed and looked wildly about her, 
 it seemed as if all the comers of the little room 
 were haunted by specters. A long time ago she had 
 seen Maude Adams in "L'Aiglon." She remem- 
 bered now those wailing voices of the dead at 
 Wagram. And in this war millions of men had 
 died. It seemed to her that their souls must be 
 pressing against the wall which divided them from 
 the living — that their voices must penetrate the 
 stillness which had always shut them out. " How 
 dare you go on with it? Are men made only for 
 this?" 
 
 She remembered now the thing that her father 
 had said on the night after " Cinderella." 
 
 " If I had my way, it should be an eye for an eye, 
 a tooth for a tooth. For every man that they have 
 tortured, we must torture one of theirs. For every 
 child mutilated, we must mutilate a child — for 
 every woman — " 
 
 Her Daddy had said that. Her kind and tender 
 Daddy. Was that what the war made of men? 
 Would Daddy and Derry, when they went over, do 
 that? Torture and mutilate? Would they, would 
 they? And would they come back after that and 
 expect her to love them and live with them? 
 
 Well, she wouldn't. She would not. She would 
 be afraid of them — of both of them. 
 
 If they loved her, they would stay with her. 
 They wouldn't go away and leave her to be afraid -^ 
 
 184 
 
ARE MEN MADE ONLY FOR THIS? 
 
 alone and crying in the dark, with all of those dead 
 voices. 
 
 Emily tapped at the door. Came in. " My dear, 
 my dear — . Oh, my poor little Jean." 
 
 After a long time her father was there, and he 
 was giving her a white tablet and a drink of water. 
 
 " It will quiet her nerves, Emily. I didn't dream 
 that she would take it like this." 
 
 IBS 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 SHINING SOULS 
 
 The next morning Jean was ill. Derry, having 
 the news conveyed to him over the telephone, rushed 
 in to demand tragically of Dr. McKenzie, " Was it 
 my fault? " 
 
 "It was the fault of too much excitement. 
 Seventh heaven with you for hours, and then my 
 news on top of it." 
 
 " What news? " 
 
 The Doctor explained. " It is going to tear me 
 to pieces if she takes it like this. She was half- 
 delirious all night, and begged and begged — " 
 
 " She doesn't want you to go? " 
 
 The Doctor ran his fingers through his hair. 
 " Well, we've been a lot to each other. But she's 
 such a little sport — and patriotic — nobody more 
 so. She won't feel this way when she's herself 
 again." 
 
 Derry stood drearily at the window looking out. 
 " You think then she won't be able to see me for 
 several days? I had planned such a lot of things." 
 
 The Doctor dropped a hand on the boy's shoul- 
 der. " Life has a way of spoiling our plans, hasn't 
 It? I had hoped for old age with Jean's mother." 
 
 186 
 
SHINING SOULS 
 
 That was something for youth to think of — of 
 life spoiling things — of lonely old age ! 
 
 " I wish," Derry said, after a pause, " that you'd 
 let me marry her before you go." 
 
 "No, no," sharply, "she's too young, Drake. 
 And you haven't known each other long enough." 
 
 " Things move rapidly in these days, sir." 
 
 The Doctor agreed. " It is one of the significant 
 developments. We had become material. And 
 now fire and flame. But all the more reason why 
 I should keep my head. Jean will be safe here 
 with Emily. And you may go any day." 
 
 " I wish I might think so. I'd be there now if I 
 weren't bound." 
 
 " It won't hurt either of you to wait until I come 
 back," was the Doctor's ultimatum, and Derry, 
 longing for sympathy, left him presently and made 
 his way to the Toy Shop. 
 
 " If we were to wait ten years do you think I'd 
 love her any more than I do now? " he demanded of 
 Emily. " I should think he'd understand." 
 
 " Men never do understand," said Emily — 
 "fathers. They think their own romance was 
 unique, or they forget that there was ever any ro- 
 mance." 
 
 " If you could put in a word for us," ventured 
 Derry. 
 
 " I am not sure that it would do any good ; Bruce 
 is a Turk." 
 
 187 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 A customer came, and Derry lingered discon- 
 solately while Emily served her. More customers, 
 among them a tall spare man with an upstanding 
 bush of gray hair. He had a potted plant la his 
 arms, wrapped in tissue paper. He set it on the 
 counter and went away. 
 
 When Miss Emily discovered the plant, she asked 
 Derry, " Who put it there? " 
 
 Derry described the man. " You were busy. He 
 didn't stop." 
 
 The plant was a cyclamen, blood-red and beauti- 
 ful. 
 
 Miss Emily managed to remark casually that she 
 had loaned his father an elephant, perhaps he had 
 felt that he ought to make some return — but he 
 needn't — . 
 
 " An elephant? " 
 
 "Not a real one. But the last of my plush 
 beauties." 
 
 She set the cyclamen on a shelf, and wrapjjed up 
 the parcel of toys which Derry had bought the day 
 before. "I may as well take them to Margaret 
 Morgan's kiddies," he told her. " I want to tell 
 her about Jean." 
 
 After Derry had gone, Miss Emily stood looking 
 at the cyclamen on the shelf. It was a lovely thing, 
 with a dozen blooms. She wished that her bene- 
 factor had stayed to let her thank him. She was 
 
 188 
 
SHINING SOULS 
 
 not sure that she even knew where to sead a note. 
 
 She hunted him up in the telephone book, and 
 found him — Ulrich Stolle. His hot-houses were 
 on the old Military Boad. She remembered now to 
 have seen them, and to have remarked the house, 
 which was peaked up in several gables, and had 
 quaint brightly-colored iron figures set about the 
 garden — with pointed caps like the graybeards in 
 Eip van Winkle, or the dwarf in Eumpelstiltzkin. 
 
 When Berry's car slid up to Margaret's door, he 
 saw the two children at an upper window. They 
 waved to hinri as he rang the bell. He waited sev- 
 eral moments and no one came to open the door. 
 He turned the knob and, finding it unlatched, let 
 himself in. 
 
 As he went through the hall he was aware of a 
 strange stillness. Not a maid was in sight. Pass- 
 ing Margaret's room on the second fioor he heard 
 voices. 
 
 The children were alone in the nursery. It was 
 flooded with sunlight. Margaret-Mary's pink wash 
 frock, Teddy's white linen — yellow jonquils in a 
 blue bow — snowy lambs gambolUng on a green 
 frieze — Bo-peeps, flying ribbons — it was a cheer- 
 ing and charming picture. 
 
 " How gay you are," said Derry. 
 
 " We are not gay in our hearts," Teddy told him. 
 
 « Why not? " 
 
 189 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "Mother's crying — we heard her, and then 
 Nurse went down and left us, and we looked out of 
 the window and you came." 
 
 Derry's heart seemed to stop beating. "Cry- 
 ing?" 
 
 Even as he spoke, Margaret stood on the thresh- 
 old. There were no tears, but it was worse than 
 tears. 
 
 He started towards her, but with a gesture she 
 stopped him. 
 
 " I am so glad you are — here," she said. 
 
 " My dear — what is it? " 
 
 She put her hand up to her head. " Teddy, dear- 
 est," she asked, "can you take care of Margaret- 
 Mary until Cousin Derry comes back? I want to 
 talk to him." 
 
 Teddy's grave eyes surveyed her. " You've been 
 cryin'," he said. " I told Cousin Derry — " 
 
 "Yes. I have had — bad news. But — I am 
 not going to cry — any more. And you'll take care 
 of sister? " 
 
 " I tell you, old chap," said Derry resourcefully, 
 " you and Margaret-Mary can open my parcel, and 
 when I come back we'll all play together." 
 
 Outside with Margaret, with the door shut on the 
 children, he put his arm about her. " Is it Win — 
 is he — hurt?" 
 
 " He is — oh, Derry, Derry, he is dead ! " 
 
 Even then she did not cry. "The children 
 190 
 
SHINING SOULS 
 
 mustn't know. Not till I get a grip on myself. 
 They mustn't think of it as — sad. They must 
 think of it as — glorioup — that he went — that 
 way — ." 
 
 Held close in his arms, she shook with sobs, si- 
 lent, hard. He carried her down to her room. The 
 maids were gathered there — Nurse utterly useless 
 in her grief. It came to Derry, as he bent over 
 Margaret, that he had always thought of Nurse as 
 a heartless automaton, playing Chorus to Teddy, 
 yet here she was, a weeping woman with the rest 
 of them. 
 
 He sent all of the servants away, except Nurse, 
 and then Margaret told him, " He was in one of the 
 French towns which the Germans had vacated, and 
 he happened to pick up a toy — that some little 
 child might have dropped — and there was an ex- 
 plosive hidden in it — and that child's toy kUled 
 him, Derry, killed him — " 
 
 " My God, Margaret — " 
 
 "They had put it there that it might kill a — 
 child!" 
 
 "Derry, the children mustn't know how it hap- 
 pened. They mustn't think of him as — hurt. 
 They know that something is the matter. Can you 
 tell them, Derry? So that they will think of him 
 as fine and splendid, and going up to Heaven be- 
 cause God loves brave men — ? " 
 
 It was a hard task that she had set him, and 
 191 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 when at last he left her, he went slowly up the 
 stairs. 
 
 The children had strung the Midnight Camels 
 across the room, the purple, patient creatures that 
 Jean had made. 
 
 " The round rug is an oasis," Teddy explained, 
 " and the joncjuil is a palm — and we are going to 
 save the dates and figs from our lunch." 
 
 " I want my lunch," Margaret-Mary complained. 
 
 Derry looked at his watch. It was after twelve. 
 The servants were all demoralized. " See here," he 
 said, " you sit still for a moment, and I'll go down 
 for your tray." 
 
 He brought it up himself, presently, bread and 
 milk and fruit. 
 
 They sat on the oasis and ate, with the patient 
 purple camels grouped in the shade of the jonquil 
 palm. 
 
 Then Derry asked, " Shall I tell you the story of 
 How the Purple Camels Came to Paradise? " 
 
 " Yes," they said, and he gathered little Margaret- 
 Mary into his arms, and Teddy lay flat on the floor 
 and looked up at him, while Derry made his difficult 
 way towards the thing he had to tell. 
 
 "You see, the purple camels belonged to the 
 Three Wise Men, the ones who journeyed, after the 
 Star — do you remember? And found the little 
 baby who was the Christ? And because the purple 
 camels had followed the Star, the good Lord said 
 
 192 
 
SHINING 80UL8 
 
 to them, ' Some day you shall journey towards 
 Paradise, and there you shall see the shining souls 
 that dwell in happiness.' " 
 
 " Do their souls really shine? " Teddy asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why? " 
 
 '' Because of the light in Paradise — the warm, 
 sweet light, clearer than the sunshine, Teddy, 
 brighter than the moon and the stars — ." 
 
 The children sighed rapturously. " Go on," 
 Teddy urged. 
 
 " So the patient camels began their wonderful 
 pilgrimage — they crossed the desert and rounded 
 a curve of the sea, and at last they came to Para- 
 dise, and the gate was shut and they knelt in front 
 of it, and they heard singing, and the sound of 
 silver trumpets, and at last the gate swung back, 
 and they saw — what do you think they saw? " 
 
 " The shining souls," said Teddy, solemnly. 
 
 " Yes, the shiniag souls in all that lovely light — 
 there were the souls of happy little children, and of 
 good women, but best of all," his voice wavered a 
 little, " best of all, there were the souls of — brave 
 men." 
 
 " My father is a brave man." 
 
 Was, oh, little Teddy! 
 
 "And the purple camels said to the angels who 
 guarded the gate, 'We have come because we saw 
 the little Christ in the manger.' 
 
 193 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " And the angel said, " It is those who see Him 
 who enter Paradise.' So the patient purple camels 
 went in and the gates were shut behind them, and 
 there they will live in the warm, sweet light 
 throughout the deathless ages." 
 
 "What are de-yethless ages. Cousin Derry?" 
 
 " Forever and ever." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " It is all about the camels — but not all about 
 the shining souls." 
 
 " Tell us the rest." 
 
 He knew that he was bungling it, but at last he 
 brought them to the thought of their father in 
 Paradise, because the dear Lord loved to have him 
 there. 
 
 " But if he's there, he can't be here," said the 
 practical Teddy. 
 
 « No." 
 
 " I want him here. Doesn't Mother want him 
 here? " 
 
 "Well — yes." 
 
 " Is she glad to have him go to Paradise? " 
 
 " Not exactly — glad." 
 
 " Was that why she was crying? " 
 
 " Yes. Of course she will miss him. but it is a 
 wonderful thing just the same, Teddy, when you 
 think of it — when you think of how your own 
 father went over to France because he was sorry for 
 all the poor little children who had been hurt, and 
 
 194 
 
SHINING 80UL8 
 
 for all the people who had suffered and suffered 
 until it seemed as if they must not suffer any more 
 — and he wanted to help them, and ■- — and — " 
 
 But here he stumbled and stopped. " I tell you, 
 Teddy," he said, as man to man, " it is going to hurt 
 awfully, not to see him. But you've got to be 
 careful not to be too sorry — because there's your 
 Mother to think of." 
 
 " Is she crying now? " 
 
 " Yes. Down there on her bed. Could you be 
 very brave if you went down, and told her not to 
 be sorry?" 
 
 " Brave, like my Daddy? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Margaret-Mary was too young to understand — 
 she was easily comforted. Derry sang a little song 
 and her eyes drooped. 
 
 But downstairs the little son who was brave like 
 his father, sat on the edge of the bed, and held his 
 mother's hand. " He's in Paradise with the purple 
 camels. Mother, and he's a shining soul — ." 
 
 It was a week before Jean went with Derry to see 
 Margaret. It had been a week of strange happen- 
 ings, of being made love to by Derry and of getting 
 Daddy ready to go away. She had reached heights 
 and depths, alternately. She had been feverishly 
 radiant when with her lover. She had resolved 
 that she would not spoil the wonder of these days 
 by letting him know her state of mind. 
 
 195 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 The niglits were the worst. None of them were 
 as bad as the first night, but her dreams were of 
 battles and bloodshed, and she waked ld the morn- 
 ings with great heaviness of spirit. 
 
 What Derry had told her of Margaret's loss 
 seemed but a confirmation of her fears. It was 
 thus that men went away and never returned — . 
 Oh, how Hilda would have triumphed if she could 
 have looked into Jean's heart with its tremors and 
 terrors ! 
 
 She came, thus, into the room, where Margaret 
 sat with her children. 
 
 " I want you two women to meet," Derry said, as 
 he presented Jean, " because you are my dearest — " 
 
 " He has told me so much about you," — Margaret 
 put her arm about Jean and kissed her — " and he 
 has used all the adjectives — yet none of them was 
 adequate." 
 
 Jean spoke tensely. "It doesn't seem right for 
 us to bring our happiness here." 
 
 "Why not? This has always been the place of 
 happiness? " She- caught her breath, then went on 
 quickly, "You mustn't think that I am heartless. 
 But if the women who have lost should let them- 
 selves despair, it would react on the living. The 
 wailing of women means the weakness of men. I 
 believe that so firmly that I am afraid to — cry." 
 
 " You are braver than I — " slowly. 
 196 
 
SHINING SOULS 
 
 " No. You'd feel the same way, dear child, about 
 Derry." 
 
 " No. I should not. I shouldn't feel that way 
 at all. I should die — if I lost Derry — " 
 
 Light leaped in her lover's eyes. But he shook 
 his head. " She'd bear it like other brave women. 
 She doesn't know herself, Margaret.'' 
 
 " None of us do. Do you suppose that the wives 
 and mothers of France ever dreamed that it would 
 be their fortitude which would hold the enemy 
 back? " 
 
 " Do you think it did, really? " Jean asked her. 
 
 " I know it. It has been a barrier as tangible as 
 a wall of rock." 
 
 "You put an awful responsibility upon the 
 women." 
 
 " Why not? They are the mothers of men." 
 
 They sat down after that, and Jean listened 
 frozenly while Margaret and Derry talked. The 
 children in front of the fire were looking at the pic- 
 tures in a book which Derry had brought. 
 
 Teddy, stretched at length on the rug in his fa- 
 vorite attitude, was reading to Margaret-Mary. 
 His mop of bright hair, his flushed cheeks, his active 
 gestures spoke of life quick in his young body — . 
 
 And his father was — dead — ! 
 
 Oh, oh, Mothers of men — ! 
 
 19T 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 HILDA BEEAKS THE EULES 
 
 It was Dr. McKenzie who told Hilda of Jean's 
 engagement to Derry Drake. > 
 
 " I thought it best for them not to say anything 
 to the General until he is better. So you may con- 
 sider it confidential, Hilda." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 She had come to his offtce to help him with his 
 books. The nurse who somewhat inadequately sup- 
 plied her place was having an afternoon off. The 
 Doctor had been glad to see her, and had told her 
 so. " I am afraid things are in an awful muddle." 
 
 "Not so bad that they can't be straightened out 
 in an hour or two." 
 
 " I don't see why you insist upon staying on the 
 General's case. I shouldn't have sent you if I had 
 thought you'd keep at it like this." 
 
 " I always keep at things when I begin them, 
 don't I? " 
 
 He knew that she did. It was one of the quali- 
 ties which made her valuable. " I believe that you 
 are staying away to let me see how hard it is to get 
 along without you." 
 
 198 
 
HILDA BREAKS THE RULES 
 
 "It wouldn't be a bad idea, but that's not the 
 reason. I am staying because I like the case." 
 She shifted the topic away from herself. 
 
 " People wiU say that Jean has played her cards 
 well." 
 
 He blazed, " What do you mean, Hilda? " 
 
 " He has a great deal of money." 
 
 « What has that to do with it? " 
 
 Her smile was irritating. " Oh, I know you are 
 not mercenary. But a million or two won't come 
 amiss in any girl's future — and two country 
 houses, and a house in town." 
 
 " You seem to know all about it." 
 
 " The General talks a lot — and anyhow, all the 
 world knows it. It's no secret." 
 
 " I rather think that Jean doesn't know it. I 
 haven't told her. She realizes that he is rich, but 
 it doesn't seem to have made much impression on 
 her." 
 
 " Most people will think she is lucky to have 
 caught him." 
 
 " He's not a fish," with rising anger, " and as for 
 Jean, she'd marry him if he hadn't a penny, and 
 you know it, Hilda." 
 
 Hilda considered that for a moment. Then she 
 said, " Is it his money or his father's? " 
 
 " Belongs to the old man. t)erry's mother had 
 nothing but an irreproachable family tree." 
 \.Hilda's long hands were clasped on the desk, her 
 
 199 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 eyes were upon them. "If he shouldn't like his 
 son's marriage, he might make things uncomfort- 
 able." 
 
 " Why shouldn't he like my Jean? " 
 
 "He probably wUl. But there's always the 
 chance that he may not. He may be more ambi- 
 tious." 
 
 Dr. McKenzie ran his fingers through his crinkled 
 hair. " She's good enough for — a king." 
 
 " You think that, naturally, but he isn't the dot- 
 ing father of an only daughter." 
 
 " If he thinks that my daughter isn't good enough 
 for his son — " 
 
 "You needn't shout at me like that," calmly; 
 " but he knows as well as you do that Derry Drake's 
 millions could get him any girl." 
 
 He had a flashing sense of the coarse fiber of 
 Hilda's mental make-up. " My Jean is a well-born 
 and well-bred woman," he said, slowly. " It is a 
 thing that money can't buy." 
 
 " Money buys a very good counterfeit. Lots of 
 the women who come here aren't ladies, not in the 
 sense that you mean it, but on the surface you can't 
 tell them apart." 
 
 He knew that it was true. No one knows better 
 than a doctor what is beneath the yeneer of social 
 convention and personal hypocrisy. 
 
 "And as for Jean," her quiet voice analyzed, 
 " what do you know of her, really? You've kept 
 
 200 
 
HILDA BREAKS THE RULES 
 
 her shut away from the things that could hurt her, 
 but how do you know what will happen when you 
 open the gate?" 
 
 Yet Emily had said — ? His hand came down on 
 top of the desk. " I think we won't discuss Jean." 
 
 " Very well, but you brought it on yourself. And 
 now please go away, I've got to finish this and get 
 back — " 
 
 He went reluctantly, and returned to say, " You'll 
 come over again before I sail, and straighten things 
 out for me? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " You don't act as if you cared whether I went or 
 not." 
 
 " I care, of course. But don't expect me to 
 cry. I am not the crying kind." The little room 
 was full of sunlight. She was very pink and white 
 and self-possessed. She smiled straight up into his 
 face. " What good would it do me to cry? 
 
 After she had left him he was restless. She had 
 been for so long a part of his life, a very necessary 
 and pleasant part of it. She never touched his 
 depths or rose to his heights. She seemed to 
 beckon, yet Dot to care when he came. 
 
 He spoke of her that night to Emily. "Hilda 
 was here to-day and she reminded me that people 
 might think that my daughter is marrying Derry 
 Drake for his money." 
 
 " She would look at it like that." 
 201 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " When Hilda talks to me " — he was rumpling 
 his hair — " I have a feeling that all the people in 
 the world are unlovely — ^" 
 
 " There are plenty of unlovely people," said Em- 
 ily, "but why should we worry with what they 
 think? " 
 
 She was knitting, and he found hims6lf watching 
 her hands. " You have pretty hands," he told her, 
 unexpectedly. 
 
 She held them out in front of her. " When I was 
 a little girl my mother told me that I had three 
 points of beauty — my hands, my feet, and the fam- 
 ily nose," she smiled whimsically, " and she assured 
 me that I would therefore never be common-place. 
 'Any woman may be beautiful,' was her theory, 
 * but only a woman with good blood in her veins 
 can have hands and feet and a nose like yours — ,' 
 I was dreadfully handicapped in the beginning of 
 my life by my mother's point of view. I am afraid 
 that even now if the dear lady looks down from 
 Heaven and sees me working in my Toy Shop she 
 will feel the family disgraced by this one member 
 who is in trade. It was only in the later years that 
 I found myself, that I realized how I might reach 
 out towards things which were broader and bigger 
 than the old ideals of aristocratic birth and inher- 
 ited possessions." 
 
 He thought of Hilda. "Yet it gave you some- 
 thing, Emily," he said, slowly, "that not every 
 
 202 
 
EILBA BREAKS THE RULES 
 
 woman has: good-breeding, and the ability to look 
 above the sordid. You are like Jean — all your 
 world is rose-colored." 
 
 She was thoughtful. "Not quite like Jean. I 
 heard a dear old bishop ask the other day why we 
 should see only the ash cans and garbage cans in 
 our back yards when there was blue sky above? I 
 know there are ash cans and garbage cans, but I 
 make myself look at the sky. Jean doesn't know 
 that the cans are there." 
 
 " The realists will tell you that you should keep 
 your eyes on the cans." 
 
 ^'1 don't believe it," said Miss Emily, stoutly; 
 " more people are made good by the contemplation 
 of the fine and beautiful thau by the knowledge of 
 evil. Eve knew that punishment would follow the 
 eating of the apple. But she ate it. If I had a 
 son I should tell him of the strength of men, not of 
 their weaknesses." 
 
 He nodded. " I see. And yet there is this about 
 Hilda. She does not deceive herself; — perhaps 
 you do — and Jean." 
 
 "Perhaps it is Hilda who is deceived. All the 
 people in the world are not unlovely — all of them 
 are not mercenary and deceitful and selfish." Her 
 cheeks were flushed. 
 
 " Nobody knows that better than a doctor, Emily. 
 I am conscious that Hilda draws out the worst in 
 me — yet there is something about her that makes 
 
 203 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 me want to find things out, to explore life with 
 her—" 
 
 He was smiling into the fire. Miss Emily girded 
 herself and gave him a shock. " The trouble with 
 you is that you want the admiration of every woman 
 Avho comes your way. Most of your patients wor- 
 ship you — Jean puts you on a pedestal — even I 
 tell you that you have a soul. But Hilda withholds 
 the admiration you demand, and you want to con- 
 quer her — to see her succumb with the rest of us." 
 
 " The rest of you ! Emily, you have never suc- 
 cumbed." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have. I seem to be saying, ' He may 
 have a few weaknesses, but back of it all he is big 
 and fine.' But Hilda's attitude indicates, 'He is 
 not fine at all.' And you hate that and want to 
 show her." 
 
 He chuckled. " By Jove, I do, Emily. Perhaps 
 it is just as well that I am getting away from her." 
 
 " I wouldn't admit it if I were you. I'd rather 
 see you face a thing than run away." 
 
 " If Eve had run away from the snake in the 
 apple tree, she would not have lost her Eden — 
 poor Eve." 
 
 " Poor Adam — to follow her lead. He should 
 have said, ' No, my dear, apples are not permitted 
 by the Food Administrator; we must practice self- 
 denial.' " 
 
 204 
 
HILDA BREAKS THE RULES 
 
 " I think I'd rather have him sinning than such 
 a prig." 
 
 " It depetids on the point of view." 
 
 He enjoyed immensely crossing swords with 
 Emily. There was never any aftermath of unpleas- 
 antness. She soothed him even while she criticised. 
 
 They spoke presently of Jean and Derry. 
 
 " They want to get married." 
 
 " Well, why not? " 
 
 " She's too young, Emily. Too ignorant of what 
 life means — and he may go to France any day. 
 He is getting restless — and he may see things dif- 
 ferently — that his duty to his country transcends 
 any personal claim — and then what of Jean? — a 
 little wife — alone.'' 
 
 " She could stay with me." 
 
 " But marriage, marriage, Emily — why in Heav- 
 en's name should they be in such a hurry? " 
 
 " Why should they wait, and miss the wonder of 
 it all, as I have missed it — all the color and glow, 
 the wine of life? Even if he should go to Prance, 
 and die, she will bear his beloved name — she will 
 have the right to weep." 
 
 He had never seen her like this — the red was 
 deep in her cheeks, her voice was shalcen, her bosom 
 rose and fell with her agitation. 
 
 " Emily, my dear girl — " 
 
 " Let them marry, Bruce, can't you see? Can't 
 205 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 you see. It is their day — there may be no tomor- 
 row." 
 
 " But there are practical things. Emily. If she 
 should have a child ? " 
 
 "Why not? It will be his — to love. Only a 
 woman with empty arms knows what that means, 
 Bruce." 
 
 And this was Emily, this rose-red, wet-eyed crea- 
 ture was Emily, whom he had deemed unemotional, 
 cold, self-contained! 
 
 " Men forget, Bruce. You wouldn't listen to 
 reason when you wooed Jean's mother. You were 
 a demanding, imperative lover — you wanted your 
 own way, and you had it." 
 
 " But I had known Jean's mother all my life." 
 
 " Time has nothing to do with it." 
 
 " My dear girl — " 
 
 " It hasn't." 
 
 She was illogical, and he liked it. " If I let them 
 marry, what then? " 
 
 " They will love you for it" 
 
 " They ought to love you instead." 
 
 " I shall be out of it. They will be married, and 
 you will be in France, and I shall sell — toys — " 
 
 She tried to laugh, but it was a poor excuse. He 
 glanced at her quickly. " Shall you miss me, 
 Emily? " 
 
 Her hands went out in a little gesture of de- 
 206 
 
HILDA BREAKS THE RULES 
 
 spair. " There you go, taking my tears to your- 
 self." 
 
 He was a bit disconcerted. " Oh, I say — " 
 
 " But they are not for you. They are for my 
 lost youth and romance, Bruce. My lost youth and 
 romance." 
 
 Leaning back in his chair he studied her. Her 
 eyes were dreamy — the rose-red was stUl in her 
 cheeks. For the first time he realized the prettiness 
 of Emily ; it was as if in her plea for others she had 
 brought to life something in herself which glowed 
 and sparkled. 
 
 " Look here," he said. " I want you to write to 
 me." 
 
 " I am a busy woman." 
 
 " But a letter now and then — " 
 
 " Well, now and then — " 
 
 He was forced to be content with that. She was 
 really very charming, he decided as he got into his 
 car. She was such a gentlewoman — she created 
 an atmosphere which belonged to his home and 
 hearth. 
 
 When he came in late she was not waiting up for 
 him as Hilda had so often waited. There was a 
 plate of sandwiches on his desk, coffee ready in the 
 percolator to be made by the turning on of the elec- 
 tricity. But he ate his lunch alone. 
 
 Yet in spite of the loneliness, he was glad that 
 207 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Emily had not waited up for him. It was a thing 
 which Hilda might do — Hilda, who made a -W^orld 
 of her own. But Emily's world was the world of 
 womanly graciousness and dignity — tli& world in 
 which his daughter moved, the world which had 
 been his wife's. For her to have eaten a,lone with 
 him in his office in the middle of the night would 
 have made her seem less than he wanted her to be. 
 
 Before he went to bed, he called up Hilda. "I 
 forgot to tell you when you were here this after- 
 noon that I asked young Drake about Bronson. 
 He says that it isn't possible that the old man is 
 giving the Greneral anything against orders. 
 You'd better watch the other servants and be sure 
 of the day nurse — " 
 
 " I am sure of' her and of the other servants — 
 but I still have my doubts about Bronscm." 
 
 " But Drake says — " 
 
 " I don't care what he says. Bronson served the 
 General before he served young Drake — and he's 
 not to be trusted." 
 
 " I should be sorry to think so ; he impresses me 
 as a faithful old soul." 
 
 " Well, my eyes are rather clear, you know." 
 
 " Yes, I know. Good-night, Hilda." 
 
 She hung up the receiver. She had talked to him 
 at the telephone in the lower hall, which was en- 
 ;closed, and where one might be confidential with- 
 out being overheard. 
 
 208 
 
HILDA BREAKS THE RULES 
 
 She sat very still for a few moments in the little 
 booth, thinking; then she rose and went upstairs. 
 
 The Greneral was aT.ake and eager. 
 
 " Shall I read to you? " Hilda asked. 
 
 " No, I'd rather talk." 
 
 She shaded the light and sat beside the little 
 table. " Did you like your dinner? " 
 
 "Yes. Bronson said you made the broth. It 
 was delicious." 
 
 " I like to cook — when I like the people I cook 
 for." 
 
 He basked in that. 
 
 " There are some patients — oh, I have wanted to 
 salt their coffee and pepper their cereal. You have 
 no idea of the temptations which come to a nurse." 
 
 " Are you fond of it — nursing? " 
 
 "Yes. It is nice in a place like this — and at 
 Dr. McKenzie's. But there are some houses that 
 are awful, with everybody quarrelling, the children 
 squalling — . I hate that. I want to be comfort- 
 able. I like your thick carpets here, and the quiet, 
 and the good service. And the good things to eat, 
 and the little taste of wine that we take together." 
 Her low laugh delighted him. 
 
 " The wine? You are going to drink another 
 glass with me before I go to sleep." 
 
 "Yes. But it is our secret. Dr. McKenzie 
 would kill me if he knew, and a nurse must obey 
 orders." 
 
 209 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " He need never know. And it won't hurt me." 
 
 "Of course not. But he has ideas on the sub^ 
 ject." 
 
 " May I have it now? " 
 
 " Wait until Bronson goes to bed." 
 
 " Bronson has nothing to do with it. A servant 
 has neither ears nor eyes." 
 
 "It might embarrass him if the Doctor asked 
 him. And why should you make him lie? " 
 
 Bronson, pottering in^ presently, was told that 
 he would not be needed. " Mr. Derry telephoned 
 that he would be having supper after the play at 
 Miss Gray's. You can call him there if he is 
 wanted." 
 
 " Thank you, Bronson. Good-night." 
 
 When the old man had left them, she said to the 
 General, " Do you know that your son is falling in 
 love? " 
 
 "In love?" 
 
 "Yes, desperately — at first sight?" 
 
 He laughed. " With whom? " 
 
 " Dr. McKenzie's daughter." 
 
 " What? '' He raised himself on his elbow. 
 
 "Yes. Jean McKenzie. I am not sure that I 
 ought to tell you, but somehow it doesn't seem right 
 that you are not being told — " 
 
 He considered it gravely. " I don't want him to 
 get married," he said at last. " I want him to go 
 to itvar. I can't tell you, Miss Merritt, how bitter 
 
 210 
 
EILDA BREAKS THE RULES 
 
 my disappointment has been that Deny won't 
 fight." 
 
 " He may have to fight." 
 
 " Do you think I want him dragged to defend the 
 honor of his country? I'd rather see him dead." 
 He was struggling for composure. 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn't have told you," she said, so- 
 licitously. 
 
 " Why not? It is my right to know." 
 
 " Jean is a pretty little thing, and you may like 
 her." 
 
 " I like McKenzie," thoughtfully. 
 
 She glanced at him. His old face had fallen 
 into gentler lines. She gave a hard laugh. "Of 
 course, a rich man like your son rather dazzles the 
 eyes of a young girl like Jean." 
 
 " You think then it is his — money? " 
 
 " I shouldn't like to say that. But, of course, . 
 money adds to his charms." 
 
 " He won't have any money," grimly, " unless I 
 choose that he shall. I can stop his allowance to- 
 morrow. And what would the little lady do then? " 
 
 She shrugged. " I am sure I don't know. She'd 
 probably take Ralph Witherspoon. He's in the 
 race. She dropped him after she met your son." 
 
 The General's idea of women was somewhat ex- 
 alted. He had an old-fashioned chivalry which 
 made him blind to their faults, the champion of 
 their virtues. He had always been, therefore, to a 
 
 211 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 certain extent, at the mercy of the unscrupiilous. 
 He had loaned money and used his influence in be- 
 half of certain wily and weeping females who had 
 deserved at his hands much less than they got. 
 
 In his thoughts of a wife for Derry, he had pic- 
 tured her as sweet and unsophisticated — a bit re- 
 seiT^ed, like Derry's mother — 
 
 The portrait which Hilda had subtly presented 
 was of a mercenary little creature, lured by the 
 glitter of gold — ofE with the old and on with the 
 new, lacking fineness. 
 
 " I can stop his allowance," he warered. " It 
 would be a good test. But I love the boy. The 
 war has brought the first misunderstandings be- 
 tween Derry and me. It would have hurt his 
 mother." 
 
 Hilda was always restless when' the name was in- 
 troduced of the painted lady on the stairs. When 
 the General spoke of his wife, his eyes grew kind — 
 and inevitably his thoughts, drifted away from 
 Hilda to the days that he had spent with Derry's 
 mother. 
 
 " She loved us both," he said. 
 
 Hilda rose and crossed the room. A low book- 
 case held the General's favorite volumes. There 
 was a Globe edition of Dickens on the top shelf, 
 little fat brown books, shabby with much handling. 
 Hilda extracted one, and inserted her hand in the 
 
 212 
 
HILDA BREAKS THE RULES 
 
 hollow gpace back of the row. She brought out a 
 small flat bottle and put the book back. 
 
 " I always keep it behind ' Great Expectations,' " 
 she said, as she approached the bed. "It seems 
 rather appropriate, doesn't it? " 
 
 The old eyes, which had been soft with memories, 
 glistened. 
 
 She filled two little glasses. " Let us drink to 
 our — secret." 
 
 Then while the wine was firing his yeins, she 
 spoke again of Jean and Deny. " It really seems 
 as if he should have told you." 
 
 " I won't have him getting married. He can't 
 marry unless he has money." 
 
 " Please don't speak of it to him. I don't want 
 to get into trouble. You wouldn't want to get me 
 into trouble, would you? " 
 
 « No." 
 
 She filled his glass again. He drank. Bit by 
 bit she fed the fire of his doubts of his son. When 
 at last he fell asleep in his lacquered bed he had 
 made up his mind to rather drastic action. 
 
 She sat beside him, her thoughts flying ahead 
 into the years. She saw things as she wanted them 
 to be— ^Derry at odds with his father; married to 
 Jean ; herself mistress of this great house, wearing 
 the diamond crown and the pearl collar; her por- 
 tr£dt in the place of the one of the painted lady on 
 
 213 
 
THE TIN. SOLDIER 
 
 the stairs; looking down on little Jean who had 
 judged her by youth's narrow standards — whose 
 husband would have no fortune unless he chose to 
 accept it at her hands. 
 
 Thus she weighed her influence over the sleep- 
 ing sick man, thus she dreamed, calm as fate in her 
 white uniform. 
 
 214 
 
CHAPTEE XVI 
 
 JEAN-JOAN 
 
 Dbusilla Geay's little late suppers were rather 
 famous. It was not that she spent so much money, 
 but that she spent much thought. 
 
 Tonight she was giving Captain Hewes a sweet 
 potato pie. "He has never eaten real American 
 things," she said to Jean. "Nice homey-cooked 
 things — " 
 
 " No one but Drusilla would ever think of pie at 
 night," said Marion Gray, " but she has set her 
 heart on it." 
 
 There were some very special hot oyster sand- 
 wiches which preceded the pie — peppery and sav- 
 ory with curls of bacon. 
 
 " I hope you are hungry," said DrusUla as her big 
 black cook brought them in. "Aunt Chloe hates 
 to have things go back to the kitchen." 
 
 Nothing went back. There was snow without, a 
 white whirl in the air, piling up at street corners, 
 a night for young appetites to be on edge. 
 
 " Jove," said the Captain, as he leaned back in his 
 chair, " how I shall miss all this ! " 
 
 Jean turned her face towards him, startled. 
 « Miss it? " 
 
 215 
 
THE 'TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " Yes. I am going back — got my -orders to- 
 day." 
 
 Drusilla was cutting the pie. "Isn't it glori- 
 ous ! " 
 
 Jean gazed at lier with something like horror. 
 Glorious! How could Drusilla go on, like Wer- 
 ther's Charlotte, calmly cutting bread and hutter? 
 Captain Hewes loved her, anybody with half an eye 
 could see that — and whether she loved him or not, 
 he was her friend — and she called his going " glo- 
 rious ! " 
 
 " I was afraid my wound might put me on the 
 shelf," the Captain said. 
 
 " He is ordered straight to the front," Drusilla 
 elucidated. " This is his farewell feast." 
 
 After that everything was to Jean funeral baked 
 meats. The pie deep in its crust, rich with eggs 
 and milk, defiant of conservation, was as sawdust 
 to her palate. 
 
 Glorious ! 
 
 Well, she couldn't understand Margaret. She 
 couldn't understand Drusilla. She didn't want to 
 understand them. 
 
 " Some day I shall go over," Drusilla was saying. 
 " I shall drive something — it may be a truck and 
 it may be an ambulance. But I can*t sit here any 
 longer doing nothing." 
 
 " I think you are doing a great deal," said Jean. 
 " Look at the committees you are managing." 
 
 216 
 
JEAN-JOAN 
 
 " Oh, things like that," said DrusUla contemptu- 
 ously. " Women's work. I'm not made to knit 
 and keep card indexes. I want a man's job." 
 
 There was something almost boyish about her as 
 she said it. She had parted her hair on the side, 
 which heightened the effect. " In the old days," she 
 told Captain Hewes, " I should have worn doublet 
 and hose and have gone as your page." 
 
 " Happy old days — ." 
 
 " And I should have written a ballad about you," 
 said Marion, " and have sung it to the accompani- 
 ment of my harp — and my pot-boUers would never 
 have been. And we should' all have worn trains 
 and picturesque headdresses instead of shirtwaists 
 and sports hats, and I should have called some man 
 ' my Lord,' and have listened for his footsteps in- 
 stead of ending my days in single blessedness with 
 a type-writer as my closest companion." 
 
 Everybody laughed except Jean. She broke her 
 cheese into small bits with her fork, and stared 
 down at it as if cheese were the most interesting 
 thing in the whole wide world. 
 
 It was only two weeks since they had had the 
 news of Margaret's husband — only a month since 
 he had died. And Winston had been Captain 
 Hewes' dear friend; he had been Derry's. Would 
 anybody laugh if Derry had been dead only four- 
 teen days? 
 
 She tried, however, to swing herself in line with 
 217 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 the others. "Shall you go before Christmas?" 
 she asked the Captain. 
 
 "Yes. And Miss. Gray had asked me to dine 
 with her. You can see what I am missing — my 
 first American Christmas." 
 
 " We are going to have a little tree," said Dru- 
 silla, " and ask all of you to come and hang pres- 
 ents on it." 
 
 Jean had always had a tree at Christmas time. 
 From the earliest days of her remembrance, there 
 had been set in the window of the little drawing 
 room, a young pine brought from the Doctor's 
 country-place far up in Maryland. On Christmas 
 Eve it had been lighted and the doors thrown open. 
 Jean could see her mother now, shining on one side 
 of it, and herself coming in, in her nurse's arms. 
 
 There had been a star at the top, and snow pow- 
 dered on the branches — and gold and silver balls 
 — and her presents piled beneath — always a doll 
 holding out its arms to her. There had been the 
 first Kosie-Dolly, more beloved than any other, 
 made of painted cloth, with painted yellow curls, 
 and dressed in pink with a white apron. Rosie 
 was a jB^reck of a doll now, her features blurred 
 and her head bald with the years — but Jean still 
 loved her, with something M t over of the adoration 
 of her little girl days. Then there was Maude, 
 named in honor of the lovely lady who had played 
 " Peter Pan," and the last doll that Jean's mother 
 
 218 
 
JEAN-JOAIf 
 
 had given her. Maude had an outfit for every 
 character in which Jean had seen her prototype — 
 there were the rowan berries and shawl of "Bab- 
 bie," the cap and jerkin of " Peter Pan," the feath- 
 ers and spurs of " Chantecler ". — such- a trunkf ul, 
 and her dearest mother had made them all — . 
 
 And Daddy! How Daddy had played Santa 
 Glaus, in red cloth and fur with a wide belt and 
 big boots, every year, even last year when she was 
 nineteen and ready to mate her bow to society. 
 And now he might never play Santa Glaus again — 
 for before Ghristmas had come he would be on the 
 high seas, perhaps on the other side of the seas — 
 at the edge of No Man's Land. And there would 
 be no Star, no dolls, no gold and silver balls — for 
 the nation which had given Santa Glaus to the 
 world, had robbed the world of peace and of good- 
 will. It had robbed the world of Christmas ! 
 
 She came back to hear the Gaptain saying, " I 
 want you to sing for me — Drusilla." 
 
 They rose and went into the other room. 
 
 " Tired, dearest? " Derry asked, as he found a 
 chair for her and drew his own close to it. 
 
 " No, I am not tired," she told him, " but I hate 
 to think that Gaptain Hewes must go." 
 
 " I'd give the world to be going with him." 
 
 Her hands were clasped tightly. "Would you 
 give me up?" 
 
 "You? I should never have to give you up, 
 219 
 
_ THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 thank God. You would never hold me back." 
 
 " Shouldn't I, DeiTy?" 
 
 " My precious, don't I know? Better than you 
 know yourself." 
 
 Drusilla and the Captain were standing by the 
 wide window which looked out over the city. The 
 snow came down like a curtain, shutting out the 
 sky. 
 
 " Do you think she loves him? " Jean asked. 
 
 "I hope so," heartily. 
 
 " But to send him away so — easily. Oh, Derry, 
 she can't care." 
 
 " Slie is sending him not easily, but bravely. 
 Margaret let her husband go like that." 
 
 " Would you want me to let you go like that, 
 Derry? " 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " Wouldn't you want me to — cry? " 
 
 "Perhaps. Just a little tear. But I should 
 want you to think beyond the tears. I should want 
 you to know that for us there can be no real separa- 
 tion. You are mine to the end of all eternity, 
 Jean." 
 
 He believed it. And she believed it. And per- 
 haps, after all, it was true. There must be a very 
 separate and special Heaven for those who love 
 once, and never love again. 
 
 Drusilla came away from the window to sing for 
 them — a popular song. But there was much in it 
 
 220 
 
JEAN-JOAN 
 
 to intrigue the imagination — a vision of the heroic 
 Maid — a hint of the Marseillaise — and so the na- 
 tions were singing it — . 
 
 " Jeanne d'Arc, Jeanne d'Arc, 
 Oh, soldats! entendez vous? 
 'Aliens, enfants de la patrie,' 
 Jeanne d'Arc, la victoire est pour vous — " 
 
 There was a new note in Drusilla's voice. A 
 note of tears as well as of triumph — and at the 
 last word she broke down and covered her face 
 with her hands. 
 
 In the sudden stillness, the Captain strode across 
 the room and took her hands away from her face. 
 
 " Drusilla," he said before them all, " do you 
 care as much as that? " 
 
 She told him the truth in her fine, frank fashion. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I do care, Captain, but I want 
 you to go." 
 
 "And oh, Derry, I am so glad she cried," Jean 
 said, when they were driving home through the 
 snow-storm. " It made her seem so — human." 
 
 Derry drew her close. " Such a thing couldn't 
 have happened," he said, " at any other time. Do 
 you suppose that a few years ago any of us would 
 have been keyed up to a point where a self-con- 
 tained Englishman could have asked a girl, in the 
 face of three other people, if she loved him, and 
 have had her answer like that? It was beautiful, 
 beautiful, Jean-Joan — " 
 
 221 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 She held her breath. "Why do you call me 
 that?" 
 
 " She lived for France. You shall live for 
 France — and me." 
 
 The snow shut them in. There was the warmth 
 of the car, of the fur rugs and Derry's fur coat, 
 Jean's own velvet wrap of heavenly blue, the fra- 
 grance of her violets. Somewhere far away men 
 were fighting — there was the mud and cold of the 
 trenches — somewhere men were suffering. 
 
 She tried not to think of them. Her cheek was 
 against Derry's. She was safe — safe. 
 
 Captain Hewes went away that night Drusilla's 
 accepted lover. He put a ring on her finger and 
 kissed her " good-bye," and with his head high faced 
 the months that he must be separated from her. 
 
 " I will come back, dear woman." 
 
 " I shall Ksee you before that," she told him. " I 
 am coming over." 
 
 " I shall hate to have you in it all. But it will 
 be Heaven to see you." 
 
 When he had gone, Drusilla went into Marion 
 Gray's study. 
 
 Marion looked up from her work. She was cor- 
 recting manuscript, pages and pages of it. " Well, 
 do you want me to congratulate you, Drusilla? " 
 
 Drusilla sat down. " I don't know, Marion. He 
 222 
 
JEAH-JOAN 
 
 is the biggest and finest man I have ever met, 
 but — " 
 
 " But what? " 
 
 "I wanted love to come to me differently, as it 
 has come to Jean and Derry — without any doubts. 
 I wanted to be sure. And I am not sure. I only 
 know that I couldn't let him go without making 
 him happy." 
 
 "Then is it — pity?" 
 
 " No. He means more to me than that. But I 
 gave way to an impulse — the music, and his sad 
 eyes. And then I cried, and he came up to me — 
 fancy a man coming up before you all like that — " 
 
 " It was quite the most dramatic moment," said 
 the lady who wrote. " Quite unbelievable in real 
 life. One finds those things occasionally in fic- 
 tion." 
 
 " It was as if there were just two of us alone in 
 the world," Drusllla confessed, " and I said what I 
 did because I simjily couldn't help it. And it was 
 true at the moment; I think it is always going to 
 be true. If I marry him I shall care a great deal. 
 But it has not come to me just as I had — dreamed." 
 
 " Nothing is like our dreams," said Marion, and 
 dropped her pen. " That's why I write. I can 
 give my heroine all the bliss for which she yearns." 
 
 Drusilla stood up. " You mustn't misunderstand 
 me, Marion. I am very happy in the thought of my 
 
 223 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 good friend, of my great lover. It is only that it 
 hasn't quite measured up to what I expected." 
 
 " Nothing measures up to what we expect." 
 
 " And now Jean belongs to Derry, and I belong 
 to my gallant and good Captain. I shall thank 
 God before I sleep tonight, Marion." 
 
 " And he'll thank God — ." 
 
 They kissed each other, and Drusilla went to 
 bed, and the next morning she wrote a letter to her 
 Captain, which he carried next to his heart and 
 kissed when he got a chance. 
 
 mi 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE WHITE CAT 
 
 Deery, going quietly to his room that night, did 
 not stop at the General's door. He did not want 
 to speak to Hilda, he did not want to speak to any- 
 one, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts of 
 Jean and that perfect ride with her through the 
 snow. 
 
 He was, therefore, a little impatient to find 
 Bronson waiting up for him. 
 
 " I thought I told you to go to bed, Bronson." 
 
 " You did, sir, but — but I have something to tell 
 you." 
 
 " Can't it wait until morning? " 
 
 " I should like to say it now, Mr. Derry." The 
 old man's eyes were anxious. "It's about your 
 father—" 
 
 " Father? " 
 
 " Yes. I told you I didn't like the nurse." 
 
 " Miss Merritt? Well?" 
 
 "Perhaps I'd better get you to bed, sir. It's a 
 rather long story, and you'd be more comfortable." 
 
 "You'd be more comfortable, you mean, Bron- 
 son." The im tient note had gone out of Berry's 
 
 225 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 voice. Temporarily he pigeon-holed his thoughts 
 of Jean, and gave his attention to this servant who 
 was more than a servant, more even than a friend. 
 To Derry, Bronson wore a sort of halo, like a good 
 old saint in an ancient woodcut. 
 
 Propped up at last among his pillows, pink from 
 his bath and in pale blue pajamas, Derry listened to 
 what the old man had to say to him. 
 
 Bronson sat on the edge of a straight-backed 
 chair with Muffin at his knees. " From the first 
 day I had a feeling that she wasn't just — straight. 
 I don't know why, but I felt it. She had one way 
 with the General and another with us servants. 
 But I didn't mind that, not much, until she went 
 into your mother's room." 
 
 " My mother's room? " sharply. " What was she 
 doing there, Bronson? " 
 
 " That's what I am going to tell you, sir. You 
 know that place on the third floor landiog, where I 
 sits and looks through at your father when he ain't 
 quite himself, and won't let me come in his room? 
 Well, there was one night that .1 was there and 
 watched her — " 
 
 Berry's quick frown rebuked Mm, "You 
 shouldn't have done that, Bronson." 
 
 "I had a feeling, sir, that things were going 
 wrong, and that,the General wasn't always himself. 
 I shouldn't ever have said a thing to you, Mr. 
 Derry," earnestly, " if I hadn't seen what I did." 
 
 226 
 
THE WniTE CAT 
 
 He cleared his throat. " That first night I saw 
 her open the door between your father's room and 
 the sitting room, and she did it careful and quiet 
 like a person does when they don't want anybody 
 to know. The sitting room was dark, biit I went 
 down and stood behind the curtain in the General's 
 door, and I could see through, and there was a light 
 in your mother's room and a screen set before it." 
 
 " I took a big chance, but I slid into the sitting 
 room, and I could see her on the other side of the 
 screen, and she had opened the safe behind the 
 Chinese scroll, and she was trying on your mother's 
 diamonds." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 Bronson nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir, she had 
 'em on her head and her neck and her fingers — ." 
 
 "You don't mean — that she took anything." 
 
 " Oh, no, sir, she's no common thief. But she 
 looked at herself in the glass and strutted up and 
 down, up and down, up and down, bowing and 
 smiling like a — fool." 
 
 " Then the telephone rang, and I had to get out 
 pretty quick, before she came to answer it. I went 
 to bed, but I didn't sleep much, and the next night 
 I watched her again. I watch every night." 
 
 Derry considered the situation. " I don't like it 
 at all, Bronson. But perhaps it was just a woman's 
 vanity. She wanted to see how she looked." 
 
 "Well, she's seen — and she ain't going to be 
 227 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 satisfied with that. She'll want to wear them ail 
 the time — " 
 
 " Of course, she can't, Bronson. She isn't as 
 silly as to think she can." 
 
 " Perhaps not, sir." Bronson opened his lips 
 and shut them again. 
 
 " There's something else, sir," he said, after a 
 pause. " I've found out that she's giving the Gen- 
 eral things to drink." 
 
 " Hilda? " Derry said, incredulously. " Oh, 
 surely not, Bronson. The Doctor has given her 
 strict orders — ." 
 
 " She's got a bottle behind the books, and she 
 pours him a glass right after dinner, and another 
 before he goes to sleep, and — and — you know he'd 
 sell his soul for the stuff, Mr. Derry." 
 
 Derry did know. It had been the shame of all 
 Ms youthful years that his father should stoop to 
 subterfuge, to falsehood, to everything that was for- 
 eign to his native sense of honor and honesty, for a 
 taste of that which his abnormal appetite demanded. 
 
 " If anyone had told me but you, Bronson, I 
 wouldn't have believed it." 
 
 " I didn't want to tell you, but I had to. Tou 
 can see that, can't you, sir? " 
 
 " Yes. But how in the world did she know where 
 the diamonds were? " 
 
 " He gave her his key one day when I was there 
 — made me get it off his ring. He sent her for your 
 
 228 
 
THE WHITE CAT 
 
 picture — the one that your mother used to wear. 
 I thought then that he wasn't quite right in his 
 head, with the fever and all, orTie would have sent 
 me. But a woman like that — " 
 
 "Dr. McKenzie has the greatest confidence in 
 her." 
 
 " I know, sir, and she's probably played square 
 with him — but she ain't playing square here." 
 
 " It can't go on, of course. I shall have to tell 
 McKenzie." 
 
 Bronson protested nervously. " If she puts her 
 word against mine, who but you will believe me? 
 I'd rather you saw it yourself, Mr. Derry, and left 
 my name out of it." 
 
 " But I can't sit on the steps and watch." 
 
 " No, sir, but you can come in unexpected from 
 the outside — when I flash on the third floor light 
 for you." 
 
 Berry slept little that night. Ahead of him 
 stretched twenty-four hours of suspense — twenty- 
 four hours in which he would have to think of this 
 thing which was hidden in the big house in which 
 his mother had reigned. 
 
 In the weeks since he had met Jean, he had man- 
 aged to thrust it into the back of his mind — he 
 had, indeed, in the midst of his happiness, forgot- 
 ten his bitterness, his sense of injustice — he won- 
 dered if he had not in a sense forgotten his patri- 
 otism. Life had seemed so good, his moments with 
 
 229 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Jean so transcendent — there had been no room for 
 anything else. 
 
 But now he was to take up again the burden 
 which he < had dropped. He was to consider his 
 problem from a new angle. How could he bring 
 Jean here? How could he let her clear young eyes 
 rest on that which he and his mother had seen? 
 How could he set, as it were, all of this sordidness 
 against her sweetness? Money could, of course, do 
 much. But his promise held him to watchfulness, 
 to brooding care, to residence beneath this roof. 
 His bride would be the General's daughter, she 
 would live in the General's house, she would live, 
 too, beneath the shadow of the General's tragic 
 fault. 
 
 Yet — she was a brave little thing. He com- 
 forted himself with that. And she loved him. He 
 slept at last with a desperate prayer on his lips that 
 some new vision might be granted him on the mor- 
 row. 
 
 But the first news that came over the telephone 
 was of Jean's flitting. " Daddy wants me to go 
 with him to our old place in Maryland. He has 
 some business which takes him there, and we shall 
 be gone two days." 
 
 "Two days?" 
 
 " Yes. We are to niotor up." 
 
 " Can't I go with you? " 
 
 " I think — Daddy wants me to himself. You 
 230 
 
THE WHITE CAT 
 
 won't mind, Derry — some day you'll have me all 
 the time." 
 
 " But I need you now, deai^est." 
 
 " Do you really," delightedly. " It doesn't seem 
 as if you could — " 
 
 " If you knew how much." 
 
 She could not know. He hung up the receiver. 
 The day stretched out before him, blank. 
 
 But it passed, of course. And Hilda, having 
 slept her allotted number of hours, was up in time 
 to superintend the serving of the General's dinner. 
 Later, Derry stopped at the door to say that he was 
 going to the theater and might be called there. 
 The General, propped against his pillows and 
 clothed in a gorgeous mandarin coat, looked wrin- 
 kled and old. The ruddiness had faded from his 
 cheeks, and he was much thinner. 
 
 Hilda, sitting by the little table, showed all the 
 contrast of youth and bloom. Her long hands lay 
 flat on the table. Derry had a fantastic feeling, as 
 if a white cat watched him under the lamp. 
 
 " Are you going alone, son? " the General asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why don't you take a girl? " craftily. 
 
 Derry smiled. 
 
 "The only girl I should care to take is out of 
 town." 
 
 The white cat purred. "Lucky girl to be the 
 only one." 
 
 231 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Derry's manner stiffened. " You are good to 
 think so." 
 
 After Derry had gone, HUda said, " You see, it is 
 Jean McKenzie. The Doctor said that he and Jean 
 would be up in Maryland for a day or two. She 
 has a good time. She doesn't know what it means 
 to be poor, not as I know it. She doesn't know 
 what it means to go without the pretty things that 
 women long for. You wouldn't believe it, General, 
 but when I was a little girl, I used to stand in 
 front of shop windows and wonder if other girls 
 really wore the slippers and fans and parasols. 
 And when I went to Dr. McKenzie's, and saw Jean 
 in her silk dressing gowns, and her pink slippers 
 and her lace caps, she seemed to me like a lady in 
 a play. I've worn my uniforms since I took my 
 nurse's training, and before that I wore the uni- 
 form of an Orphans' Home. I — I don't know why 
 I am telling you all this — only it doesn't seem 
 quite fair, does it? " 
 
 He had all of an old man's sympathy for a lovely 
 woman in distress. He had all of any man's desire 
 to play Cophetua. 
 
 " Look here," he said. " You get yourself a pink 
 parasol and a fan and a silk dress. I'd like to see 
 you wear them." 
 
 She shook her head. "What should I do with 
 things like that?" Her voice had a note of wist- 
 f ulness. " A woman in my position must be careful." 
 
 232 
 
TEE WHITE OAT 
 
 "But I want you to have the things," he per- 
 sisted. 
 
 " I shouldn't have a place to wear them," sadly. 
 "No, you are very good to offer them. But I 
 mustn't." 
 
 The General slept after that. Hilda read under 
 the lamp — a white cat watched by a little old ter- 
 rier on the stairs ! 
 
 And now the big house was very stUl. There 
 were lights in the halls of the first and second 
 floors. Bronson crouching in the darkness of the 
 third landing was glad of the company of the 
 painted lady on the stairs. He knew she would 
 approve of what he was doing. For years he had 
 served her in such matters as this, saving her hus- 
 band from himself. When Derry was too small, 
 too ignorant of evil, too innocent, to be told things, 
 it was to the old servant that she had come. 
 
 He remembered a certain night. She was young 
 then and new to her task. She and the General had 
 been dining at one of the Legations. She was in 
 pale blue and very appealing. When Bronson had 
 opened the door, she had come in alone. 
 
 " Oh, the General, the General, Bronson," she had 
 said. " We've got to go after him." 
 
 She was shaking with the dread of it, and Bron- 
 son had said, " Hadn't you better wait, ma'am? " 
 
 " I mustn't. We stopped at the hotel as we came 
 by, and he said he would run in and get a New York 
 
 233 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 paper. And. we waited, and we waited, and he 
 didn't come out again, and at last I sent McChes- 
 ney in, and he couldn't find him. And then I went 
 and sat in. the corridor, thinking he might pass 
 through. It isn't pleasant to sit alone in the corri- 
 dor with the men — staring at you — at night. 
 An^^then I asked the man at the door if he had 
 seen him, and he said, ' yes,' that he had called a 
 cab, and then I came home." 
 
 They had gone out again together, with Bronson, 
 who was young and strong, taking the place of 
 the coachman, McChesney, because Mrs. Drake did 
 not care to have the other servants see her hus- 
 band at times like these. " You know how good he 
 is," had been her timid claim on him from the first, 
 " and you know how hard he tries." And because 
 Bronson knew, and because he had helped her like 
 the faithful squire that he was, she had trusted him 
 more and more with this important but secret busi- 
 ness. 
 
 She had changed her dress for something dark, 
 and she had worn a plain dark hat and coat. She 
 had not cried a tear and she would not cry. She 
 had been very brave as they travelled a beaten path, 
 visiting the places which the General frequented, 
 going on and on until they came to the country, and 
 to a farm-house where they found him turning 
 night into day, having roused the amazed inmates 
 to ask for breakfast. 
 
 234 
 
THE WHITE GAT 
 
 He had paid them well for it, and was ready to 
 set forth again with the dawn when his wife drove 
 in. 
 
 " My dear," he had said, courteously, as his little 
 wife's face peered out at him from the carriage, 
 " you shouldn't have come." 
 
 Sobered for the moment, he had made a hand- 
 some figure, as he stood with uncovered head, his 
 dark hair in a thick curl between his eyes. The 
 morning was warm and he carried his overcoat on 
 his arm. His patent leather shoes and the broad- 
 cloth of his evening clothes showed the dust and 
 soil of his walk through the fields. He had evi- 
 dently dismissed his cab at the edge of the city and 
 had come cross-country. 
 
 His wife had reached out her little hand to him. 
 " I came because I was lonely. The house seems so 
 big when you are — away — " 
 
 It had wrung Bronson's heart to see her smiling. 
 Yet she had always met the General with a smile 
 and with the reminder of her need of him. There 
 had been never a complaint, never a rebuke — at 
 these moments. When he was himself, she strove 
 with him against his devils. But to strive when he 
 was not himself, would be to send him away from 
 her. 
 
 Her hands were clasped tightly, and her voice 
 shook as she talked on the way back to the husband 
 who seemed so unworthy of the love she gave. 
 
 235 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Yet she had not thought him unworthy. " If I 
 can only save him," she had said so many times. 
 "Oh, Bronson, I mustn't let him go down and 
 down, with no one who loves him to hold him back." 
 
 In the years that had followed, Bronson had seen 
 her grow worn and weary, but never hopeless. He 
 had seen her hair grow gray, he had seen the light 
 go out of her face so that she no longer smiled as 
 she had smiled in the picture. 
 
 But she had never given up the fight. Not even 
 at the last moment. "You will stay with him, 
 Bronson, and help Derry." 
 
 And now this other woman had come to undo all 
 the work that his beloved mistress had done. And 
 there in the shadowed room she was weaving her 
 spells. 
 
 Outside, snug against the deadly cold in his warm 
 closed car, Derry waited alone for Bronson's signal. 
 
 There was movement at last in the shadowed 
 room. The General spoke from the bed. Hilda 
 answered him, and rose. She arranged a little tray 
 with two glasses and a plate of biscuits. Then she 
 crossed the room towards the bookcase. 
 
 Bronson reached up his hand and touched the 
 button which controlled the lights on the third 
 floor. He saw Hilda raise a startled head as the 
 faint click reached her. She listened for a moment, 
 and he withdrew himself stealthily up and out of 
 sight. If she came into the hall she might see him 
 
 236 
 
THE WHITE OAT 
 
 on the stairs. He had done what he could. He 
 would leave the rest to Derry. 
 
 " What's the matter? " the General asked. 
 
 " I thought I heard a sound — but there's no one 
 up. This is our hour, isn't it?" 
 
 She brought the bottle out from behind the 
 books. Then she came and stood by the side of the 
 bed. 
 
 " Will you drink to my happiness, General? " 
 
 She was very handsome. " To our happiness," 
 he said, eagerly, and unexpectedly, as he took the 
 glass. 
 
 Hilda, pouring out more wine for herself, stood 
 suddenly transfixed. Derry spoke from the thresh- 
 old. " Dr. McKenzie has asked you repeatedly 
 not to give my father wine. Miss Merritt." 
 
 He was breathing quickly. His hat was in his 
 hand and he wore his fur coat. " Why are you giv- 
 ing it to him against the Doctor's orders? " 
 
 The General interposed. " Don't take that tone 
 with Miss Merritt, Derry. I asked her to get it 
 for me, and she obeyed my orders. What's the 
 matter with that? " 
 
 "Dr. McKenzie said, explicitly, that you were 
 not to have it." 
 
 " Dr. McKenzie has nothing to do with it. You 
 may tell him that for me. I am not his patient 
 any longer." 
 
 "Father—" 
 
 237 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " Certainly not. Do you think I am going to take 
 orders from McKenzie — or from you? " 
 
 " But, Miss Merritt is Ms nurse, under his or- 
 ders." 
 
 " She is not going to be his nurse hereafter. I 
 have other plans for her." 
 
 Derry stood staring, uncomprehending. " Other 
 plans — " 
 
 " I have asked her to be my wife." 
 
 Oh, lovely painted lady on the stairs, has it come 
 to this? Have your prayers availed no more than 
 this? Have the years in which you sacrificed your- 
 self, in which you sacrificed your son, counted no 
 more than this? 
 
 Derry felt faint and sick. " You can't mean it. 
 Dad." 
 
 " I do mean it. I — am a lonely man, Derry. A 
 disappointed man. My wife is dead. My son is a 
 slacker — " 
 
 It was only the maudlin drivel of a man not 
 responsible for what he was saying. But Derry 
 had had enough. He took a step forward and 
 stood at the foot of the bed. " I wouldn't go 
 any farther if I were you. Dad. I've not been a 
 slacker. I have never been a slacker. I am not a 
 coward. I have never been a coward. I am going 
 to tell you right now why I am not in France. Do 
 you think I should have stayed out of it for a mo- 
 ment if it hadn't been for you? Has it ever 
 
 238 
 
THE WHITE CAT 
 
 crossed your mind that if you had been half a man 
 I might have acted like a whole one? Have you 
 ever looked back at the years and seen me going 
 out into the night to follow you and bring you 
 back? I am not whining. I loved you, and I 
 wanted to do it; but it wasn't easy. And I should 
 still be doing it; but of late you've said things that 
 I can't forgive. I've stood by you because I gave 
 a promise to my mother — that I wouldn't leave 
 you. And I've stayed. But now I shan't try any 
 more. I am going to France. I am going to fight. 
 I am not your son, sir. I am the son of my mother." 
 
 Then the General said what he would never have 
 said if he had been himself. 
 
 " If you are not my son, then, by God, you shan't 
 have any of my money." 
 
 "I don't want it. Do you think that I do? I 
 shall get out of here tonight, and I shan't come back. 
 There is only one thing that I want besides my own 
 personal traps — and that is my mother's picture 
 on the stairs." 
 
 The General was drawing labored breaths. 
 " Your mother's picture — ? " 
 
 " Yes, it has no place here. Do you think for an 
 instant that you can meet her eyes? " 
 
 There was a look of fright on the drawn old face. 
 " I am not well, give me the wine." 
 
 Derry reached for the bottle. " He shall not 
 have it." 
 
 239 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Hilda came up to him swiftly. " Can't you see? 
 He must. Look at him." 
 
 Derry looked and surrendered. Then covered his 
 face with his hands. 
 
 All that night, Derry, trying to pack, with Bron- 
 son in agitated attendance, was conscious of the 
 sinister presence of Hilda in the house. There was 
 the opening and shutting of doors, her low orders in 
 the halls, her careful voice at the telephone, and 
 once the sound of her padded steps as she passed 
 Derry's room on her way to her own. The new 
 doctor came and went. Hilda sent, at Derry's re- 
 quest, a buUetia of the patient's condition. The 
 General must be kept from excitement; otherwise 
 there was not reason for alarm. 
 
 But Derry was conscious, as the night wore on, 
 and Bronson left him, and he sat alone, of more 
 than the physical evidences of Hilda's presence ; he 
 was aware of the spiritual effect of her sojourn 
 among them. She had stolen from them all some- 
 thing that was fine and beautiful. From Derry his 
 faith in his father. From the General his con- 
 stancy to his lovely wife. The structure of ideals 
 which Derry's mother had so carefully reared for 
 the old house had been wrecked by one who had 
 first climbed the stairs in the garb of a sister of 
 mercy. 
 
 He saw his father's future. Hilda, cold as ice, 
 240 
 
THE WHITE OAT 
 
 setting Ms authority aside. He saw the big house, 
 the paLuted lady smiling no more on the stairs. 
 HUda's strange Mends filling the rooms, the Gen- 
 eral's men friends looking at them askance, his 
 mother's friends staying away. 
 
 Poor old Dad, poor old Dad. All personal feel- 
 ing was swept away in the thought of what might 
 come to his father. Yet none the less his own path 
 lay straight and clear before him. The time had 
 come for him to go. 
 
 2^ 
 
BOOK TWO 
 Through the Grack 
 
 "I will go to the wars! I will go to the wars!" the Tin 
 Soldier cried as loud as he could, and be threw himself from 
 the shelf. . . . 
 
 What could have become of him? Tbe old man looked and 
 the little boy looked. "I shall find him," the old man said, 
 but he did not find him. For the Tin Soldier had fallen through 
 a crack in tbe floor, and there be lay as in an open grave. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE BROAD HIGHWAY 
 
 The Doctor's house in Maryland was near Wood- 
 stock, and from the rise of the hill where it stood 
 one could see the buildings of the old Jesuit Col- 
 lege, and the river which came so soon to the Bay. 
 
 In his boyhood the priests had been great friends 
 of Bruce McKenzie. While of a different faith, he 
 had listened eagerly to the things they had to tell 
 him, these wise men, the pioneers of missionary 
 work in many lands, teachers and scholars. His 
 imagination had been fired by their tales of devo- 
 tion, and he had many arguments with his Cove- 
 nanter grandfather, to whom the gold cross on the 
 top of the college had been the sign and symbol of 
 papacy. 
 
 " But, grandfather, the things we believe aren't 
 so very different, and I like to pray in their chapel." 
 
 " Why not pray in your own kirk? " 
 
 " It's so bare." 
 
 " There's nothing to distract your thoughts." 
 
 " And I like the singing, and the lights and the 
 candles — " 
 
 "We need no candles; we have light enough in 
 our souls." 
 
 245 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 But Bruce had loved the smell of the incense, and 
 the purple and red of the robes, and, seeing it all 
 through the golden haze of the lights, his sense of 
 beauty had been satisfied, as it was not satisfied in 
 his own plain house of worship. 
 
 Yet it had been characteristic of the boy as it 
 was of the man that neither kirk nor chapel held 
 him, and he had gone through life liking each a 
 little, but neither overmuch. 
 
 Something of this he tried to express to Jean as, 
 arriving at Woodstock in the early afternoon, they 
 passed the College. " I might have been a priest," 
 he said, " if I hadn't been too much of a Puritan or 
 a Pagan. I am not sure which held me back — " 
 
 Jean shuddered. "How can people shut them- 
 selves away from the world? " 
 
 " They have a world of their own, my dear," said 
 the Doctor, thoughtfully, " and I'm not sure that 
 it isn't as interesting as our own." 
 
 " But there isn't love in it," said Jean. 
 
 " There's love that carries them above self — and 
 that's something." 
 
 "It is something, but it isn't much," sai4 Ms 
 small daughter, obstinately. " I don't want to' love 
 the world. Daddy. I want to love Derry — " 
 
 The Doctor groaned. " I thought I had escaped 
 him, for a day." 
 
 " You will never escape him," was the merciless 
 rejoinder, but she kissed him to make up for it. 
 
 246 
 
THE BROAD HIOHWAT 
 
 In spite of the fact of her separation for the mo- 
 ment from her lover, she had enjoyed the ride. 
 There had been much wind, and a little snow on 
 the way. But now the air was clear, with a sort 
 of silver clearness — the frozen river was gray- 
 green between its banks, there were blue shadow^ 
 flung by the bare trees. As they passed the Col- 
 lege, a few black-frocked fathers and scholastics 
 paced the gardens. 
 
 Jean wished that Derry were there to see it all. 
 It was to her a place of many memories. Most of 
 the summers of her little girlhood had been spent 
 there, with now and then a Christmas holiday. 
 
 The house did not boast a heating plant, but 
 there were roaring open fires in all the rooms, ex- 
 cept in the Connollys' sitting room, which was 
 warmed by a great black stove. 
 
 The Connollys were the caretakers. They occu- 
 pied the left wing of the house, and worked the 
 farm. They were both good Catholics, and Mrs. 
 Connelly looked after the little church at the cross- 
 roads corner, where the good priests came from the 
 College every week to say Mass. She was a faith- 
 ful, nard-working, pious soul, with her mind just 
 now very much on her two sons who had enlisted 
 at the first call for men, and were now in France. 
 
 She talked much about them to Jean, who came 
 into the kitchen to watch her get supper. The deep, 
 dark, low-ceiled room was lighted by an oil lamp. 
 
 247 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 The rocking chair in which Jean sat had a turkey- 
 red cushion, and there was another turkey-red 
 cushion in the rocking chair on the other side of 
 the cookstove. They ate their meals on the table 
 under the lamp. It was only when guests were in 
 the house that the dining room was opened. 
 
 The Doctor and Jim Connolly were at the barn, 
 where were kept two fat mules, a fat little horse, a 
 fat little cow, and a pair of fat pigs. There were 
 also a fat house dog, and a brace of plump pussies, 
 for the Connollys were a plump and comfortable 
 couple who wanted everything about them comfort- 
 able, and who had had little to worry them until 
 the coming of the war. 
 
 Yet even the war could not shake Mrs. Con- 
 nolly's faith in the rightness of things. 
 
 " I was glad to have our country get into it, and 
 to have my sons go. If they had stayed at home, 
 I shouldn't have felt satisfied." 
 
 " Didn't it nearly break your heart? " 
 
 Mrs. Connolly, beating eggs for an omelette, 
 shook her head. " Women's hearts don't break over 
 brave men, Miss Jean. It is the sons who are weak 
 and wayward who break their mothers' hearts — 
 not the ones that go to war." 
 
 She poured the omelette into a pan. "When I 
 have a bad time missing them, I remember how the 
 Mother of God gave her blessed Son to the world. 
 And He set the example, to give ourselves to save 
 
 248 
 
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 IF ANYTHING SHOULD HAPPEN, YOU WILL REMEMBER t 
 
THE BROAD HIGHWAY 
 
 others. No, I don't want my boys back until the 
 war is over." 
 
 Jean said nothing. She rocked back and forth 
 and thought about what Mary Connolly had said. 
 One of the fat pussies jumped on her lap and 
 purred. It was all very peaceful, all as it had been 
 sluct some other cook made omelettes for the little 
 aristocrat of an Irish grandmother who would not 
 under any circumstances have sat in the kitchen on 
 terms of familiarity with a dependent. The world 
 had progressed much in democracy since those days. 
 Those who had fought in this part of the country 
 for liberty and equality had not really known it. 
 They had seen the Vision, but it was to be given to 
 their descendants to realize it. 
 
 Jean rocked and rocked. " I hate war," she said, 
 suddenly. " I didn't until Daddy said he was go- 
 ing, and then it seemed to come — so near — all the 
 time I am trying to push the thought of it away. 
 I wouldn't tell him, of course. But I don't want 
 him to go." 
 
 "No, i wouldn't tell him. We women may be 
 scared to death, but it ain't the time to tell our men 
 that we are scared." 
 
 " Are you scared to death, Mrs. Connolly? " 
 
 The steady eyes met hers. " Sometimes, in the 
 night, when I think of the wet and cold, and the 
 wounded groaning under the stars. But when the 
 morning comes, I cook the breakfast and get Jim 
 
 249 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 off, and he don't know but that I am as cheerful as 
 one of our old hens, and then I go over to the church, 
 and tell it all to the blessed Virgin, and I am ready 
 to write to my boys of how proud I am, and how 
 fine they ai-e — and of every little tiny thing that 
 has happened on the farm." 
 
 Thus the heroic Mary Connolly — type of a mil- 
 lion of her kind in Ametica — of more than a mil- 
 lion of her kind throughout the world — hiding her 
 fears deep in her heart that her men might go 
 cheered to battle. 
 
 The omelette was finished, and the Doctor and 
 Jim Connolly had come in. " The stars are out," 
 the Doctor said. " After supper we'll walk a bit." 
 
 Jean was never to forget that walk with her 
 father. It was her last long walk with him before 
 he went to France, her last intimate talk. It was 
 very cold, and he took her axm, the snow crunched 
 under their feet. 
 
 Faintly the chimes of the old College came up to 
 them. " Nine o'clock," said the Doctor. " Think 
 of all the years I've heard the chimes. I have lived 
 over half a century — and my father before me 
 heard them — ^and they rang in my grandfather's 
 time. Perhaps they will ring in the ears of my 
 grandchildren, Jean." 
 
 They had stopped to listen, but now th^ went 
 on. " Do you know what they used to say to me 
 when I was a little boy? 
 
 250 
 
THE BROAD HIGHWAY, 
 
 ' The Lord watch 
 Between thee and — me — '■ 
 
 > }> 
 
 " My mother and I used to repeat it together at 
 nine o'clock, and when I brought your mother here 
 for our honeymoon — that first night we, too, stood 
 and listened to the chimes — and I told her what 
 they said. 
 
 " Men drift away from these things," he con- 
 tinued, with something of an effort. " I have 
 drifted too far. But, Jean, will you always remem- 
 ber this, that when I am at my best, I come back to 
 the things my mother taught her boy? If anything 
 should happen, you will remember? " 
 
 She clung to his arm. She had no words. 
 Never again was she to hear the chimes without 
 that poignant memory of her father begging her to 
 remember the best — . 
 
 " I have been thinking," he said, out of a long 
 silence, "of you and Derry. I — I want you to 
 marry him, dear, before I go." 
 
 " Before you go — Daddy — " 
 
 " Yes. Emily says I have no right to stand in 
 the way of your happiness. And I have no right. 
 And some day, perhaps, oh, my little Jean, my 
 grandchildren may hear the chimes — " 
 
 White and still, she stood with her face upturned 
 to the stars. " Life is so wonderful. Daddy." 
 
 And this time she said it out of a woman's knowl- 
 edge of what life was to mean. 
 
 251 
 
TEE Tm SOLDIER 
 
 They went in, to find that the Connollys had re- 
 tired. Jean slept in a great feather-bed. And all 
 the night the chimes in the College tower struck the 
 hours — 
 
 In the morning, Jean went over to the church 
 with Mrs. Connolly. It was Saturday, and things 
 must be made ready for the services the next day. 
 Jean had been taught as a child to kneel reverently 
 while Mrs. Connolly prayed. To sit quietly in a 
 pew while her good friend did the little offices of 
 the altar. 
 
 Jean had always loved to sit there, to wonder 
 about the rows of candles and the crucifix, to won- 
 der about the Sacred Heart, and St. Agnes with 
 the lamb, and St. Anthony who found things when 
 you lost them, and St. Francis in the brown frock 
 with the rope about his waist, and why Mrs. Con- 
 nolly never touched any of the sacred vessels with 
 bare hands. 
 
 But most of all she had wondered about that be- 
 nignant figure in the pale blue garments who stood 
 in a niche, with a light burning at her feet, and 
 with a baby in her arms. 
 
 Mary — .' 
 
 Faintly as she gazed upon it on this winter 
 morning, Jean began to perceive the meaning of 
 that figure. Of late many women had said to her, 
 "Was my son born for this, to be torn from my 
 arms — m be butchered? " 
 
 m2 
 
THE BROAD HIGHWAY 
 
 Well, Mary's son had been torn from her arms — - 
 butchered — her little son who had lain in a manger 
 and whom she had loved as much as any less-wor- 
 shipped mother, — and he had told the world what 
 he thought of sin and injustice and cruelty, and the 
 world had hated him because he had set himself 
 against these things — and they had killed him, 
 and from his death had come the regeneration of 
 mankind. 
 
 And now, other men, following him, were setting 
 themselves against injustice and cruelty, and they 
 were being killed for it. But perhaps their sacri- 
 fices, too, would be for the salvation of the 
 world. Oh, if only it might be for the world's sal- 
 vation ! 
 
 She walked quite soberly beside Mrs. Connolly 
 back to the house. She took her knitting to the 
 kitchen. Mrs. Connolly was knitting socks. " I 
 don't mind the fighting as much as I do the chance 
 of their taking cold. And I'm afraid they won't 
 have the sense to change their socks when they are 
 wet. I have sent them pairs and pairs — but they'll 
 never know enough to change — 
 
 " It is funny how a mother worries about a thing 
 like that," she continued. " I suppose it is because 
 you've always worried about their taking cold, and 
 you've never had to worry much about their being 
 killed. I always used to put them to bed with hot 
 drinks and hot baths, and a lot of blankets, and I 
 
 253 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 keep thinking that there won't be anybody to put 
 them to bed." 
 
 Jean knitted a long row, and then she spoke. 
 " Mrs. Connolly, I'm going to be married, before 
 Daddy leaves for France." 
 
 " I am happy to hear that, my dear." 
 
 " I didn't know it until last night — Daddy wasn't 
 willing. I — I feel as if it couldn't be really true t— 
 that I am going to be married, Mrs. Connolly." 
 
 There was a tremble of her lip and clasping of 
 her little hands. 
 
 Mary Connolly laid down her work. " I guess 
 you miss your mother, blessed lamb. I remember 
 when she was married. I was young, too, but I 
 felt a lot older with my two babies, and Jim and I 
 were so glad the Doctor had found a wife. He 
 needed one, if ever a man did — for he liked his gay 
 good time." 
 
 " Daddy? " said Jean, incredulously. It is hard 
 for youth to visualize the adolescence of its elders. 
 Dr. McKenzie's daughter beheld in him none of the 
 elements of a Lothario. He was beyond the pale 
 of romance ! He was fifty, which settled at once all 
 matters of sentiment ! 
 
 " Indeed, he was gay, my dear, and he had broken 
 half the hearts in the county, and then your mother 
 came for a visit. She didn't look in the least like 
 you, except that she was small and slender. Her 
 
 254 
 
THE BROAD HIGHWAY 
 
 hair was dark and her eyes. You have your 
 father's eyes and hair. 
 
 " But she was so pretty and so loving — and you 
 never saw such a honeymoon. They were married 
 in the spring, and the orchards were in bloom, and 
 your father filled her room with apple blossoms, 
 and the first day when Jim drove them up from the 
 station, your father carried her in his arms over 
 the threshold and up into that room, and when she 
 came down, she said, * Mary Connolly, isn't life — 
 wonderful?' " 
 
 " Did she say that, Mrs. Connolly, really? 
 Daddy always teases me when I go into raptures. 
 He says that I think everything is wonderful from 
 a sunset to a chocolate soda." 
 
 " Well, she did, too. Her husband was the most 
 wonderful man, and her baby was the most wonder- 
 ful baby — and her house was the most wonderful 
 house. You make me think of her in every way. 
 But you won't have apple blossoms for your honey- 
 moon, my dear." 
 
 " No. But, oh, Mrs. Connolly — it won't make 
 any real difference." 
 
 " Not a bit. And if you'll come up here, Jim 
 and I wUl promise not to be in the way. Your 
 mother said we were never in the way. And I'll 
 serve your meals in front of the sitting-room fire. 
 They used to have theirs out of doors. But you'll 
 
 255 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 be just as much alone, with me and Jim eating in 
 the kitchen." 
 
 It was very easy after that to tell Mrs. Connolly 
 all about it. About Derry, and how he had fallen 
 in love with her when he had thought she was just 
 the girl in the Toy Shop. But there were things 
 which she did not tell, of the shabby old gentleman 
 and of the shadow which had darkened Derry's life. 
 
 Then when she had finished, Mary Connolly asked 
 thb thing which everybody asked — " Why isn't he 
 fighting?" 
 
 Jean flushed. " He — he made a promise to his 
 mother." 
 
 " I'd never make my boys promise a thing like 
 that. And if I did, I'd hope they'd break it." 
 
 " Break it? " tensely. 
 
 " Of course. Their honor's bigger than anything 
 I could ever ask them. And they know it." 
 
 " Then you think that Derry ought to break his 
 promise?" 
 
 " I do, indeed, my dear." 
 
 "But — . Oh, Mrs. Connolly, I don't know 
 whether I want him to break it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 With her face hidden. "I don't know whether 
 I could let him — go." 
 
 " You'd let him go. Never fear. When the mo- 
 ment came, the good Lord would give you 
 strength — " 
 
 256 
 
THE BROAD HIGHWAY 
 
 There were steps outside. Jean leaned over and 
 kissed Mary Connolly on the cheek. " You are 
 such a darling — I don't wonder that my mother 
 loved you." 
 
 " Well, you'll always be more than just yourself 
 to me," said Mary. " You'll always be your 
 mother's baby. And after I get lunch for you and 
 the men I am going back to the church and ask the 
 blessed Virgin to intercede for your happiness." 
 
 So it was while Mary was at church, and the two 
 men had gone to town upon some legal matter, that 
 Jean, left alone, wandered through the house, and 
 always before her flitted the happy ghost of the girl 
 who had come there to spend her honeymoon. In 
 the great south chamber was a picture of her mother, 
 and one of her father as they looked at the time of 
 their marriage. Her mother was in organdie with 
 great balloon sleeves, and her hair in a Psyche knot. 
 She was a slender little thing, and the young doc- 
 tor's picture was a great contrast in its blondness 
 and bigness. Daddy had worn a beard then, 
 pointed, as was the way with doctors of his day, and 
 he looked very different, except for the eyes which 
 had the same teasing twinkle. 
 
 The window of this room looked out over the or- 
 chard, the orchard which had been bursting with 
 bloom when the bride came. The trees now were 
 slim little skeletons, with the faint gold of the west- 
 ern sky back of them, and there was much snow. 
 
 257 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Yet so vivid was Jean's impression of what had 
 been, that she would have sworn her nostrils were 
 assailed by a delicate fragrance, that her eyes be- 
 held wind-blown petals of white and pink. 
 
 The long mirror reflecting her showed her in her 
 straight frock of dark blue serge, with the white 
 collars and cuffs. The same mirror had reflected 
 her mother's organdie. It, too, had been blue, Mary 
 had told her, but blue with such a difference! A 
 faint forget-me-not shade, with a satin girdle, and a 
 stiff satin collar ! 
 
 Two girls, with a quarter of a century between 
 them. Yet the mother had laughed and loved, and 
 had looked forward to a long life with her gay big 
 husband. They had had ten years of it, and then 
 there had been just her ghost to haunt the old rooms. 
 
 Jean shivered a little as she went downstairs. 
 She found herself a little afraid of the lonely dark- 
 ening house. She wished that Mary would come. 
 
 Curled up in one of the big chairs, she waited. 
 Half -asleep and half-awake, she was aware of shad- 
 ow-shapes which came and went. Her Scotch great- 
 grandfather, the little Irish great-grandmother ; her 
 copper-headed grandfather, his English wife, her 
 own mother, pale and dark-haired and of Huguenot 
 strain, her own dear father. 
 
 From each of these something had been given her, 
 some fault, some virtue. If any of them had been 
 brave, there must have been handed down to her 
 
 258 
 
THE BROAD HIGHWAY 
 
 some bit of bravery — if any of them had been 
 
 cowards — 
 
 ,. But none of them had been cowards. 
 
 " We came to a new country," said the great- 
 grandparents. "There were hardships, but we 
 loved and lived through them — " 
 
 " The Civil war tore our hearts," said the grand- 
 parents. "Brother hated brother, and friend hated 
 friend, but we loved and lived through it — " 
 
 " We were not tested," said her own parents. 
 " You are our child and test has come to you. If 
 you are brave, it will be because we have given to 
 you that which came first to us — " 
 
 Jean sat up, wide-awake — " I am not brave," she 
 said. 
 
 She stood, after that, at a lower window, watch- 
 ing. Far down the road a big black motor flew 
 straight as a crow towards the hUl on which the 
 Doctor's house stood. It stopped at the gate. A 
 man stepped out. Jean gave a gasp, then flew to 
 meet him. 
 
 " Oh, Derry, Derry — " 
 
 He came in and shut the door behind him, took 
 her in his arms, kissed her, and kissed her again. 
 " I love you," he said, " I love you. I couldn't stay 
 away — " 
 
 It seemed to Jean quite the most wonderful thing 
 of all the wonderful things that had happened, that 
 he should be here in this old house where her parents 
 
 259 
 
THE TIN 80LDIEB 
 
 had come for their honeymoon — where her own 
 honeymoon was so soon to be — . 
 
 She saved that news for him, however. He had 
 to tell her first of how he had taken the wrong road 
 after he had left Baltimore. He had gone without 
 his lunch to get to her quickly. No, he wasn't hun- 
 gry, and he was glad Mary Connolly was out, " I've 
 so much to say to you." 
 
 Then, too, she delayed the telling so that he might 
 see the farm before darkness fell. She wrapped 
 herself in a hooded red cloak in which he thought 
 her more than ever adorable. 
 
 The sun rested on the rim of the world, a golden 
 disk under a wind-blown sky. It was very cold, but 
 she was warm in her red cloak, he in his fur-lined 
 coat and cap. 
 
 She told him about her father's honeymoon, hug- 
 ging her own secret close. " They caijae here, Derry, 
 and it was in May. I wish you could see the place 
 in May, with all the appleblooms. 
 
 " It seems queer, doesn't it, Derry, to think of 
 father honeymooning. He always seems to be mak- 
 ing fun of things, and one should be serious on a 
 honeymoon." 
 
 She flashed a smile at him and he smiled back. 
 " I shall be very serious on mine." 
 
 " Of course. Derry, wouldn't you like a honey- 
 moon here? " 
 
 260 
 
THE BROAD HIGHWAY 
 
 " I should like it anywhere — with you — " 
 
 " Well," she drew a deep breath, " Daddy says we 
 may — " 
 
 " We may what, Jean- Joan? " 
 
 " Get married — " 
 
 " Before he goes? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She leaned forward to get the full effect of his 
 surprise, to watch the dawn of his delight. 
 
 But something else dawned. Embarrassment? 
 Out of a bewildering silence she heard him say, " I 
 am not sure, dear, that it will be best for us to marry 
 before he goes." 
 
 She had a stunned feeling that, quite unaccount- 
 ably, Derry was failing her. A shamed feeling that 
 she had offered herself and had been rejected. 
 
 Something of this showed in her face. " My dear, 
 my dear," he said, " let us go in. I can tell you bet- 
 ter there." 
 
 Once more in the warm sitting room with the door 
 shut behind them, he lifted her bodily in his arms. 
 " Don't you know I want it," he whispered, tensely. 
 " Tell me that you know — " 
 
 When he set her down, his own face showed the 
 stress of his emotion. " You are always to remem- 
 ber this," he said, " that no matter what happens, I 
 am yours, yours — always, till the end of time." 
 
 Instinctively she felt that this Derry was in some 
 261 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 way different from the Derry she had left the day 
 before. There was a hint of masterfulness, a touch 
 of decision. 
 
 " Will you remember? " he repeated, hands tight 
 on her shoulders. 
 
 " Yes," she said, simply. 
 
 He bent and kissed her. " Then nothing else will 
 matter." He placed a big chair for her in front of 
 the fire, and drew another up in front of it. Bend- 
 ing forward, he took her hands. " I am glad I found 
 you alone. What luck it was to find you alone ! " 
 
 He tried then to tell her what he had come to tell. 
 Yet, after all there was much that he left unsaid. 
 How could he speak to her of the things he had seen 
 in his father's shadowed house? How fill that deli- 
 cate mind with a knowledge of that which seemed 
 even to his greater sophistication unspeakable? 
 
 So she wondered over several matters. " How 
 can he want to marry Hilda? I can't imagine any 
 man wanting Hilda." 
 
 " She is handsome in a big fine way." 
 
 " But she is not big and fine. She is little and 
 mean, but I could never make Daddy see it." 
 
 He wondered if McKenzie would see it now. 
 
 Mary Connolly, coming in through the back door 
 to her warm kitchen, heard voices. Standing in the 
 dark hall which connected the left wing with the 
 house, she could see through into the living room 
 where Jean sat with her lover. 
 
 262 
 
THE BROAD HIGHWAY 
 
 There was much dark wood and the worn red 
 velvet — low bookshelves lining the walls, a grand 
 piano on a cover by the window. In the dimness 
 Jean's copper head shone like the haio of a saint. 
 Mary decided that Derry was " queer-looking," until 
 gathering courage, she went in and was warmed by 
 his smile. 
 
 " He hasn't had any lunch, Mary," Jean told her, 
 " and he wouldn't let me get any for him." 
 
 " I'll have something in three whisks of a lamb's 
 tail," said Mary with Elizabethan picturesqueness, 
 and away she went on her hospitable mission. 
 
 " Marrying just now," said Derry, picking up the 
 subject, where he had dropped it, when Mary came 
 in, " is out of the question." 
 
 " Did you think that I was marrying you for your 
 money? " 
 
 " No. But two months' pay wouldn't buy a gown 
 like this," — he lifted a fold with his forefinger — 
 " to say nothing of your little shoes." He dropped 
 his light tone. " Oh, my dear, can't you see? " 
 
 " No. I can't see. Daddy would let us have this 
 house, and I have a little money of my own from my 
 mother, and — and the Connollys would take care 
 of everything, and we should see the spring come, 
 and the summer." 
 
 He rose and went and stood with his back to 
 the fire. " But I shan't be here in the spring and 
 
 263 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 She clasped her hands nervously. " Derry, I 
 don't want you to go." 
 
 " You don't mean that." 
 
 " I do. I do. At least not yet. We can be mar- 
 ried — and have just a little, little month or two — 
 and then I'll let you go — truly." 
 
 He shook his head. " I've stayed out of it long 
 enough. You wouldn't want me to stay out of it 
 any longer, Jean-Joan." 
 
 " Yes, I should. Other men can go, but I want to 
 keep you — it's bad enough to give — Daddy — . I 
 haven't anybody. Mary Connolly has her husband, 
 but I haven't anybody — " her voice broke — and 
 broke again — . 
 
 He came over and knelt beside her. " Let me 
 tell you something," he said. " Do you remember 
 the night of the Witherspoon dinner? Well, that 
 night you cut me dead because you thought I was 
 a coward — and I thanked God for the women who 
 hated cowards." 
 
 " But you weren't a coward." 
 
 " I know, and so I could stand it — could stand 
 your scorn and the scorn of the world. But what 
 if I stayed out of it now, Jean? 
 
 "What if I stayed out of it now? You and I 
 could have our little moment of happiness, while 
 other men fought that we might have it. We should 
 be living in Paradise, while other men were in Hell. 
 I can't see it, dearest. All these months I have been 
 
 264 
 
TEE BROAD HIGHWAY 
 
 bound. But now, my dear, my dear, do you love 
 me enough not to keep me, but to let me go? " 
 
 There was a beating pause. She lifted wet eyes. 
 " Oh, Derry, darling, I love you enough — I love 
 you — " 
 
 Thus, in a moment, little Jean McKenzie un- 
 latched the gate which had shut her into the safe 
 and sunshiny garden of pampered girlhood and 
 came out upon the broad highway of life, where 
 men and women suffer for the sake of those who 
 travel with them, sharing burdens and gaining 
 strength as they go. 
 
 Dimly, perhaps, she perceived what she had done, 
 but it was not given to her to know the things she 
 would encounter or the people she would meet. All 
 the world was to adventure with her, throughout 
 the years, the poor distracted world, dealing death 
 and destruction, yet dreaming ever of still waters 
 and green pastures. 
 
 265 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 HILDA SHAKES A. TEEE 
 
 When Dr. McKenzie and Jim Connolly arrived, 
 Derry said apologetically as he shook hands with 
 the Doctor, " You see, you can't get rid of me — but 
 I have such a lot of things to talk over with you." 
 
 It was after Jean had gone to bed, however, that 
 they had their talk, and before that Derfy and Jean 
 had walked in the moonlight and hiad listened to the 
 chimes. 
 
 There had, perhaps, never been such a moon. It 
 hung in a sky that shimmered from horizon to hori- 
 zon. Against this shimmering background the col- 
 lege buildings were etched in black — there was a 
 glint of gold as the light caught the icicles and made 
 candles of them. 
 
 In the months to come that same moon was to 
 sail over the cantonment where Derry slept heavily 
 after hard days. It was to sail over the trenches 
 of France, where, perhaps, he slept not at all, or 
 slept uneasily in the midst of mud and vermin. 
 But always when he looked up at it, he was to see 
 the Cross on the top of the College, and to hear the 
 chimes. 
 
 266 
 
HILDA SHAKES A TREE 
 
 They talked thg,t night of the. things that were 
 deep in their hearts. She wanted him to go — yes, 
 she wanted him to go, but she was afraid. 
 
 " If something should happen to you, Derry." 
 
 " Sometimes I wonder," he said, in his grave, 
 young voice, " why we are so — afraid. I think we 
 have the wrong focus. We want life, even if it 
 brings unhappiness, even if it brings suffering, even 
 if it brings disgrace. Anything seems better than 
 to — die— " 
 
 " But to have things stop, Derry." She shud- 
 dered. " When there's so much ahead." 
 
 " Perhaps they don't stop, dear." 
 
 " If I could only believe that — " 
 
 " Why not? Do you remember ' Sherwood,' 
 where Blondin rides through the forest singing : 
 
 '"Death, what is death?' he cried, 
 " ' I must ride on — ' " 
 
 His face was lifted to the golden sky. She was 
 never to forget the look upon it. And with a great 
 ache and throb of passionate renunciation, she told 
 herself that it was for this that the men of her gen- 
 eration had been bom, that they might fight against 
 the powers of darkness for the things of the spirit. 
 
 She lay awake a long time that night, thinking 
 it out. Of how she had laughed at other women, 
 scolded, said awful things to them of how their 
 cowardice was holding the world back. She had 
 
 267 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 thought she understood, but she had not under- 
 stood. It was giving your own — your own, which 
 was the test. Oh, let those who had none of their 
 own to give keep silent. 
 
 With her breath almost stopping she thought of 
 those glorious young souls riding on and on through 
 infinite space, the banner of victory floating above 
 them. No matter what might come to the world of 
 defeat or of disaster, these souls would never know 
 it, they had. given themselves in the cause of hu- 
 manity — for them there would always be the sound 
 of silver trumpets, the clash of cymbals, the song of 
 triumph ! 
 
 Downstairs, Dr. McKenzie was listening with a 
 frowning face to what Derry had to tell him. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that Hilda was giving him 
 — wine? " 
 
 " Yes. Bronson told me. But he didn't want 
 you to depend upon his unsupported testimony. 
 So we fixed up a scheme, and I stayed outside until 
 he flashed a light for me; and then I went in and 
 caught her." 
 
 " It is incredible. Why should she do such a 
 thing? She has always been a perfect nurse — a 
 perfect nurse, Drake." He rose and walked the 
 floor. " But deliberately to disobey my orders — 
 what could have been her object? " 
 
 Derry hesitated. 
 
 " I haven't told you the worst." 
 268 
 
HILDA SHAKES A TREE 
 
 Doctor McKenzie stopped in front of him. " The 
 worst? " 
 
 " Dad is going to marry her." 
 
 " What? " 
 
 Derry repeated what he had said. 
 
 The Doctor dropped into a chair. "Who told 
 you? " 
 
 " Dad." 
 
 " And she admitted that it was — true? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Derry gave the facts. "He wasn't himself, of 
 course, but that doesn't change things for me." 
 
 The Doctor in the practice of his profession had 
 learned to conceal his emotions. He concealed now 
 what he was feeling, but a close observer might have 
 seen in the fading of the color in his cheeks, the 
 beating of his clenched fist on the arm of his chair, 
 something of that which was stirring within him. 
 
 " And this has been going on ever since she went 
 there. She has had it in mind to wear your 
 mother's jewels — " Derry had graphically de- 
 scribed Bronson's watch on the stairs — "to get 
 your father's money. I knew she was cold-blooded, 
 but I had always thought it a rather admirable 
 quality in a woman of her attractive type." 
 
 Before his eye came the vision of Hilda's at- 
 tractiveness by his fireside, at his table. And now 
 she would sit by the General's fire, at his table. 
 
 " She didn't say a word," Derry's young voice 
 269 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 went on, " when lie told me tliat I was no longer — 
 his son. I can't tell you how I felt about her. I've 
 never felt that way about anyone before. I've al- 
 ways liked people — but it was as if some evil thing 
 had swooped down on the old house." 
 
 The lad saw straight! That was the thought 
 which suddenly illumined Dr. McKenzie's troubled 
 mind. HUda was not beautiful. No beauty of body 
 could offset the ugliness of her distorted soul. 
 
 " And so I am poor," Derry was saying, heavily, 
 " and I must wait to marry Jean." 
 
 The red surged up in the Doctor's face. He 
 jerked himself forward in his chair. "You shall 
 not wait. After this you are my son, if you are not 
 your father's." 
 
 He laid his hand on Derry's shoulder. " I've 
 money enough, God knows. And I shan't need it. 
 It isn't a fortune, but it is enough to make all of us 
 comfortable for the rest of our days — and I want 
 Jean to be happy. Do you think I am going to let 
 Hilda Merritt stand between my child and happi- 
 ness?" 
 
 " It's awfully good of you, sir," Derry's voice was 
 husky with feeling, " but — " 
 
 " There are no ' buts.' You must let me have my 
 own way ; I shall consider it a patriotic privilege to 
 support one soldier and his little wife." 
 
 He was riding above the situation splendidly. 
 He even had visions of straightening things out. 
 
 270 
 
HILDA SHAKE8 A TREE 
 
 " When I go back I shall tell Hilda what I think of 
 her. I shall tell her that it is preposterous — that 
 her professional reputation is at stake." 
 
 " What will she care for her professional reputa- 
 tion when she is my father's wife? " 
 
 The thought of Hilda with the world, in a sense, 
 at her feet was maddening. The Doctor paced the 
 floor roaring like an angry lion. " It may not do 
 any good, but I've got to tell her what I think of 
 her." 
 
 , Derry had a whimsical sense of the meeting of 
 the white cat and this leonine gentleman — would 
 she purr or scratch? 
 
 " The sooner you and Jean are married the bet- 
 ter. If Hilda thinks she is going to keep you and 
 Jean apart she is mistaken." 
 
 " Oh — did she know of the engagement? " 
 
 " Yes," the Doctor confessed. " I told her the 
 other day when she came to fix the books." 
 
 " Then that accounts for it." 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 "Dad's attitude. I thought, it was queer he 
 should fly up all in a moment. She wanted to make 
 trouble. Doctor, and she has made it." 
 
 Long after Derry had gone to bed, the Doctor sat 
 there pondering on Hilda's treachery. He was in 
 some ways a simple man — swayed by the impulse 
 of the moment. The thought of deliberate plotting 
 was abhorrent. In his light way he had taken her 
 
 271 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 lightly. He had laughed at her. He had teased 
 Jean, he had teased Emily, calling their intuition 
 jealousy. Yet they had known better than he. 
 And why should not women know women better 
 than men know them? Just as men know men in a 
 way that women could never know. Sex erected 
 barriers — there was always the instinct to charm, 
 to don one's gayest plumage; even Hilda's frank- 
 ness had been used as a lure ; she knew he liked it. 
 Would she have been so frank if she had not felt 
 its stimulus to a man of his type? And, after all, 
 had she really been frank? 
 
 Such a woman was like a poisonous weed; and 
 he had thought she might bloom in the same garden 
 with Jean — until Emily had told him. 
 
 He turned to the thought of Emily with relief. 
 Thank God he could leave Jean in her care. If 
 Derry went, there would still be Emily with her 
 sweet sanity, and her wise counsels. 
 
 He felt very old as he went upstairs. He stood 
 for a long time in front of his wife's picture. How 
 sweet she had been in her forget-me-not gown — 
 how little and tender ! Their love had burned in a 
 white flame — there would never be anything Jike 
 that for him again. 
 
 He waked in the morning, however, ready for all 
 that was before him. He was a man who dwelt 
 little on the past. There was always the day's 
 work, and the work of the day after. 
 
 272 
 
HILDA SHAKES A TREE 
 
 His appetite for the work of the coming day was, 
 it must be confessed, whetted somewhat by the 
 thought of what he would say to Hilda. 
 
 They had an early breakfast, with Jean between 
 her father and Derry and eating nothing for very 
 happiness. 
 
 There was the start in the opal light of the early 
 morning, with a faint rose sky making a back- 
 ground for the cross on the College, and the chimes 
 saying " Seven o'clock." 
 
 Jim and Mary Connolly came out in the biting 
 air to see them off. Then Mary went over to the 
 church to pray for Jean and Derry. But first of 
 all sl^e prayed for her sons. 
 
 The Doctor, arriving at his office, at once called 
 up Hilda. 
 
 " I must see you as soon as possible." 
 
 " What has Derry Drake been telling you? " 
 
 " How do you know that he has told me any- 
 thing? " 
 
 " By your voice. And you needn't think that you 
 are going to scold me." 
 
 "I shall scold you for disobeying orders. I 
 thought you were to be trusted, Hilda," 
 
 " I am not a saint. You know that. And I am 
 not sure that I want you to come. I shall send you 
 away if you scold." 
 
 She hung up the receiver and left him fuming. 
 Her high-handed indifference to his authority sent 
 
 273 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 him storming to Derry, " I've half a mind to stay 
 away." 
 
 " I think. I would. It won "t do any good to go — " 
 
 But the Doctor went. He still hoped, optimis- 
 tically, that Hilda might be induced to see the error 
 of her ways. 
 
 She received him in the blue room, where the 
 General's precious porcelain was set forth in cab- 
 inets. It was a choice little room which had been 
 used by Mrs. Drake for the reception of special 
 guests. Hilda was in her uniform, but without her 
 cap. It was as if in doffing her cap, she struck her 
 first note of independence against the Doctor's rule. 
 
 He began professionally. " Doctor Bryer tele- 
 phoned this morning that his attendance of the case 
 had been only during my absence. That he did not 
 care to keep it unless I definitely intended to with- 
 draw. I told him to go ahead. I told him also 
 that you were a good nurse. I had to whitewash 
 my conscience a bit to say it, Hilda — " 
 
 Her head went up. " I am a good nurse. But 
 I am more than a nurse, I am a woman. Oh, I 
 know you are blaming me for what you think I have 
 done. But if you stood under a tree and a great 
 ripe peach hung just out of your reach, could you 
 be blamed for shaking the tree? Well, I shook the 
 tree." 
 
 She was very handsome as she gave her defense 
 with flashing eyes. 
 
 274 
 
HILDA SHAKES A TREE 
 
 " The General asked me to marry liim, and that's 
 more than you would ever have done. You liked to 
 think that I was half in love with you. You liked 
 to pretend that you were half in love with me. But 
 would you ever have offered me ease and rest from 
 hard work? Would you ever have thought that I 
 might some day be your daughter's equal in your 
 home? Oh, I have wanted good times. I used to 
 sit night after night alone in the office while you 
 and Jean went out and did the things I was dying 
 to do. I wanted to go to dances and to the theater 
 and to supper with a gay crowd. But you never 
 seemed to think of it. I am young and I want 
 pretty clothes — yet you thought I was satisfied to 
 have you come home and say a few careless pleas- 
 ant words, and to tease me a little. That was all 
 you ever did for me — all you ever wanted. 
 
 " But the General wants more than that. He 
 wants me here in the big house, to be his wife, and 
 to meet his friends. He had a man come up the 
 other day with a lot of rings, and he bought me 
 this." She showed the great diamonds flashing on 
 her third finger. " I have always wanted a ring like 
 this, and now I can have as many as I want. Da 
 you blame me for shaking the tree? " 
 
 He sat, listening, spellbound to her sophistry. 
 But was it sophistry? Wasn't some of it true? 
 He saw her for the first time as a woman wanting 
 things like other women. 
 
 275 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 She swept out her hand to include the contents 
 of the little room. " I have always longed for a 
 place like this. I don't know a thing about china. 
 But I know that all that stuff in the cabinet cost 
 a fortune. And it's a pretty room, and some day 
 when I am the General's wife, I'll ask you here 
 to take tea with me, and I'll wear a silver gown 
 like your daughter wears, and I think you'll be sur- 
 prised to see that I can do it well." 
 
 He flung up his hand. " I can't argue it, Hilda. 
 I can't analyze it. But it is all wrong. In all the 
 years that you worked for me, while I laughed at 
 you, I respected you. But I don't respect you 
 now." 
 
 She shrugged. "Do you think I care? And a 
 man's respect after all is rather a cold thing, isn't 
 it? But I am sorry you feel as you do about it. 
 I should have been glad to have you wish me 
 happiness." 
 
 " Happiness — " His anger seemed to die sud- 
 denly. "You won't find happiness, Hilda, if you 
 separate a son from his father." 
 
 " Did he tell you that? I had nothing to do with 
 it. His father was angry at his — interference." 
 
 He stood up. "We won't discuss it. But you 
 may tell him this. That I am glad his son is poor, 
 for my daughter will marry now the man and not 
 his money." 
 
 " Then he will marry her? " 
 276 
 
HILDA SHAKES A TREE 
 
 " Yes. On Christmas Day." 
 
 She wished that she might tell him the date of 
 her own wedding, but she did not know it. The 
 General seemed in no hurry. He had carefully ob- 
 served the conventions; had hired a housekeeper 
 and a maid, and there was, of course, the day nurse. 
 Having thus surrounded his betrothed with a sort 
 of feminine bodyguard, he spoke of the wedding as 
 happening in the spring. And he was hard to move. 
 As has been said, the General had once commanded 
 a brigade. He was immensely entertained and 
 fascinated by the lady who was to be his wife. But 
 he was not to be managed by her. She found her- 
 self, as he grew stronger, quite strangely deferring 
 to his wishes. She found herself, indeed, rather un- 
 expectedly dominated. 
 
 She came back to the Doctor. " Aren't you going 
 to wish me happiness? " 
 
 " No. How can I, Hilda? " 
 
 After he had left her, she stood very still in the 
 middle of the room. She could stUl see him as he 
 had towered above her — his crinkled hair waving 
 back from his handsome head. She had always 
 liked the youth of him and his laughter and his 
 boyish fun. 
 
 The rich man upstairs was — old — . 
 
 277 
 
CHAPTEE XX 
 
 THE VISION OF BEAVE WOMEN 
 
 And now the Tin Soldier was to go to the wars ! 
 
 Derry, swinging downtown, found himself gazing 
 squarely into the eyes of the khaki-clad men whom 
 he met. He was one of them at last ! 
 
 He was on his way to meet Jean. The day before 
 they had gone to church together. They had heard 
 burning words from a fearless pulpit. The old man 
 who had preached had set no limits on his patriot- 
 ism. The cause of the Allies was the cause of hu- 
 manity, the cause of humanity was the cause of 
 Christ. He would have had the marching hymn 
 of the Americans " Onward, Christian Soldiers." 
 His Master was not a shrinking idealist, but a 
 prophet unafraid. "Woe unto thee, Chorazin! 
 Woe unto thee, Bethsaida! ... It shall be more 
 tolerable for Tyre and Sidon in the day of judgment 
 than for you. And thou, Capernaum, which art ex- 
 alted unto Heaven, shalt be brought down to 
 hell ..." 
 
 " I am too old to go myself," the old man had said, 
 "but I have sent my sons. In the face of the 
 world's need, no man has a right to hold another 
 
 278 
 
THE VISION OF BRAVE WOMEN 
 
 back. Personal considerations wMch might once 
 have seemed sufficient must now be set aside. 
 Things are at stake "which involve not only the 
 honor of a nation but the honor of the individual. 
 To call a man a coward in the old days was to chal- 
 lenge his physical courage. To know him as a 
 slacker in these modern times is to doubt the qual- 
 ity of his mind and spirit. * I pray thee have me 
 excused ' is the word of one lost to the high mean- 
 ings of justice — of love and loyalty and liberty — " 
 
 Stirring words. The lovers had thrilled to them. 
 Derry's hand had gone out to Jean and her own 
 hand clasped it. Together they saw the vision of 
 his going forth, a shining knight, girded for the bat- 
 tle by a beloved woman — saw it through the glam- 
 our of high hopes and youthful ardor ! 
 
 A troop of cavalry on the Avenue! Jackies in 
 saucer caps, infantry, artillery, aviation! Blue 
 and red and green cords about wide-brimmed hats. 
 Husky young Westerners, slim young Southerners, 
 square-chinned young Northerners — a great broth- 
 erhood, their faces set one way — and he was to 
 share their hardships, to be cold and hungry with 
 the best of them, wet and dirty with the worst. It 
 would be a sort of glorified penance for his delay in 
 doing the thing which too long he had left undone. 
 
 He was to have lunch with Jean in the House 
 restaurant — he was a little early, and as he loi- 
 tered through the Capitol grounds, in his ears there 
 
 279 
 
' TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 was the echo of fairy trumpets — " trutter-a-trutt, 
 trutter-a-trutt — " 
 
 The old Capitol had always been for Derry a 
 place of dreams. He loved every inch of it. The 
 sunset view of the city from the west front; the 
 bronze doors on the east, the labyrinthine maze of 
 the corridors ; the tesselated floors, the mottled mar- 
 ble of the balustrades ; the hushed approach to the 
 Supreme Court; the precipitous descent into the 
 galleries of House and Senate, the rap of the Speak- 
 er's gavel — the rattle of argument as political foes 
 contended in the legislative arena; the more sub- 
 dued squabbles on the Senate floor ; the savory smell 
 of food rising from the restaurants in the lower re- 
 gions; the climb to the dome, the look of the sky 
 when one came out at the top ; Statuary Hall and its 
 awesome echoes; the Rotunda with its fringe of 
 tired tourists, its frescoed frieze — Columbus, Cor- 
 tez, Penn, Pizarro — ; the mammoth paintings — 
 Pocahontas, and the Pilgrims, De Soto, and the 
 Surrender of Cornwallis, the Signing of the Dec- 
 laration, and Washington's Resignation as Com- 
 mander-in-Chief — Indian and Quaker, Puritan and 
 Cavalier — these were some of the things which had 
 ravished the eyes of the boy Derry in the days when 
 his father had come to the Capitol to hobnob with 
 old cronies, and his son had been allowed to roam 
 at will. 
 
 280 
 
THE YISION OF BRAVE WOMEN 
 
 But above and beyond everything else, there were 
 the great mural paintings on the west wall of the 
 House side, above the grand marble staircase. 
 
 " Westward the Course of Empire takes its 
 way — !" 
 
 Oh, those pioneers with their faces turned to- 
 wards the Golden West ! The tired women and the 
 bronzed men ! Not one of them without that eager 
 look of hope, of a dream realized as the land of 
 Promise looms ahead ! 
 
 Derry had often talked that picture over with his 
 mother. " It was such men, Derry, who made our 
 country — men unafraid — North, South, East and 
 West, it was these who helped to shape the Nation's 
 destiny, as we must help to shape it for those who 
 come after us." 
 
 It was in front of this picture that he was to meet 
 Jean. He had wanted to share with her the in- 
 spiration of it. 
 
 She was late, and he waited, leaning on the mar- 
 ble rail which overlooked the stairway. People 
 were going up and down passing the picture, but 
 not seeing it, their pulses calm, their blood cold. 
 The doors of the elevators opened and shut, women 
 came and went in velvet and fur, laughing. Men 
 followed them, laughing, and the picture was not 
 for them. 
 
 Derry wondered if it were symbolic, this indif- 
 281 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 ference of the crowd. Was the world's pageant of 
 horrors and of heroism thus unseen by the eyes of 
 the unthinking? 
 
 And now Jean ascended, the top of her hat first — 
 a blur of gray, then the red of the rose that he had 
 sent her, a wave of her gray muff as she saw him. 
 He went down to meet her, and stood with her on 
 the lauding. Beneath the painting, on one side, 
 ran the inscription, " No pent up TJtica confines our 
 powers, but the boundless Continent is ours," on 
 the other side, "The Spirit moves in its allotted 
 space ; the mind is narrow in a narrow sphere." 
 
 Thousands of men and women came and went 
 and never read those words. But boys read them, 
 sitting on the stairs or leaning over the rail — and 
 their minds were carried on and on. Old men, com- 
 ing back after years to read them again, could tes- 
 tify what the words had meant to them in the field 
 of high endeavor. 
 
 Jean had seen the painting many times, but now, 
 standing on the upper gallery floor with Derry, it 
 took on new meanings. She saw a girl with hope in 
 her eyes, a young mother with a babe at her breast; 
 homely middle-aged women redeemed from the com- 
 monplace by that long gaze ahead of them; old 
 women straining towards that sunset glow. She 
 saw, indeed, the Vision of Brave Women. " If it 
 could only be like that for me, Derry. Do you see 
 
 282 
 
TEE VISION OF BRAVE WOMEN 
 
 — they gb with their husbands, those women, and I 
 must stay behind." 
 
 " You will go with me, beloved, in spirit — " 
 
 They fell into silence before the limitless vista. 
 
 And now more people were coming up the stairs, 
 a drawling, familiar voice — Alma Drew on the 
 landing below. With her a tall young man. She 
 was turning on him all her batteries of charm. 
 
 Alma passed the picture and did not look at it, 
 she passed the lovers and did not see them. And 
 she was saying as she passed, " I don't know why 
 any man should be expected to fight. I shouldn't 
 if I were a man." 
 
 Jean drew a long breath. " There, but for the 
 grace of God, goes Jean McKenzie." 
 
 Derry laughed. "You were never like that. 
 Not for the least minute. You were afraid for the 
 man you loved. It isn't fear with Alma." 
 
 But the thought of Alma did not trouble them 
 long. There was too much else in their world to- 
 day. As they walked through the historic halls, 
 they had with them all the romance of the past — 
 and so Eobert Fulton with his boats, P6re Mar- 
 quette with his cross and beads, Frances WUlard 
 in her strange old-fashioned dress spoke to them of 
 the dreams which certain inspired men and women 
 have translated into action. 
 
 They talked of these things while they ate their 
 283 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 lunch. The black waiter, who knew Derry, hov- 
 ered about them. His freedom, too, had been the 
 culmination of a dream. 
 
 " Men laugh at the dreamers," Derry said, " then 
 honor them after they are dead." 
 
 " That's the cruelty, the sadness of it, isn't it? " 
 
 " Not to the dreamer. Do you think that P^re 
 Marquette cared for what smaller minds might 
 think, or Frances Willard? They had their vision 
 backed by a great faith in the rightness of things, 
 and so Marquette followed the river and planted the 
 cross, and Frances Willard blazed the way for the 
 thing which has come to pass." 
 
 After lunch they motored to Drusilla's. They 
 used one of Dr. McKenzie's cars. Derry had 
 ceased to draw upon his father's establishment for 
 anything. He lived at the club, and met his ex- 
 penses with the small balance which remained to 
 his credit in the bank. 
 
 "You can give Jean whatever you think best," 
 he told the Doctor, " but I shall try to live on what 
 I have until I go, and then on my pay." 
 
 " Your pay, my dear boy, will just about equal 
 what you now spend in tips." 
 
 " I think I shall like it. It's an adventure for 
 rich men when they have to be poor. That's why 
 a lot of fellows have gone into it. They are tired 
 of being the last word in civilization. They want 
 to get down to primitive things." 
 
 284 
 
THE VISION OF BRAVE WOMEN 
 
 " Mrs. Witherspoon can't imagine Derry Drake 
 without two baths a day." 
 
 " Can't she? Well, Mrs. Witherspoon may find 
 that Derry Drake is about like the rest of the fel- 
 lows. No better and no worse. There is no dis- 
 grace in liking to be clean. The disgrace comes 
 when one kicks against a thing that can't be 
 helped." 
 
 In the Doctor's car, therefore, they arrived at 
 Drusilla's. 
 
 " We have come to tell you that we are going to 
 be married." 
 
 " You Babes in the Wood ! " 
 
 " Will you come to the wedding? ^ 
 
 " Of course I'll come. Marion, do" you hear? 
 They are going to be married." j 
 
 "And after that, Drusilla," — he smiled as he 
 phrased it — "your Tin Soldier will go to the 
 wars." 
 
 Jean glanced from one to the other. " Is that 
 what she called you — a Tin Soldier? " 
 
 " It is what I called myself." 
 
 Marion having come forward to say the proper 
 thing, added, " Drusilla's going, too." 
 
 " Drusilla? " 
 
 " Yes, with my college unit — to run errands in 
 a flivver." 
 
 The next day, encountering Derry on the street, 
 Drusilla opened her knitting bag and brought out 
 
 285 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 a tiny parcel. " It's my wedding gift to you. I 
 found it in Emily's toy shop." 
 
 It was a ^ay little French tin soldier. " For a 
 mascot," she told him, seriously, " Derry, dear, I 
 shall not try to tell you how I feel about your mar- 
 riage to Jean. About your going. If I could sing 
 it, you'd know. But I haven't any words. It — it 
 seems so — perfect that the Tin Soldier should go 
 — to the wars — and that the girl he leaves behind 
 him should be a little white maid like — Jean.'' 
 
 Thus DrusUla, with a shake in her voice, re- 
 nouncing a — dream. 
 
 Derry, who was on his way to Margaret's showed 
 the tin soldier to Teddy and his little sister. " He 
 is going to the wars." 
 
 " With you? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " When are you going? " 
 
 " As soon as I can — " 
 
 " I should think you wouldn't like to leave us." 
 
 " Well, I don't. But I am coming back." 
 
 " Daddy didn't come back." 
 
 " But some men do." 
 
 "Perhaps God doesn't love you as much as He 
 did Daddy, and He won't want to keep you." 
 
 " Perhaps not — " 
 
 The things which the chUd had spoken stayed 
 with Derry all that day. His feeling about death 
 had always been that of a man who has long years 
 
 286 
 
THE VISION OF BRAVE WOMEN 
 
 before him. He liad rather jauntily conceded that 
 some men die young, but that the chances in his case 
 were for a green old age. He might indeed have 
 fifty years before him, and in fifty years one could 
 
 — get ready — age had to do with serious things, 
 people were peaceful and prepared. 
 
 But to get ready now. To face the thing 
 squarely, saying, " I may not come back — there 
 are, indeed, a thousand chances that I shall not 
 come." Lacking those fifty years in which to grow 
 towards the thought of dissolution, what ought one 
 to do ? Should a man make himself fit in some spe- 
 cial fashion? 
 
 There was, too, the thought of those whom he 
 might leave behind. Of Jean — his wife — whom 
 he would leave. She would break her heart — at 
 first. And then — ? Would she remember? 
 Would she forget? Would he and those millions 
 of others who had gone down in battle become dim 
 memories — pale shadows against the vivid back- 
 ground of the hurrying world? 
 
 He felt that he could not, must not speak of 
 these things to Jean. So he talked of them to 
 Emily. 
 
 " If anything should happen to me," he said, " I 
 couldn't, of course, expect that Jean would go on — 
 caring — . And if there should ever be anyone else 
 
 — I — I should want her to be happy." 
 
 " Don't try to be magnanimous," Miss Emily ad 
 287 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 vised. " You are human, and it isn't in the heart 
 of man to want the woman he loves ever to turn to 
 another. Let the years take care of that. But you 
 can be very sure of one thing — that no one will 
 ever take your place with Jean." 
 
 " But she may marry." 
 
 " Why should you torture yourself with that? 
 You have given her something that no one else can 
 ever give — the wonder and rapture of first love. 
 And the heroes of a war like this will be in a very 
 special manner set apart! 'A glorious company, 
 the flower of men, to serve as models for the mighty 
 world!'" 
 
 She laid her hand on his shoulder. " You must 
 think now only of love and life and of coming back 
 to Jean." 
 
 He reached up his hand and caught hers in a 
 warm clasp. " Do you know you are the nearest 
 thing to a mother that I've known since I lost 
 mine? " 
 
 He spoke, too, rather awkwardly, of the feeling 
 about — getting ready. 
 
 " I have always thought that if I tried to live 
 straight — I've thought, too, that it wouldn't come 
 until I was old — that I should have plenty of time 
 — and that by then, I should be more — spiritual." 
 
 " You will never be more spiritual than you are 
 at this moment. Youth is nearer Heaven than age. 
 I have always thought that. As we grow old — we 
 
 288 
 
THE VISION OF BRAVE WOMEN 
 
 are stricken by — feax — of poverty, of disease — 
 of death. It is youth which has faith and hope." 
 
 Before he left her, he gave her a sacred charge. 
 " If anything happens, I know what you'll be to — 
 Jean — and I can't tell you what a help you've been 
 this morning." 
 
 She was thrilled by that. And after he left her 
 she thought much about him. Of what it would 
 have meant to her to have a son like that. 
 
 Women had said to her, "You should be glad 
 that you have no boy to send — ." But she was not 
 glad. Were they mad, these mothers, to want to 
 hold their boys back? Had the days of peace held 
 no dangers that they should be so afraid for them 
 now? 
 
 For peace had dangers — men and women had 
 been worshipping false gods. They had set up a 
 Golden Calf and had bowed before it — and their 
 children, lured by luxury, emasculated by ease of 
 living, had wanted more ease, more luxury, more 
 time in which to — play ! 
 
 And now life had become suddenly a vivid Cru- 
 sade, with everybody marching in one direction, and 
 the young men were manly in the old ways of 
 strength and heroism, and the young women were 
 womanly in the old way of sending their lovers 
 forth, and in a new way, when, like DrusiUa, they 
 went forth themselves to the front line of battle. 
 
 To have children in these days, meant to have 
 289 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 something to give. One need not stand before suf- 
 fering humanity empty-handed ! 
 
 War was a monstrous thing, a murderous thing 
 — but surely this war was a righteous one — a fire 
 which would cleanse the world. Men and women, 
 because of it, were finding in themselves something 
 which could suffer for others, something in them- 
 selves which could sacrifice, something which went 
 beyond body and mind, something which reached up 
 and touched their souls. 
 
 So, in the midst of darkness, Miss Emily had a 
 vision of Light. After tL^e war was over, things 
 could never be as they had been before. The spirit 
 which had sent men forth in this Crusade, which 
 had sent women, would survive, please God, and 
 show itself in a greater sense of fellowship — of 
 brotherhood. Might not men, even in peace, go on 
 praying as they were praying it now iii war, the 
 prayer of Cromwell's men, " Oh, Lord, it's a hard 
 battle, but it's for the rights of the common peo- 
 ple — " Might not the rich young men who were 
 learning to be the brothers of the poor, and the 
 poor young men who were learning in a large sense 
 of the brotherhood of the rich — might these not 
 still clasp hands in a sacred cause? 
 
 Yes, she was sorry that she had no son. Slim 
 and gray-haired, a little worn by life's struggle, her 
 blood quickened at the thought of a son like Derry. 
 The warmth of his handclasp, the glimpse of that 
 
 290 
 
THE VISION OF BRATE WOMEN 
 
 inner self which he had given her, these were things 
 to hold close to her heart. She had known on that 
 first night that he was — different. She had not 
 dreamed that she should hold him — close. 
 
 Rather pensively she arranged her window. It 
 was snowing hard, and in spite of the fact that 
 Christmas was only three days away, customers 
 were scarce. 
 
 The window display was made effective by the 
 use of Jean's purple camels — a sandy desert, a 
 star overhead, blazing with all the realism of a tiny 
 electric bulb behind it, the Wise Men, the Inn where 
 the Babe lay, and in a far corner a group of shep- 
 herds watching a woolly flock — 
 
 Her cyclamen was dead. A window had been left 
 open, and when she arrived one morning she had 
 found it frozen. 
 
 She had thanked Ulrich StoUe for it, in a pleas- 
 antly worded note. She had not dared express her 
 full appreciation, lest she seem fulsome. Few men 
 in her experience had sent her flowers. Never in all 
 the years of her good friendship with Bruce Mc- 
 Kenzie had hje bestowed upon her a single bloom. 
 
 Several days had passed, and there had been no 
 answer to the note. She had not really expected an 
 answer, but she had thought he might come in. 
 
 He came in now, with a great parcel in his arms. 
 He was a picturesque flgure in an enveloping cape 
 and a soft hat pulled down over his gray hair, and 
 
 291 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 with white flakes powdered over his shoulders. 
 
 "Good morning, Miss Bridges," he said; "did 
 you think I was never coming? " 
 
 His manner of assuming that she had expected 
 him quite took Emily's breath away. " I am glad 
 you came," she said, simply. " It is rather dreary, 
 with the snow, and this morning I found my cycla- 
 men frozen on the shelf." 
 
 He glanced up at it. " We have other flowers," 
 he said, and, with a sure sense of the dramatic 
 effect, untied the string of his parcel. 
 
 Then there was revealed to Miss Emily's aston- 
 ished eyes not the flowers that she had expected, 
 but four small plush elephants, duplicates in every- 
 thing- but size of the one she had loaned to Ulrich, 
 and each elephant carried on his back a fragrant 
 load of violets cunningly kept fresh by a glass tube 
 hidden in his trappings. 
 
 " There," said Ulrich StoUe, " my father sent 
 them. It is his taste, not mine — but I knew that 
 you would understand." 
 
 " But," Miss Emily gasped, " did he make them? " 
 
 " Most certainly. With his clever old fingers — 
 and he will make as many more as you wish." 
 
 Thus came white elephants back to Miss Emily's 
 shelves. "It seems almost too good to be true," 
 she said, sniffing the violets and smiling at 
 him. 
 
 "Nothing is too good to be true," he told her, 
 292 
 
TEE VISION OF BRAYE WOMEN 
 
 " and now I have something to ask. That you will 
 come and see my father." 
 
 " With pleasure." 
 
 He glanced around the empty shop. " Why not 
 now? There are no customers — and the gray 
 light makes things dreary — . And it is spring in 
 my hothouses — there are a thousand cyclamens 
 for the one you have lost, a thousand violets for 
 every one on the backs of these little elephants — 
 narcissus and daflfodUs — . Why not? " 
 
 Why not, indeed? Why not, when Adventure 
 beckoned, go to meet it? She had tied herself for 
 so many years to the commonplace and the prac- 
 tical. 
 
 And so Miss Emily closed her shop, and went in 
 Ulrich's car, leaving a card tucked in the shop door, 
 " Will reopen at three." 
 
 It was at one o'clock that Dr. McKenzie came 
 and found that door shut against him. He shook 
 the knob with some impatience, and stamped his 
 foot impotently when no one answered. His or- 
 ders had come and he must leave for France to- 
 morrow. He had not told Jean, he had come to 
 Emily to ask her to break the news — . 
 
 He stood there in the snow feeling quite unex- 
 pectedly forlorn. Heretofore he had always been 
 able to put his finger on Emily when he had wanted 
 her. He had needed only to beckon and she had 
 followed. 
 
 293 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 And how could he know that she was at that very 
 moment following other beckonings? That she had 
 responded to a call that was not the call of selfish 
 need, but of a subtle understanding of her rare 
 charm. Bruce McKenzie had, perhaps, subcon- 
 sciously felt that Emily would be fortunate to have 
 a place by his fireside, to bask in his presence — 
 Ulrich StoUe leading Emily through the moist fra- 
 grance of his hot-houses counted himself blessed by 
 the gods to have her there. " You see," he said, 
 " that here it is spring." 
 
 It was indeed spring, with birds singing, not in 
 cages, but free to fly as they pleased ; with the sound 
 of water, as a little artificial stream wound its way 
 over moss-covered rocks set where it might splash 
 and fall over them — with ferns bending down to 
 it and tiny flashing fish following it. • 
 
 " My father did that," Ulrich explained, " when 
 he was younger and stronger. But now he sits in 
 his chair and works at his toys." 
 
 The workshop of Franz Stolle was entered 
 through the door of the last hothouse ; he had thus 
 always a vista of splashing color — red and purples 
 and yellows — great stretches, and always with the 
 green to rest his eyes; with the door opened be- 
 tween there came to him the fragrance, and the 
 singing of birds, and the sound of the little stream. 
 
 He sat in a big chair, bent a little, plump and 
 ruddy-faced, with a fringe of white hair. He wore 
 
 294 
 
THE VISION OF BRAVE WOMEN 
 
 horn spectacles — and a velvet coat. He rose when 
 Emily entered, elegant of manner, in spite of his 
 rotundity. 
 
 "So it is the lady of the elephants, Ulrich? 
 When you telephoned I thought it was too good to 
 be true." j 
 
 " Your son says that nothing is too good to be 
 true," Emily told him, sitting down in the chair that 
 Ulrich placed for her, " but I have a feeling that 
 this will all vanish in a moment like Aladdin's 
 palace — " She waved her hands towards the 
 shelves that went around the room. " I never ex- 
 pected to see such toys again." 
 
 For there they were — the toys of Gerpaany. 
 The quaint Noah's arks, the woolly dogs and the 
 mewing cats — the moon-faced dolls. 
 
 " I don't see how you have made them all." 
 
 " Many of them were made years ago, Fraulein, 
 and I have kept them for remembrance, but many 
 of them are new. When my son told me that it was 
 hard for you to get toys, I gathered around me a 
 few old friends who learned their trade in Nurem- 
 berg. We have done much in a few days. We will 
 do more. We are all patriotic. We will show the 
 Prussians that the children of America do not lack 
 for toys. What does the Prussian know of play? 
 He knows only killiag and killing and killing." 
 
 The old man beat his fist upon the table, "Kill- 
 ing!" 
 
 295 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "You see," Ulrich said to Emily, "there are 
 many of us who feel that way. Yet unthinking 
 people cannot see that we are loyal, that our hearts 
 beat with the hearts of those who have English 
 blood and French blood and Italian blood and 
 Dutch blood in their veins, and who have but one 
 country — America." 
 
 The old man had recovered himself. " We are 
 not here to talk of killing, but of what I and my 
 friends shall make for you. And you are to have 
 lunch with us? I have planned it, and I won't take 
 * no,' Fraulein. You and I have so much to say to 
 each other." 
 
 Emily wondered if it were really her middle-aged 
 and prosaic self who sat later at the table, being 
 waited on by a very competent butler, and deferred 
 to by the two men as if she were a queen. 
 
 It was she and the old man who did most of the 
 talking, but always she was conscious of Ulrich's 
 attentive eyes, of the weight of the quiet words 
 which he interjected now and then in the midst of 
 his father's volubility. 
 
 " Germany, my mother, is dead," wailed the old 
 man. " I have wept over her grave ; those who 
 wage this war against humanity are bastards, the 
 real sons and daughters of that sweet old Germany 
 are. here in America — they have come to their fos- 
 ter-mother, and they love her. 
 
 " If I had been younger," he went on, " I should 
 296 
 
THE YISION OF BRAVE WOMEN 
 
 have fought. My son would have fought. But as 
 it is we can make toys — and we shall say to the 
 Prussians across the sea, 'You have killed our 
 mother — your people are no longer our people, nor 
 your God our God.' " 
 
 Ulrich took Emily home. She carried with her a 
 Noah's Ark, and a precious pot of cyclamen. She 
 had chosen the cyclamen out of all the rest. " It is 
 such a cheerful thing blooming in my shop." 
 
 " There are other cheerful things in your shop," 
 he told her. 
 
 As she met his smiling eyes, she smiled back, " Do 
 you mean that I am a cheerful thing? " 
 
 "A rose, mein Fraulein, when your cheeks are 
 red, like this." 
 
 Emily, alone at last in the Toy Shop, took off her 
 hat in front of the mirror and saw her red cheeks. 
 She set the cyclamen safely in a warm comer. 
 The four elephants with their fragrant freight of 
 violets made an exotic and incongruous addition to 
 the Christmas scene in the window. 
 
 Bruce McKenzie, coming in, asked, " .Where did 
 you get them?" 
 
 " The elephants? Ulrich Stolle brought them. 
 Do you know him? " 
 
 " Yes. But I didn't know that you did." 
 
 "His father makes toys. I lent him my white 
 elephant, and he made these — " 
 
 She spoke without self-consciousness, and Mc- 
 297 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Kenzie's mind was on his own matters^ so they 
 swept away from the subject of Ulrich StoUe. 
 " Emily," Bruce said, " I have my orders. JTomor- 
 row at twelve I must leave for France." 
 
 She gazed at him stupidly. " Tomorrow — ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "But — Jean— ?" 
 
 " I haven't told her. I don't know how to tell 
 her." 
 
 " You won't be here for the wedding — ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It will break her heart." 
 
 " You needn't tell me that. Don't I know it? " 
 His voice was sharp with the tension of suppressed 
 emotion. 
 
 He dropped into a chair, then jumped up and 
 placed one for her. " Sit down, sit down," he said, 
 " and don't make me forget my manners. Some- 
 how this thing gets me as nothing has ever gotten 
 me before. It isn't that I mind going — I mind 
 hurting — Jean — " 
 
 " You have always hated to hurt people," Emily 
 said. " In some ways it's a sign of weakness." 
 
 " Don't scold," he begged. " I know I'm not 
 much of a fellow, but you'll be sorry for me a little, 
 won't you, Emily? " 
 
 She did not melt as he had expected to the ap- 
 peal in his voice. " The thing we have to think of 
 now," she said, "is not being sorry for you> but 
 
 298 
 
THE YISION OF BRAVE WOMEN 
 
 how we can get Jean married before twelve o'clock 
 tomorrow — " 
 
 " Oh, of course we can't." 
 
 " Of course we can — if we make up our minds 
 to it, and it's the only thing to do." 
 
 " But nothing is ready." 
 
 " Things can be made ready. They can stand up 
 in the rose drawing-room at ten, and you can give 
 her away." 
 
 He looked at her admiringly. " I didn't know 
 that you had so much initiative." 
 
 She might have told him that it was a quality on 
 which she rather prided herself, but that hitherto it 
 had not seemed to attract him. " There are several 
 things as yet undiscovered by you," she remarked 
 casually, as she locked up her toys. 
 
 Watching her, he wondered idly if there were 
 really worlds to discover in Emily. It might be 
 interesting to — find out — . 
 
 " Shall you miss me? " he asked. 
 
 " Of course. And now if you'll see that the back 
 shutters are barred, we'll be ready to go." 
 
 Thus she checked his small attempt at sentiment, 
 and on the way home they talked about Jean. " If 
 Derry goes, you and she must live together in my 
 house. Let that be und^stood. I'd rather have 
 her with you than with anyone dse in the whole 
 wide world." 
 
 Thus again the sacred charge, but this time not 
 299 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 as a favor, but in lordly fashion, as one who claims 
 a right. 
 
 Jean and Derry were having tea at the club, but 
 could not be reached by phone. " They had prob- 
 ably motored out into the country," Emily decided. 
 " We'll have to do things before they come." 
 
 The things that she did were stupendous. 
 
 She had a florist up in two hours — and the rose- 
 colored drawing room was rosier than ever, and as 
 fragrant as a garden. 
 
 She telephoned the clergyman — " At ten o'clock 
 tomorrow." 
 
 She telephoned the caterer — "A wedding 
 breakfast — " 
 
 She telephoned the dressmaker — "Miss Mc- 
 Kenzie's gown — " 
 
 She telephoned Margaret and Marion Gray — . 
 
 "Is there anyone else?" she asked the Doctor. 
 " I suppose we really ought to tell the General." 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " But Bronson — ? Deiry will want him." 
 
 " If he can keep a secret — yes." 
 
 Jean and Derry, arriving after dark, were swept 
 into a scene of excitement. 
 
 Florists on the stairs! 
 
 A frenzied dressmaker waiting with Jean's wed- 
 ding gown ! 
 
 Maids with mops and men with vacuums! 
 300 
 
THE VISION OF THE BRAVE WOMEN 
 
 Julia and the cook helping at loose ends and din- 
 ner late ! 
 
 What did it all mean? 
 
 " It means," said the Doctor, " that you are going 
 to be married, my dear, at ten o'clock in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " But why. Daddy — " fear showed in her eyes — 
 
 " Ask Emily." 
 
 " Is he — going away, — Emily? " 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 "But he mustn't. Derry, do you hear? He is 
 going to Prance — and he mustn't — " 
 
 Derry took her trembling hands in his firm clasp. 
 " He must go, you know ihat, dearest." His touch 
 steadied her. 
 
 He leaned down to her and sang : — 
 
 "Jeanne D'Arc, Jeanne D'Arc — 
 Jeanne D'Arc, la victoire est pour vous." 
 
 Her head went up. The color came back to her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Of course," she said, and put away childish 
 things that she might measure up to the stature of 
 her lover's faith in her. 
 
 And it was Jean, the Woman, who talked long 
 that night with her father before he went to France. 
 
 301 
 
CHAPTEE XXI 
 
 DERBY'S WIFE 
 
 It snowed hard the next morning. The General, 
 waking, found the day nurse in charge. Bronson 
 came in to get him ready for his breakfast. There 
 was about the old man an air of suppressed excite- 
 ment. He hurried a little in his preparations for 
 the General's bath. But everything was done with 
 exactness, and it was not until the General was 
 shaved and sitting up in his gorgeous mandarin 
 robe that Bronson said, " I'd like to go out for an 
 hour or two this morning, if you can spare me, 
 sir — " 
 
 " In this snow? I thought you hated snow. 
 You've always been a perfect pussy cat about the 
 cold, Bronson." 
 
 " Yes, sir, but this is very important, sir." 
 
 The General ran his eye over the spruce figure. 
 " And you are all dressed up. I hope you are not 
 going to be married, Bronson." 
 
 It was an old joke between them. Bronson was 
 a pre-destined bachelor, alid the General knew it. 
 But he liked to tease him. 
 
 " No, sir. I'll be back in time to look after your 
 lunch, sir." 
 
 302 
 
DERRY'8 WIFE 
 
 The General had been growing stronger, so that 
 he spent several hours each day in his chair. When 
 Bronson had gone, he rose and moved restlessly 
 about the room. The day nurse cautioned him. 
 " The Doctor doesn't want you to exert yourself, 
 Oeneral Drake." 
 
 He was always courteous, but none the less he 
 meant to have his own way. " Don't worry. Miss 
 Martin. I'll take the responsibility." 
 
 He shuffled out into the hall. When she wotild 
 have followed, he waved her back. "I am per- 
 fectly able to go alpne," he told her. 
 
 She stood on the threshold watching him. She 
 was very young and she was a little afraid of 
 him. Her eyes, as she looked upon him, saw an 
 obstinate old man in a gay dressing gown. And 
 the man in the gay dressing gown felt old un- 
 til he faced suddenly his wife's picture on the 
 stairs. 
 
 It had been weeks since he had seen it, and in 
 those weeks much had happened. Her smiling 
 presence came to him freshly, as the spring might 
 come to one housed through a long winter, or the 
 dawn after a dark night. 
 
 "Edith— !" 
 
 He leaned upon the balustrade. The nurse, com- 
 ing out, warned him. " Indeed, you'd better stay 
 in your room." 
 
 " I'm all right. Please don't worry. You 'tend 
 303 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 to your knitting, and I'll take care of myself." 
 
 She insisted, however, on bringing out a chair 
 and a rug. " Perhaps it will be a change for you 
 to sit in the hall," she conceded, and tucked him in, 
 and he found himself trembling a little from weak- 
 ness, and glad of the support which the chair gave 
 him. 
 
 It seemed very pleasant to sit there with Edith 
 smiling at him. For the first time in many weeks 
 his mind was at rest, -^ver since Hilda had come 
 he had felt the pressure of an exciting presence. 
 He felt this morning free from it, and glad to be 
 free. 
 
 What a wife Edith had been! Holding him al- 
 ways to his highest and best, yet loving him even 
 when he stumbled and fell. Bending above him in 
 her beautiful charity and understanding, raising 
 him up, fostering his self-respect in those moments 
 of depression when he had despised himself. 
 
 What other woman would have done it? What 
 other woman would have kept her love for him 
 through it all? For she had loved him. It had 
 never been his money with her. She would have 
 clung to him in sickness and in poverty. 
 
 But Hilda loved his money. He knew it now as 
 absolutely as if she had said it. For the first time 
 in weeks he saw clearly. Last night his eyes had 
 been opened. 
 
 He had been roused towards morning by those 
 304 
 
BEBRTB WIFE 
 
 soft sounds in the second room, which he had heard 
 more than once in the passing weeks. In his fever- 
 ish moments, it had not seemed unlikely that his 
 wife might be there, coming back to haunt, with her 
 gentle presence, the familiar rooms. There was, 
 indeed, her light step, the rustle of her silken gar- 
 ments — . 
 
 Half -asleep he had listened, then had opened his 
 eyes to find the night-lamp burning, Hilda's book 
 under it and Hilda gone ! 
 
 The minutes passed as still his ears were strained. 
 There was not a sound in the house but that silken 
 rustle. He wondered if he sought Edith if she 
 would speak to him. He rose and reached for his 
 dressing gown. 
 
 Hilda had grown careless ; there was no screen in 
 front of the second door, and the crack was wide. 
 The General standing in the dark saw her be- 
 fore his wife's mirror, wearing his wife's jewels, 
 wrapped in the cloak which his wife had worn — 
 triumphant — beautiful ! 
 
 It was that air of triumph which repelled him. 
 It was a discordant note in the Cophetua theme. 
 He had liked her in her nurse's white. In the trap- 
 pings which did not belong to her she showed her- 
 self a trifle vulgar — less than a lady. 
 
 He had crept back to bed, and wide-awake, he had 
 worked it all out in his mind. It was his money 
 which Hilda wanted, the things that he could give 
 
 305 
 
TEE TIN, SOLDIER 
 
 her ; he meant to her pink parasols and satin slip- 
 pers, and diamonds and pearls and ermines and 
 sables, and a check-book, with unlimited credit 
 everywhere. 
 
 And to get the things that she wanted, she had 
 given him that which had stolen away his brains, 
 which might indeed have done more than that — 
 which might have killed his soul. 
 
 He had heard her come in, but he had simulated 
 sleep. She had seated herself by the little table, 
 and had gone on with her book. Between his half- 
 closed eyes he had studied her — seeing her with 
 new eyes — the hard line of her lips, the long white 
 hands, the heaviness of her chin. 
 
 Then he had slept, and had waked to find the day 
 nurse on duty. He felt that he should be glad 
 never to see Hilda again. He dreaded the night 
 when he must once more speak to her. 
 
 He was very tired sitting there in his chair. The 
 rug had slipped from his knees. He tried to reach 
 for it and failed. But he did not want to call the 
 day nurse. He wanted some one with him who — 
 cared. He raised his poor old eyes to the lady in 
 the picture. He was cold and tired. 
 
 He wished that Bronson would come back — 
 good old Bronson, to pull up the rug. He wished 
 that Derry might come. 
 
 A door below opened and shut. Some one was 
 306 
 
DERBY'S WIFE 
 
 ascending the stairs. Some one who walked with 
 a light step — some one slim and youthful, in a 
 white gown — ! 
 
 ''Edith—?" 
 
 But Edith's hair had not been crinkled and cop- 
 per-colored, and Edith would have come straight up 
 to him; she would not have hesitated on the top 
 step as if afraid to advance. 
 
 " Who are you? " 
 
 "Jean—" 
 
 " Jean? " 
 
 " Derry's wife." 
 
 " Come here." He tried to reach out his hand to 
 her, but could not. His tongue felt thick — . 
 
 She knelt beside his chair. Her head was bare. 
 She wore no wrap. " We were married this morn- 
 ing. And my own father has gone — to France — 
 and I wanted a father — " 
 
 " Did Derry tell you to come? " 
 
 "Bronson begged me. He was at the wed- 
 ding — " 
 
 "Old Bronson?" He tried to smile, but the 
 smile was twisted. 
 
 She was looking up at him fearfully, but her 
 voice did not falter. " I came to tell you that 
 Derry loves you. He doesn't want your money, 
 oh, you know that he doesn't want it. But he is 
 going away to the — war, and he may be killed, so 
 many men are — killed. And he — loves you — " 
 
 307 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " Wtere is he? " 
 
 "I wouldn't let him come. You see, you said 
 things which were hard for him to forgive. I was 
 afraid you might say such things again." 
 
 He knew that he would never say them. " Tell 
 him that — I love him." He tried to sit up. 
 " Tell him that he is — my son." 
 
 He fell back. He heard her quick cry, " Bron- 
 son — " 
 
 Bronson came running up the stairs, and the 
 nurse who had watched the scene dazedly from the 
 threshold of the General's room ran, too. 
 
 Weighted down by a sense of increasing numb- 
 ness he lifted his agonized eyes to Jean. " Stay 
 with me — stay — " 
 
 Hilda, waked by the day nurse, raged. "You 
 should have called me at once when he left his 
 room. Why didn't you call me? " 
 
 " Because I felt myself competent to manage the 
 case." 
 
 " You see how you have managed it — I will be 
 down in a minute. Get everybody out — " 
 
 Her composed manner when she came down 
 showed nothing of that which was seething within 
 her. 
 
 She found Jean in bridal-white sitting by the 
 bed and holding the General's hand. The doctor 
 had been sent for, Derry had been sent for — 
 things were being swept out of her hands. She 
 
 308 
 
DEBRTB WIFE 
 
 blamed it, still hiding her anger under a quiet man- 
 ner, on Jean. 
 
 " He has had a stroke. It was probably the ex- 
 citement of your coming." 
 
 The day nurse intervened. "It was before she 
 came. Miss Merritt, that I saw him reach for the 
 rug. I was puzzled and started to investigate, and 
 then I saw her on the stairs — " She smiled at 
 Jean. Never in her limited young life had the day 
 nurse seen such a lovely bride, and she did not in 
 the least like Miss Merritt. 
 
 Derry coming a little later held Jean's hand in 
 his while he faced Hilda. " What does the doctor 
 say? " 
 
 The truth came reluctantly. " He may be un- 
 conscious for days. He may never wake up — " 
 
 " I do not think we shall need your services — . 
 I will send you a check for any amount you may 
 name." 
 
 " But — " 
 
 " Whatever claim you may have upon him will be 
 settled when he is in a condition to settle anything ; 
 until then, my viif e and I shall stay — " 
 
 Hilda went upstairs and packed her bag. So 
 her house of dreams tumbled about her. So she 
 left behind her the tiara and the pearl collar with 
 the diamond slides, and the velvet cloak with the 
 ermine collar. Poor Hilda, with her head held 
 high, going out of the shadowed house. 
 
 309 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 And taking Hilda's place, oh, more than taking 
 her place, was Jean — and this was her wedding 
 day. The little rose-colored drawing room had 
 needed all of its rose to counteract the gray of the 
 world outside, with the snow and Daddy's car 
 standing ready to take him to the station. 
 
 But always there had been the thought of Derry 
 to uphold her, and the wonder of their love. Noth- 
 ing could rob her of that. 
 
 He had held her in his arms the night before, 
 and had said, " Tomorrow we shall be in Wood- 
 stock, and shall listen to the chimes — " 
 
 And now it was tomorrow, and they were here in 
 this great grim house with Death at the door. 
 
 Quite miraculously Emily arrived, and she and 
 Bronson made a boudoir of Derry's sitting-room. 
 They filled it with flowers, as was fitting for a 
 bridal-bower. Jean's little trunk had been sent on 
 to Woodstoct, but there was her bag, and a supply 
 of things which Emily brought from home. 
 
 A new night nurse came, and Miss Martin was 
 retained for the day. The snow still fell, and the 
 old man in the lacquered bed was still unconscious, 
 his stertorous breathing sounding through the 
 house. 
 
 And it was her wedding day ! 
 
 They dined in the great room where Derry's an- 
 cestors gazed down on them. Emily was there, and 
 it was a bridal feast, vdth things ordered hurriedly. 
 
 31^ 
 
DEBRT8 WIFE 
 
 Bronson, too, had seen to that. But they ate little. 
 Emily talked and Derry ably supplemented her 
 efforts. 
 
 But Jean was silent. It was all so different from 
 what one might expect — ! She still wore her 
 white dress. It was a rather superlative frock 
 with much cobwebby lace that had been her 
 mother's, and in the place of her own small string 
 of pearls was the longer string which had been her 
 father's last gift to her. She had worn no veil, 
 her crinkled copper hair in aU its beauty had been 
 uncovered. 
 
 " I can't believe that the lovely, lovely lady at 
 the other end of the table is my wife," Derry told 
 Miss Emily. 
 
 Jean smiled at him. She felt as if she were 
 smiling from a great distance — and she had to 
 look at him over a perfect thicket of orchids. 
 ^' Shall I always have to sit so far away from you, 
 Derry? " she asked in a very small voice. 
 
 " My dearest, no — " and he came and stood be- 
 hind her, and reached for her little coffee cup and 
 drank where her lips had touched, shamelessly, be- 
 fore the eyes of the sympathetic and romantic Miss 
 Emily. 
 
 And now Emily had gone ! And at last Jean and 
 Derry were alone in the bridal bower, and Jean was 
 telling Derry again what his father had said. " He 
 begged ae to stay — " 
 
 311 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Their eyes met. " Dearest, dearest," Derry said, 
 " what is life doing to me? " 
 
 "It has given you me, Derry" — such a little, 
 little whisper. 
 
 " My beloved — yes." 
 
 The next morning they talked it over. 
 
 "What am I to do? He needs me more than 
 ever — " 
 
 " There must be some way out, Derry." 
 
 But what way? The Tin Soldier had jumped 
 from the shelf, but he had fallen through a crack ! 
 And the war was going on without him — ! 
 
 312 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 JEAN PLATS PROXY 
 
 Cheistmas morning found the General conscious. 
 He was restless until Jean was brought to him. 
 He had a feeling that she had saved him from 
 Hilda. He wanted her where he could see her. 
 " Don't leave me," he begged. 
 
 She slipped away to eat her Christmas dinner 
 with Derry and Emily and Margaret. It was an 
 early dinner on account of the children. They ate 
 in the big dining room, and after dinner there was 
 a tree, with Ulrich StoUe playing Father Christ- 
 mas. It had come about quite naturally that he 
 should be asked. It had been unthinkable that 
 Derry could enter into the spirit of it, so Emily 
 had ventured to suggest Ulrich. " He will make an 
 ideal Santa Glaus." 
 
 But it developed that he was not to be Santa 
 Glaus at all. He was to be Father Christmas, 
 with a wreath of mistletoe instead of a red cap. 
 
 Teddy was intensely curious about the change. 
 " But why isn't he Santa Glaus? " he asked. 
 
 " Well, Santa Glaus was — made in Germany." 
 
 « Oh ! " 
 
 313 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " But now he has joined the Allies and changed 
 his name." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "And he wears mistletoe, because mistletoe is 
 the Christmas bush, and red caps don't really mean 
 anything, do they? " 
 
 "No, but Mother—" 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " If Santa Olaus has joined the Allies what will 
 the little German children do? " 
 
 What indeed? 
 
 Jean had trimmed a little tree for the General, 
 and the children carried it up to him carefully and 
 sang a carol — having first arranged on his table, 
 under the lamp, the purple camels, to create an 
 atmosphere. 
 
 " ' We three kings of Orient are, 
 Bearing gifts we traverse far 
 Field and fountain, moor and mountain. 
 Following yonder star — ' " 
 
 " Yonner 'tar," piped Margaret-Mary. 
 
 " Yon-der-er ste-yar," trailed Teddy's falsetto. 
 
 " ' Oh, star of wonder, star of might. 
 Star with royal beauty bright. 
 Westward leading, still proceeding. 
 Guide us to the perfect light — ' " 
 
 Twenty-four hours ago Hilda's book had lain 
 where the purple camels now played their little 
 
 314 
 
JEAN PLAYS PROXY 
 
 part in the great Christmas drama. In the soul of 
 the stricken old man on the bed entered something 
 of the peace of the holy season. 
 
 " Oh, 'tar of wonner — " 
 
 " Ste-yar of wonder-er — " chimed the little 
 voices. 
 
 When the song was finished, Margaret-Mary made 
 a little curtsey and Teddy made a manly bow, and 
 then they took their purple camels and left the 
 tree on the table with its one small candle burning. 
 
 The General laid his left hand over Jean's — his 
 right was useless — and said to Derry : " Your 
 mother's jewels are my Christmas gift to her. No 
 matter what happens, I want her to have them." 
 
 The evening waned, and the General still held 
 Jean's hand. Every bone in her body ached. 
 Never before had she grown weary in the service of 
 others. She told herself as she sat there that she 
 had always been a sort of sugar-and-spice-and- 
 everything-nice sort of person. It was only fair 
 that she should have her share of hardness. 
 
 The nurse begge^ her in a whisper to leave the 
 General. "He won't know." But when Jean 
 moved, that poor left hand tightened on hers and 
 she shook her head. 
 
 Then Derry came and sat with his arm about her. 
 " My darling, you must rest." 
 
 She laid her head against her husband's shoulder, 
 315 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 as he sat beside her. After a while she slept, and 
 the nurse unlocked the clinging old fingers, and 
 Derry carried his little wife to bed. 
 
 And so Christmas passed, and the other days, 
 wonderful days in spite of the shadow which hung 
 over the big house. For youth and love laugh at 
 forebodings and they pushed as far back into their 
 minds as possible, the thought of the thing which 
 had to be faced. 
 
 But at last Derry faced it. " It is my self-re- 
 spect, Jean." 
 
 They were sitting in her room with Muffin, wist- 
 ful and devoted, on the rug at Jean's feet. The 
 old dog, having been banished at first by Bron- 
 son, had viewed his master's wife with distrust. 
 Gradually she had won him over, so that now, when 
 she was not in the room, he hunted up a shoe or a 
 glove, and sat with it until she came back. 
 
 " It is my self-respect, Jean-Joan." 
 
 She admitted that. " But — ? " 
 
 " I can't stay out of the fighting and call myself 
 a man. It has come to that with me." 
 
 She knew that it had come to that. She had 
 thought a great deal about it. She lay awake at 
 night thinking about it. She thought of it as she 
 sat by the General's bed, day after day, holding his 
 hand. 
 
 The doctor's report had been cautious, but it had 
 amounted to this — the General might live to a 
 
 316 
 
JEAN PLAY8 PROXY 
 
 green old age, some men rallied remarkably after 
 such a shock. He rather thought the General might 
 rally, but then again he might not, and anyhow he 
 would be tied for months, perhaps for years, to his 
 chair. 
 
 The old man was giving to his daughter-in-law an 
 affection compounded of that which he had given to 
 his wife and to his son. It was as if in coming up 
 the stairs in her white gown on her weddiag day, 
 Jean had brought a bit of Edith back to him. For 
 deep in his heart he knew that without her, Derry 
 would not have come. 
 
 So he clung pathetically to that little hand, 
 which seemed the only anchor in his sea of loneli- 
 ness. Pathetically his old eyes begged her to stay. 
 " You won't leave me, Jean? " And she would 
 promise, and sit day after day and late into the 
 night, holding his hand. 
 
 And as she sat with him, there grew up gradually 
 within her a conviction which strengthened as the 
 days went by. She could tell the very moment 
 when she had flrst thought of it. She had left the 
 General with Bronson while she went to dress for 
 dinner. Derry was waiting for her, and usually 
 she would have flown to him, glad of the moment 
 when they might be together. But something 
 halted her at the head of the stairs. It was as if a 
 hand had been put in front of her, barring the way. 
 
 The painted lady was looking at her with smiling 
 317 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 eyes, but back of the eyes she seemed to discern a 
 wistful appeal -^" I want you to stay. No matter 
 what happens I beg that you will stay." 
 
 But Jean didn't want to stay. All the youth in 
 her rebelled against the thing that she saw ahead 
 of her. She yearned to be free — to live and love 
 as she pleased, not a prisoner in that shadowed 
 room. 
 
 So she pushed it away from her, and so there came 
 one morning a letter from her father. 
 
 " DrusUla went over on the same boat. It was a 
 surprising thing to find her there. Since I landed, 
 I haven't seen her. But I met Captain Hewes in 
 Paris, and he was looking for her. 
 
 " I had never known how fine she was until those 
 days on the boat. It was wonderful on the nights 
 when everything was darkened and we were feeling 
 our way through the danger zone, to have her sing 
 for us. I believe we should all have gone to the 
 bottom singing with her if a submarine had sunk us. 
 
 " I am finding myself busier than I have ever been 
 before, finding myself, indeed, facing the most stu- 
 pendous thing in the world. It isn't the wounded 
 men or the dead men or the heart-breaking aspect 
 of the refugees that gets me, it is the sight of the 
 devastated country — made barren and blackened 
 into hell not by devils, but by those who have called 
 themselves men. When I think of our own coun- 
 try, ready soon to bud and bloom with the spring, 
 and of this country where spring will come and go, 
 oh, many springs, before there will be bud and 
 bloom, I am overwhelmed by the tragic contrast. 
 
 318 
 
JEAN PLATS PROXY 
 
 How can we laug^ over there when they are crying 
 here? Perhaps more than anything else, the dif- 
 ference in conditions was brought home to me as I 
 motored the other day through a country where 
 there was absolutely no sign of life, not a tree or a 
 bird — except those war birds, the aeroplanes, hov- 
 ering above the horizon. 
 
 " Well, as we stopped our car for some slight re- 
 pairs, there rose up from a deserted trench, a lean 
 cat with a kitten in her mouth. Oh, such a starved 
 old cat, Jean, gray and war-worn. And her kitten 
 was little and blind, and when she had laid it at 
 our feet, she went back and got another. Then she 
 stood over them, mewing, her eyes big and hungry. 
 But sJ;a was not afraid of us, or if she was afraid, 
 she stood her ground, asking help for those help- 
 less babies. 
 
 " Jean, I thought of Polly Ann. Of all the petted 
 Polly Anns in America, aud then of this starved 
 old thing, and they seemed so typical. You are 
 playing the glad game over there, and it is easy to 
 play it with enough to eat and plenty to wear, and 
 away from the horror of it all. But how could that 
 old pussy-cat be glad, how could she be anything 
 but frightened and hungry and begging my help? 
 
 " Well, we took her in. We had some food with 
 us, and we gave her all she could eat, and then she 
 curled up on a pile of bags in the bottom of the car, 
 and lay there with her kittens, as happy as if we 
 were not going lickety-split over the shell-torn 
 spaces. 
 
 " And that your tender heart may be at rest, I 
 may as well tell you that she and the kittens 
 are living in great content in a country house where 
 
 319 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 one of the officers who was in the car with us is in- 
 stalled. We have named her Dolores, but it is 
 ceasing to be appropriate. She is no longer sad, 
 and while she is on somewhat slim fare like the rest 
 of us, she is a great hunter and catches mice in the 
 barn, so that she is growing strong and smooth, and 
 she is not, perhaps, to be pitied as much as Polly 
 Ann on her pink cushion. 
 
 "And here I am writing about cats, while the 
 only thing that is really in my heart is — You. 
 
 " Ever since the moment I left you, I have carried 
 with me the vision of you in your wedding gown — 
 my dear, my dear. Perhaps it is just as well that 
 I left when I did, for I am most inordinately jealous 
 of Derry, not only because he has you, but because 
 he has love and life before him, while I, already, am 
 looking back. 
 
 " My work here is, as you would say, ' wonderful.' 
 How I should like to hear you say it! There are 
 things which in all my years of practice, I have 
 never met before. How could I meet them? It 
 has taken this generation of doctors to wrestle with / 
 the problem of treating men tortured by gas, and 
 with nerves shaken by sights and sounds without 
 parallel in the history of the world. 
 
 " But I am not going to tell you of it. I would 
 rather tell you how much I love you and miss you, 
 and how glad I am that you are not here to see it 
 all. Yet I would have all Americans think of those 
 who are here, and I would have you help until it — 
 hurts. You must know, my Jean, how moved I am 
 by it, when I ask you, whom I have always shielded, 
 to give help until it hurts — 
 
 " I have had a letter from Hilda. She wants to 
 320 
 
JEAN PLAYS PROXY 
 
 come over. I haven't answered tlie letter. But 
 when I do, I shall tell hey that there may be some- 
 thing that she can do, but it will not be with me. 
 I need women who can see the pathos of such things 
 as that starved cat and kittens out there among the 
 shell-holes, and Hilda would never have seen it. 
 She would have left the cat to starve." 
 
 Jean found herself crying over the letter. " I am 
 not helping at all, Derry." 
 
 " My dear, you are." 
 
 " I am not. I am just sitting on a pink cushion, 
 like Polly Ann — " 
 
 It was the first flash he had seen for days of her 
 girlish petulance. He smiled. " That sounds like 
 the Jean of yesterday." 
 
 " Did you like the Jean of yesterday better than 
 the Jean of to-day? " 
 
 " There is only one Jean for me — yesterday, to- 
 day and forever." 
 
 She stood a little away from him. " Derry, I've 
 been thinking and thinking — " 
 
 He put a finger under her chin and turned her 
 face up to him. "What have you been thinking, 
 Jean- Joan? " 
 
 " That you must go — and I will take care of 
 your father." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " Yes. Why not, Derry? " 
 
 " I won't have you sacrificed." 
 321 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " But you want me to be brave." 
 
 " Yes. But not burdened. I won't have it, my 
 dear." 
 
 " But — you promised your mother. I am sure 
 she would be glad to let me keep your promise." 
 
 She was brave now. Braver than he knew. 
 
 " I can't see it," he said, fiercely. " I can see 
 myself leaving you with Emily, in your own house 
 — to live your own life. But not to sit in Dad's 
 room, day after day, sacrificing your youth as I 
 sacrificed my childhood and boyhood — my man- 
 hood — . I am over thirty, Jean, and I have always 
 been treated like a boy. It isn't right, Jean; our 
 lives are our own, not his." 
 
 " It is right. Nobody's life seems to be his own 
 in these days. And you must go — and I can't 
 leave him. He is so old, and helpless, Derry, like 
 the poor pussy-cat over there in France. His eyes 
 are like that — hungry, and they beg — . And oh, 
 Derry, I mustn't be like Polly Ann, on a pink 
 cushion — ." 
 
 She tried to laugh and broke down. He caught 
 her up in his arms. Light as thistledown, young 
 and lovely ! 
 
 She sobbed on his heart, but she held to her 
 high resolve. He must go — and she would stay. 
 And at last he gave in. 
 
 He had loved her dearly, but he had not looked 
 for this, that she would give herself to hardness for 
 
 322 
 
JEAT>f PLAYS PROXY 
 
 the sake of another. For the first time he saw in 
 his little wife something of the heroic quality which 
 had seemed to set his mother apart and above, as it 
 were, all other women. 
 
 323 
 
BOOK THEEE 
 
 The Bugle Calls 
 
 The wooden tnuupeters that were carved on the door blew 
 ■with all their might, so that their cheeks were much larger 
 than before. les, they blew " Trutter-a-trutt — trutter-a- 
 trutt— " ... 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Jean's world was no longer wonderful — not in 
 the sense that it had once been,, with all the glamour 
 of girlish dreams and of youthful visions. 
 
 She had never thought of life as a thing like this 
 in the days when she had danced down to the con- 
 fectioner's, intent on good times. 
 
 But now, with her father away, with Derry away, 
 with the city frozen and white, and with not 
 enough coal to go around, with many of the rooms 
 in the house shut that fuel might be conserved, with 
 Margaret and the children and Nurse installed as 
 guests at the General's until the weather grew 
 warmer, with Emily transforming her Toy Shop 
 into a surgical dressings station, and with her 
 father-in-law turning over to her incredible aiaounts 
 of money for the Red Cross and Liberty Bonds and 
 War Stamps, life began to take on new aspects of 
 responsibility and seriousness. 
 
 She could never have kept her balance in the 
 midst of it all, if Derry had not written every day. 
 Her father wrote every day, also, but there were 
 long intervals between his letters, and then they 
 were apt to arrive all at once, a great packet of 
 them, to be read and re-read and passed around. 
 
 327 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 But Berry's letters, brought to her room every 
 morning by Bronson, contained the elixir which 
 sent her to her day's work with shining eyes and 
 flushed cheeks. Sometimes she read bits of them to 
 Bronson. Sometimes, indeed, there were only a 
 few lines for herself, for Derry was being inten- 
 sively trained in a Southern camp, working like an 
 ant, with innumerable other ants, all in olive-drab, 
 with different colored cords around their hats. 
 
 Sometimes she read bits of the letters to Margaret 
 at breakfast, and after breakfast she would go up 
 to the General and read everything to him except 
 the precious words which Derry had meant for her 
 very own self. / 
 
 And then she and the General would tell each 
 other how really extraordinary Derry was ! 
 
 It was a never-failing subject, of intense interest 
 to both of them. For there was always this to re- 
 member, that if the world was no longer a radiant 
 and shining world, if the day's task was hard, and 
 if now and then in the middle of the night she wept 
 tears of loneliness, if there were heavy things to 
 bear, and hard things and sad things, one fact 
 shone brilliantly above all others, Derry was as 
 wonderful as ever ! 
 
 " There was never such a boy," the General would 
 chant in his deep bass. 
 
 "Never," Jean would pipe in her clear treble. 
 
 And when they had chorused thus for a while, the 
 828 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 General would dictate a letter to Derry, for Ms 
 band was shaky, and Jean would write it out for 
 liim, and theji she would write a letter of her own, 
 and after that the day was blank, and the night 
 unti^ the next morning when another letter came. 
 So she lived from letter to letter. 
 
 " You have never seen Washington like this," she 
 wrote one day in February, " we keep only a little 
 fire in the furnace, and I am wearing flannels for 
 the first time in my life. We dine in sweaters, and 
 the children are round and rosy in the cold. And 
 the food steams in the icy air of the dining room, 
 and you can't imagine how different it all is — 
 with the servants bundled up like the rest of us. 
 We keep your father warm by burning wood in the 
 fireplace of his room, and we have given half the 
 coal in the cellar to people who haven't any." 
 
 " I am helping Cook with the conservation menus, 
 and it is funny to see how topsy-turvy everything 
 is. It is perfectly patriotic to eat mushrooms and 
 lobsters and squabs and ducklings, and it is un- 
 patriotic to serve sausages and wheat cakes. And 
 Cook can't get adjusted to it. She will insist upon 
 bacon for breakfast, because well-regulated families 
 since the Flood have eaten bacon — and she feels 
 that in some way we are sacrificing self-respect or 
 our social status when we refrain. 
 
 " Your father is such an old dear, Derry. He has 
 war bread and milk for lunch, and I carry it to 
 him myself in the pretty old porcelain bowl that he 
 likes so much. 
 
 " It was one day when I brought the milk that he 
 spoke of Hilda. ' Where is she? ' 
 
 329 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " I told him that she was still in town, and that 
 you had given her a cheek which would carry her 
 over a year or two, and he said that he was glad — 
 that he should not like to see her suffer. The porce- 
 lain bowl had reminded him of her. She had asked 
 hiin once what it cost, and after she had found out, 
 she had never used it. She evidently stood quite 
 in awe of anything so expensive. 
 
 " Your mother and I are getting to be very good 
 friends, dearest. When I am dreadfully homesick 
 for you, I go and sit on the stairs, and she smiles at 
 me. It is terribly cold in the hall, and I wrap my- 
 self up in your fur coat, and it is almost like having 
 your arms around me." 
 
 She was surely making the best of things, this 
 little Jean, when she found comfort in being moth- 
 ered by a painted lady on the stairs, and in being 
 embraced by a fur coat which had once been worn 
 by her husband ! 
 
 She kept Derry's tin soldier, which Drusilla had 
 given him, on her desk. " You shall have him when 
 you go to France, but until then he is a good little 
 comrade, and I say ' Good-morning ' to him and 
 * Good-night.' Yet I sometimes wonder whether he 
 likes it there on the shelf, and whether he is crying, 
 ' I want to go to the wars — ' " 
 
 She was very busy every morning in Emily's 
 room, working on the surgical dressings. She 
 hated it all. She hated the oakum and the gauze, 
 the cotton and the compresses, the pneumonia 
 
 330 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 jackets and the split-irrigation pads, the wipes,, the 
 triangulars, the many-tailed and the scultetus. 
 Other women might speak lightly of five-yard rolls 
 as dressing for stumps, of paper-backs " used in 
 the treatment of large suppurating wounds." Jean 
 shivered and turned white at these things. Her 
 vivid imagination went beyond the little work-room 
 with its white-veiled women to those hospitals back 
 of the battle line where mutilated men lay waiting 
 for the compresses and the wipes and the bandages, 
 men in awful agony — . 
 
 But the lesson she was learning was that of 
 harnessing her emotions to the day's work; and if 
 her world was no longer wonderful in a care-free 
 sense, it was a rather splendid world of unselfish- 
 ness and self-sacrifice, although she was not con- 
 scious of this, but felt it vaguely. 
 
 She wore now, most of the time, her nun's frock 
 of gray, which had seemed to foreshadow some- 
 thing of her future on that glorified day when 
 Derry had first come to her. She had laid away 
 many of her lovely things, and one morning Teddy 
 remarked on the change, 
 
 " You don't dwess up any more." 
 
 Nurse stood back of his chair. " Dress — " 
 
 " Dur-wess." 
 
 " Don't you like this dress, Teddy? " 
 
 " I liked the boo one." 
 
 "Blue—" 
 
 331 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "Ble-yew, an' the pink one, and all the shiny 
 ones you used to wear at night." 
 
 " Blue dresses and pink dresses and shiny dresses 
 cost a lot of money, Teddy, and I shouldn't have 
 any money left for Thrift Stamps." 
 
 Thrift stamps were a language understood by 
 Teddy, as he would not have understood the larger 
 transactions of Liberty Bonds. He and the General 
 held long conversations as to the best means of ob- 
 taining a large supply of stamps, and the General 
 , having listened to Margaret who wanted the boy to 
 work for his offering, suggested an entrancing plan. 
 Teddy was to feed the fishes in the dining-room 
 aquarium, he was to feed MufBn, and he was to feed 
 Polly Ann. 
 
 It sounded simple, but there were difficulties. 
 In the first place he had to face Cook, and Cook 
 hated to have children in the kitchen. 
 
 " But you'd have to face more than that if you 
 were grown up and in the trenches. And Hodgson 
 is really very kind." 
 
 " Well, she doesn't look kind, Mother." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Well, she doesn't smile, and her face is wed." 
 
 " Bed, dear." 
 
 "Ur-ed — . And when I ask her for milk for 
 Polly, she says * Milk for cats,' and when she gets it 
 out, she slams the 'frigerator door." 
 
 " Eefrigerator, dear." 
 
 332 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 " Kif-iggerator." 
 
 But in the main Teddy went to his task val- 
 iantly. He conserved bones for Muffin and left-over 
 corn-meal cakes. Polly Ann dined rather monot- 
 onously on fish boUed with war-bread crusts, on the 
 back of Cook's big range. Hodgson was conscien- 
 tious and salted it and cooled it, and kept it in a 
 little covered granite pail, and it was from this pail 
 that Teddy ladled stew into Polly Ann's blue saucer. 
 " Mother says it is very good of you, Hodgson, to 
 take so much trouble." 
 
 Hodgson, whose face was redder than ever, as she 
 broiled mushrooms for lunch, grunted, " I'd rather 
 do it than have other people messin' around." 
 
 Teddy surveyed her anxiously. " You don't mind 
 having me here, do you, Hodgson? " 
 
 His cheeks were rosy, his bronze hair bright, his 
 sturdy legs planted a trifle apart, Polly's dish in one 
 hand, the big spoon in the other. "No, I don't 
 mind," she admitted, but it was some time before 
 she acknowledged even to herself how glad she was 
 when that bright figure appeared. 
 
 Feeding the fishes presented few problems, and 
 gradually thrift stamps filled the little book, and 
 there was a war stamp, and more thrift stamps and 
 more war stamps, and Muffin and Polly Ann waxed 
 fat and friendly, and were a very lion and lamb for 
 lying down together. 
 
 Then there came a day when Teddy, feeding the 
 333 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 flslies in the aquarium, heard somebody say that 
 Hodgson's son was in the war. 
 
 He went at once to the kitchen. "Why didn't 
 you tell me? " he asked the cook, standing in front 
 of her where she sat cutting chives and peppers and 
 celery on a little board for salad. 
 
 " Tell you what? " 
 
 " That your boy was in Fwance." 
 
 Hodgson's red face grew redder, and to Teddy's 
 consternation, a tear ran down her cheek. 
 
 He stood staring at her, then flew upstairs to his 
 mother. " Cook's cryin'." 
 
 "Teddy—" 
 
 " She is. Because her son is in Fwance." 
 
 After that when he went down to get things for 
 Muffin and Polly Ann, he said how s'prised he was 
 and how nice it was now that he knew, and wasn't 
 she pr-roud? And he fancied that Hodgson was 
 kinder and softer. She told him the name of her 
 son. It was Charley, and she and Teddy talked a 
 great deal about Charley, and Teddy sent him some 
 chocolate, and Hodgson told Margaret. "He's a 
 lovely boy, Mrs. Morgan. May you never raise him 
 to fight." 
 
 " I should want him to be as brave as his father, 
 Hodgson." 
 
 " Yes. My boy's brave, but it was hard to let 
 him go." Then, struck by the look on Margaret's 
 face, she said, " Forgive me, ma'am ; if mine is taken 
 
 334 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 from me, I'd like to feel as you do. You ain't 
 makin' other people unhappy over it." 
 
 " I think it is because my husband still lives for 
 me, Hodgson." 
 
 Hodgson cried into her apron. " It ain't all of 
 us that has your faith. But if I loses him, I'll do 
 my best." 
 
 And so the painted lady on the stairs saw all the 
 sinister things that Hilda had brought into the big 
 house swept out of it. She saw Hodgson the cook 
 trying to be brave, and bringing up Margaret's tea 
 in the afternoons for the sake of the moment when 
 she might speak of her boy to one who would under- 
 stand ; she saw Emily, coming home dead tired 
 after a hard day's work, but with her face illumined. 
 She saw Margaret smiling, with tears in her heart, 
 she saw Jean putting aside childish things to be- 
 come one of the women that the world needed. 
 
 Brave women all of them, women with a vision, 
 women raised to heroic heights by the need of the 
 hour! 
 
 The men, too, were heroic. Indeed, the General, 
 trying to control his appetite, was almost pathetic- 
 ally heroic. He had given up sugar, although he 
 hated his coffee without it, and he had a little boy's 
 appetite for pies and cakes. 
 
 " When the war is over," he told Teddy, " we will 
 order a cake that's as high as a house, and we will 
 eat it together." 
 
 335 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Teddy giggled. " With f rostin' ? " 
 
 " Yes. I remember -v^hen Derry was a lad that 
 we used to tell him the story of the people who 
 bated a cake so big that they had to climb ladders 
 to reach the top. Well, that's the kind of cake 
 we'll have." 
 
 Yet while he made a joke of it, he confessed to 
 Jean. " It is harder than fighting battles. I'd 
 rather face a gun than deny myself the things that 
 I like to eat and drink." 
 
 Bronson was contributing to the Eed Cross and 
 buying Liberty Bonds, and that was brave of Bron- 
 son. For Bronson was close, and the hardest thing 
 that he had to do was to part with his money, or to 
 take less interest than his rather canny investments 
 had made possible. 
 
 And Teddy, the man of his family, came one morn- 
 ing to his mother. " I've just got to do it," he said 
 in a rather shaky voice. 
 
 " Do what, dear? " 
 
 " Send my books to the soldiers." 
 
 She let him do it, although she knew how it tore 
 his heart. You see, there were the Jungle Books, 
 which he knew the soldiers would like, and " Treas- 
 ure Island," and " The Swiss Family Robinson," 
 and "Huckleberry Finn." He brought his fairy 
 books, too, and laid them on the altar of patriotism, 
 and "Toby Tyler," which had been his father's, 
 and " Under the Lilacs," which he adored because 
 
 336 
 
TEE EMPTY E0U8E 
 
 of little brown-faced Ben and his dog, Sancho. 
 
 He was rapturously content when his mother de- 
 cided that the fairy books and Toby and brown- 
 faced Ben might still be his companions. "You 
 see the soldiers are men, dear, and they probably 
 read these when they were little boys." 
 
 " But won't I wead them when I grow up, 
 Mother? " 
 
 " You may want to read older books." 
 
 But Teddy was secretly resolved that age should 
 not wither nor custom stale the charms of the be- 
 loved volumes. And that he should love them to 
 the end. His mother thought that he might grow 
 tired of them some day and told him so. 
 
 "I can wead them to my little boys," he said, 
 hopefully, " and to their little boys after that," and 
 having thus established a long line of prospective 
 worshippers of his own special gods, he turned to 
 other things. 
 
 General Drake, growing gradually better, went 
 now and then in his warm closed car for a ride 
 through the Park. Usually Jean was with him, or 
 Bronson, and now and then Nurse with the children. 
 
 It was one morning when the children were with 
 him that he said to Nurse : " Take them into the 
 Lion House for a half hour. I'll drive around and 
 come back for you." 
 
 Nurse demurred. " You are sure that you won't 
 mind being left, sir? " 
 
 337 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " Why not? " sharply. " I am perfectly able to 
 take care of myself." 
 
 He watched them go in, then he gave orders to 
 drive at once to the Connecticut Avenue entrance. 
 
 A woman stood by the gate, a tall woman in a 
 long blue cloak and a close blue bonnet. In the 
 clear cold, her coloring showed vivid pink and 
 white. The General spoke through the tube; the 
 chauffeur descended and opened the door. 
 
 " If you will get in," the General said to the 
 woman, " you can tell me what you have to say — " 
 
 " Perhaps I should not have asked it," Hilda 
 said, hesitating, "but I had seen you riding in the 
 Park, and I thought of this way — I couldn't, of 
 course, come to the house." 
 
 " No." He had sunk down among his robes. 
 " No." 
 
 " I felt that perhaps you had been led to — mis- 
 understand." She came directly to the point. " I 
 wanted to know — what I had done — what had 
 made the difference. I couldn't believe that you 
 had not meant what you said." 
 
 He stirred uneasily. " I have been very ill — " 
 
 H^r long white hands were ungloved, the dia- 
 monds that he had given her sparkled as she drew 
 the ring off slowly. " I felt that I ought to give you 
 this — if it was all really over." 
 
 " It is all over. But keep it — please." 
 
 " I should like to keep it," she admitted frankly, 
 338 
 
TEE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 " because, you see, I've never had a ring like this." 
 
 It was the Cophetua and Beggar Maid motif but 
 it left him cold. " Hilda," he said, " I saw you that 
 night trying on my wife's jewels. That was my 
 reason." 
 
 She was plainly disconcerted. " But that was 
 child's play. I had never had anything — it was 
 like a child — dressing up." 
 
 " It was not like that to me. I think I had been 
 a rather fatuous fool — thinking that there might 
 be in me something that you might care for. But I 
 knew then that without my money — you wouldn't 
 care — " 
 
 " People's motives are always mixed," she told 
 him. " You know that." 
 
 " Yes, I know." 
 
 "You liked me because I was young and made 
 you feel young. I liked you because you could give 
 me things." 
 
 " Yes. But now the glamour is gone. You make 
 me feel a thousand years old, Hilda." 
 
 " Why? " in great surprise. 
 
 " Because I know that if I had no wealth to offer 
 you, you would see me for what I am, an aged 
 broken creature for whom you have no traider- 
 ness — " 
 
 It was time for him to be getting back to the 
 Lion House. They stopped again at the gate. " If 
 you will keep the ring," he said, " I shall be glad to 
 
 339 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 think that you have it. Jean says Derry gave you 
 a check. If it is not enough to buy pink parasols, 
 will you let me give you another? " He was speak- 
 ing with the ease of his accustomed manner. 
 
 " No ; I am not an — adventuress, though you 
 seem to think that I am, and to condemn me for it." 
 
 "I condemn you only for one thing — for that 
 flat bottle behind the books." 
 
 " But you wanted it." 
 
 " For that reason you should have kept it away. 
 You should have obeyed orders." 
 
 " You asked me to doff my cap, so I — doffed my 
 discipline." She was standing on the ground, hold- 
 ing the door open as she talked ; again he was aware 
 of the charm of her pink and white. 
 
 " Good-bye, Hilda." He reached out his hand to 
 her. 
 
 She took it. " I am going to France." 
 
 " When? " 
 
 " As soon as I can." She stepped back and the 
 door was shut between them. As the car turned, 
 Hilda waved her hand, and the General had a sense 
 of sudden keen regret as the tall cloaked figure with 
 its look of youth and resoluteness faded into the 
 distance. 
 
 When he reached the Lion House the children 
 were waiting. " Did you hear him roar? " Teddy 
 asked as he climbed in. 
 
 " No." 
 
 340 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 " Well, he did, and we came out 'cause it fwight- 
 ened Peggy." 
 
 " Frightened — " from Nurse. 
 
 " Fr-ightened. But I liked the leopards best." 
 
 " Why? " \ 
 
 " Because they're pre-itty." 
 
 " You can't always trust — pretty things." 
 
 " Can't you tre-ust — leopards — General 
 Drake?" 
 
 The General was not sure, and presently he fell 
 into silence. His mind was on a pretty woman 
 whom he could not trust. 
 
 That night he said to Jean, " Hilda is going to 
 France." 
 
 " Oh — how do you know? " 
 
 " I met her in the Park." 
 
 He was sitting, very tired, in his big chair. 
 Jean's little hand was in his. 
 
 " Poor Hilda," he said at last, looking into the 
 fire, as if he saw there the vision of his lost dreams. 
 
 " Oh, no — " Jean protested. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, there is so much that is good in 
 the worst of us, and so much that is bad in the 
 best — and perhaps she struggles with temptations 
 which never assail you." 
 
 Jean's lips were set in an obstinate line. 
 " Daddy was always saying things lite that about 
 Hilda." 
 
 "Well, we men are apt to be charitable — to 
 341 
 
THE TIN. SOLDIER 
 
 beauty in distress." The General was keenly and 
 humorously aware that if Hilda had been ^ugly, he 
 might not have been so anxious about the pink par- 
 asol. He might not, indeed, have pitied her at all ! 
 
 And now in Jean's heart grew up a sharply de- 
 fined fear of Hilda. In the old days there had been 
 cordial dislike, jealousy, perhaps, but never any- 
 thing like this. The question persisted in the back 
 of her mind. If Hilda went to France, would she 
 see Daddy and weave her wicked spells. To find 
 the General melting into pity, in spite of the chaos 
 which Hilda's treachery had created, was to won- 
 der if Daddy, too, might melt. 
 
 She wrote to Derry about it. 
 
 " I would try and see her if I knew what to say, 
 but when I even think of it I am scared. I never 
 liked her, and I feel now as if I should be glad 
 to pin together the pages of my memory of her, 
 as I pinned together the pages of one of my story 
 books when I was a little girl. There was a shark 
 under water in the picture and two men were trying 
 to get away from him. I hated that picture and 
 shivered every time I looked at it, so I stuck in a 
 pin and shut out the sight of it. 
 
 " Your father has had two letters from her since 
 the day when he saw her in the Park. Bronson al- 
 ways brings the mail to me, and you know what a 
 distinctive hand Hilda writes, there is no mistak- 
 ing it. Your father dropped the letters into the 
 fire, but she ought not to write to him, Derry, and 
 I should like to tell her so. 
 
 342 
 
THE EMPTY E0U8E 
 
 " But if I told her, she would laugh at me, and 
 that would be the end of it. For you can't rage and 
 tear and rant at a thing that is as cold as stone. 
 Oh, my dearest, I need you so much to tell me what 
 to do, and yet I would not have you here — 
 
 " I met Alma Drew the other day, and she said, 
 as lightly as you please, ' Do you know, I can't 
 quite fancy Derry Drake in the trenches.' 
 
 " I looked at her for a minute before I could an- 
 swer, and then I said, ' I can fancy him with his 
 back to the wall, fighting a thousand Huns — ! ' 
 
 " She shrugged her shoulders, ' You're terribly in 
 love.' 
 
 " ' I am,' I said, and I hope I said it calmly, ' but 
 there's more than love in a woman's belief in her 
 husband's bravery — there's respect. And it's some- 
 thing rather — sacred, Alma.' And then I choked 
 up and couldn't say another word, and she looked 
 at me in a rather stunned fashion for a moment, 
 and then she said, ' Gracious Peter, do you love him 
 like that? ' and I said, ' I do,' and she laughed in a 
 funny little way, and said, ' I thought it was his 
 millions.' 
 
 " I was perfectly furious. But you can't argue 
 with such people. I know I was as white as a 
 sheet. ' If anything should happen to Derry,' I 
 said, ' do you think that all the money in the world 
 would comfort me? ' 
 
 " She stopped smiling. ' It would comfort me,' 
 then suddenly she held out her hand> ' But I 
 fancy you're different, and Derry is a lucky fellow.' 
 which was rather nice and human of her, wasn't 
 it? 
 
 "Life is growing more complicated than ever 
 343 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 here in Washington. The crowds pour in as if the 
 Administration were a sort of Pied Piper and had 
 played a tune, and the people who have lived here 
 all their lives are waking to something like activity. 
 Great buildings are going up as if some Aladdin had 
 rubbed a lamp — . None of us are doing the things 
 we used to do. We don't even talk about the 
 things we used to talk about, and we go around in 
 blue gingham and caps, and white linen and veils, 
 and we hand out sandwiches to the soldiers and 
 sailors, and drive perfectly strange men in our cars 
 on Government errands, and make Liberty Bond 
 speeches from many platforms, and all the old theo- 
 ries of what women should do are forgotten in the 
 rush of the things which must be done by women. 
 It is as if we had all been bewitched and turned into 
 somebody else. 
 
 " Well, I wish that Hilda could be turned into 
 somebody else. Into somebody as nice as — 
 Emily — . But she won't be. She hasn't been 
 changed the least bit by the war, and everybody 
 else has, even Alma, or she wouldn't have said that 
 about your being lucky to have me. Are you lucky, 
 Derry? 
 
 "And when Hilda sets her mind on a thing — . 
 Oh, I can't seem to talk of anything but Hilda — 
 when she sets her mind on anything, she gets it in 
 one way or another — and that's why I am afraid 
 of her." 
 
 Derry wrote back. 
 
 "Don't be afraid of anything, Jean- Joan. And 
 it won't do any good to talk to Hilda. I don't 
 want you to talk to her. You are too much of a 
 
 344 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 white angel to contend against the powers of dark- 
 ness. 
 
 " As for my luck in having you, it is something 
 which transcends luck — it just hits the stars, dear- 
 est. 
 
 " I wonder what the fellows do who haven't any 
 wives to anchor themselves to in a time like this? 
 Through all the day I have this hour in mind when 
 I can write to you — and I think there are lots of 
 other fellows like that — for I can see them all 
 about me here in the Hut, bending over their letters 
 with a look on their faces which isn't there at any 
 other time. 
 
 " By Jove, Jean-Joan, I never knew before what 
 women meant in the lives of men. Here we are 
 marooned, as it were, on an island of masculinity, 
 yet it isn't what the other fellows think of us that 
 counts, it is what you think who are mUes away. 
 Always in the back of our minds is the thought of 
 what you expect of us and demand of us, and added 
 to what we demand and expect of ourselves, it sways 
 us level. We don't talk a great deal about you, but 
 now and then some fellow says, ' My wife,' and we 
 all prick up our ears and want to hear the rest of it. 
 
 " It is a gi-eat life, dearest, in spite of the hard 
 work, in spite of the stress and strain. And to me 
 who have known so little of the great human game 
 it is a great revelation. 
 
 " In the first place, there has been brought to me 
 the knowledge of the joy of real labor. I shall 
 never again be sorry for the man who toUs. You 
 see, I had never toiled, not in the sense that a man 
 does whose labor counts. I was always a rather 
 anxious and lonely little boy, looking after my 
 
 345 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 father and trying to help my mother, and feeling a 
 bit of a mollycoddle because I had a tutor and did 
 not go to school with the other chaps. In the eyes 
 of the world I was looked upon as a lucky fellow, 
 but I know now what I have missed. In these days 
 I am rubbing elbows with fellows who have had to 
 hustle, and I am discovering that life is a great 
 game, and that I have missed the game. If Dad 
 had been different, he might have pushed me into 
 things, as some men with money push their sons, 
 making them stand on their own feet. But Dad liked 
 an easy life, and he was perhaps entitled to ease, 
 for he had struggled in his younger years. But I 
 have never struggled. I have always had somebody 
 to brush my clothes and to bring my breakfast, and 
 I think I have had a sort of hazy idea that life was 
 like that for everybody — or if it wasn't, then the 
 people who couldn't be brushed and breakfasted by 
 others were much to be pitied. 
 
 " Oh, I've been a Tin Soldier, Jean-Joan, left out 
 not only of the war but of life. I've been on the 
 shelf all these years in our big house, with the 
 wooden trumpets blowing, ' Trutter-a-trutt ' while 
 other men have striven. 
 
 " When I first came here I had a sort of detached 
 feeling. I had no experiences to match with the 
 experiences of other men. I had never had to rush 
 in the morning to catch a subway, I had never eaten, 
 to put it poetically, by candlelight, so that I might 
 get to the store by eight. I had never sold papers, 
 or plowed fields, or stood behind a counter. I had 
 never sat at a desk, I had never in fact donp any- 
 thing really useful, I had just been rich, and that 
 isn't much of a background as I am beginning to 
 see it here — . 
 
 346 
 
TEE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 " I find myself having a rather strange feeling of 
 exaltation as the days go by, because for the first 
 time I am a cog in a great machine, for the first 
 time I am toiling and sweating as I rather think it 
 was intended that men should toil and sweat. And 
 the friends that I am making are the sign and seal 
 of the levelling effects of this great war. Not one of 
 the men of what you might call my own class in- 
 terests me half as much as Tommy Tracy, who be- 
 fore he entered the service drove the car of one of 
 Dad's business associates. I have often ridden be- 
 hind Tommy, but he doesn't know it. And I don't 
 intend that he shall. He rather fancies that I am 
 a scholarly chap torn from my books, and he patron- 
 izes me on the strength of his knowledge of prac- 
 tical things. 
 
 " Tommy likes to eat, and he talks a great deal 
 about his mother's cooking. He says there was al- 
 ways tripe for Sunday mornings, and corned beef 
 and cabbage on Mondays, and, Monday was wash- 
 da:y! 
 
 " I wish you could hear him tell what wash-day 
 meant to him. It is a sort of poem, the way he puts 
 it. He doesn't know that it is poetry, though 
 Vachell Lindsay would, or Masters, or some of those 
 fellows. 
 
 • " It seems that he used to help his mother, be- 
 cause he was a strong little fellow, and could turn 
 the wringer, and they would get up very early be- 
 cause he had to go to school, and in the spring and 
 summer they washed out of doors, under a tree in 
 the yard, and his mother's eyes were bright and her 
 cheeks were red and her arms were white, and she 
 was always laughing. There's a memory for a man 
 on the battlefield, dearest, a healthy, hearty memory 
 
 347 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 of the day's work of a boy, and of a bright-eyed 
 mother, and of a good dinner at the end of hours of 
 toil. 
 
 " Perhaps with such a mother it isn't surprising 
 that Tommy has made so much of himself. He has 
 aspirations far beyond driving some other man's 
 car, and if he keeps on he'll have a little flivver of 
 his own before he knows it — when the war ends, 
 and he can strike out, with his energy at the boil- 
 ing point. 
 
 " There are a lot of men who have belonged not 
 to the idle rich, but to the idle poor, and the disci- 
 pline of this life is just the thing for them as it is for 
 me. It rather contradicts the kindergarten idea of 
 play as a preparation for life. These busy men, 
 forced to be busy, are a thousand times more self- 
 respecting than if left to lead the listless lives that 
 were theirs before their country called them. I 
 wonder if, after all, Kipling isn't right, and that 
 the hump and hoof and haunch of it all isn't obe- 
 dience? Not slavish obedience, but obedience 
 founded on a knowledge of one's place and value in 
 the pack? " 
 
 Jean, striving to follow Derry's point of view, 
 found herself floundering. 
 
 " I am glad you like it, but I don't see how you 
 can. And you mustn't say that you've always been 
 a Tin Soldier on a shelf. I won't have it. And 
 you have played the game of life just as bravely as 
 Tommy Tracy, only your problems were different — . 
 And if you can't remember wash days you can re- 
 member other days — . But I like to have you tell 
 me about it, because I can see you, listening to 
 
 348 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Tommy and laughing at him. I adore your laugh, 
 Derry, though I shouldn't be telling you, should 
 I — ? I have pasted the picture you sent me of 
 you and Tommy in my memory book and have writ- 
 ten under it, ' When you and I were young, Tommy ' 
 and I've drawn a cloud of steam above Tommy, 
 with washboilers — and tubs — and cabbages and 
 soap suds, and his mother's face smiling in the 
 midst of it all — . And in your cloud is your 
 mother smiling, too, with her little crown on her 
 head, and gold spoons for a border — and a frosted 
 cake with candles — and a mountain of ice-cream. 
 Perhaps you have other memories, but I had to do 
 the best I could with my poor little rich boy — " 
 
 It was about this time that Jean's memory book' 
 became chaotic. Most of the things in it had to do 
 with Derry, a bit of pine from a young plume which 
 Derry had sent her from the south — triangles cut 
 from the letter paper on which he sometimes wrote 
 — post-cards to say " Good-morning," telegrams to 
 say " Good-night " — a service pin with its one 
 sacred star. 
 
 There were reminders, too, of the things which 
 were happening across the sea, a cartoon or two, a 
 small reproduction of a terrible Eaemaeker print; 
 verse, much of it — 
 
 ' They have taken your bells, O God, 
 The bell8 that hung In your towers, 
 That cried your grace In a lovely song. 
 And counted the praying hours ! 
 349 
 
THE TW SOLDIER 
 
 The little birds flew away ! 
 
 They will tell the clouds and the wind, 
 
 Till the uttermost places know 
 
 The sin that the Hun has sinned ! 
 
 Jean thought a great deal about the Huns. She 
 always called them that. She hated to think about 
 them, but she had to. She couldn't pin the pages 
 together, as it were, of her thoughts. And the 
 Huns were worse than the sharks that had fright- 
 ened her in her little girl days. Oh, they were 
 much worse than sharks, for the shark was only 
 following an instinct when it killed, and the Huns 
 had worked out diabolically their murderous, mon- 
 strous plan. 
 
 In the days when »he had argued with Hilda, she 
 had been told of the power and perfection of Prus- 
 sian rule. " Everything is at loose ends in Amer- 
 ica," had been Hilda's accusation. 
 
 " Well, what if it is? " Jean had flung back at her 
 hotly. " Having things in place isn't the end and 
 aim of happiness. Just because a house is swept 
 and garnished isn't any sign that it is a blissful 
 habitation. When I was a child I used to visit my 
 two great-aunts in Maryland. I loved to go to 
 Aunt Mary's, but I dreaded Aunt Anne's. And 
 the reason was this. Everything in Aunt Anne's 
 house went by clock-work, and everything was pol- 
 ished and scrubbed and dusted within an inch of its 
 
 350 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 life. When we arrived, we scraped our shoes before 
 we kissed Aunt Anne, and when we departed, we 
 felt that she literally swept us out — . We had 
 hours for everything, and nobody thought of doing 
 as she pleased. It was always as Aunt Anne 
 pleased, and the meals were always on time, and 
 nobody was ever expected to be late, and if she was 
 late she was scolded or punished ; and nobody evei' 
 dared throw a newspaper on the floor, or go out to 
 the kitchen and make fudge, or pop corn by the 
 sitting-room fire. Yet Aunt Anne was so efficient 
 that her house-keeping was the admiration of the 
 whole State. 
 
 " But we loved Aunt Mary's. She would come 
 smUing down the stone walk to meet us, and she 
 would leave the morning's work undone to wander 
 with us in the fields or woods. And we had some of 
 our meals under the trees, and some of them in the 
 house, and when we made taffy, and it stuck to 
 things, Aunt Mary smiled some more and said it 
 didn't matter. And we loved the freedom of our 
 life, and we went to Aunt Mary's as often as we 
 could, and stayed away when we could from Aunt 
 Anne's. 
 
 "And that's the way with America. It isn't 
 perfect, it isn't efficient, but it is a lovely place to 
 live in, because in a sense we can live as we please. 
 
 " Did you ever know a man who wamted to go 
 back to slavery? As a slave he was fed and clothed 
 
 351 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 and kept by his master, with no thought of respon- 
 sibility — . Yet it was freedom he wanted, even 
 though he had to go hungry now and then for the 
 sake of it — " 
 
 " I like law and order," Hilda said. " We don't 
 always have it here." 
 
 "I'd rather be a gipsy on the road," had been 
 Jean's passionate declaration, "and free, than a 
 princess with a ' verboten ' sign at all the palace 
 gates." 
 
 There were wisps of gauze, too, in her memory 
 book, a red cross, drawings in which were carica- 
 tured some of the women who worked in the surgi- 
 cal dressing rooms. 
 
 "Emily," Jean asked, as she showed one of the 
 pictures to her friend, " do such women come be- 
 cause it's fashion or because they really feel — ? " 
 
 " I fancy their motives are mixed," said Emily, 
 " and you mustn't think because they wear high 
 heels and fluff their hair out over their ears that 
 they haven't any hearts." 
 
 " No, I suppose not," Jean admitted, " but I won- 
 der what they think the veils are for when they 
 fluff out their hair. 
 
 " And their rings," she went on. " You see, when 
 they all have on white aprons and veils you can't 
 tell whether they are Judy O' Grady or the Colonel's 
 lady — so they load their hands with diamonds. 
 
 352 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 As if the hands wouldn't tell the tale themselves. 
 Why, Emily, if you and Hilda were hidden all but 
 your hands, the people would know the Colonel's 
 lady from Judy O'Grady." 
 
 Emily smiled abstractedly, she was counting 
 compresses. She stopped long enough to ask, " Is 
 Hilda still in town? " 
 
 " Yes. I saw her yesterday on the other side of 
 the street. I didn't speak, but some day when I 
 get a good opportunity I am going to tell her what 
 I think of her." 
 
 But when the opportunity came she did not say 
 all that she had meant to say! 
 
 She went over one morning to her father's house 
 to 'get some papers which he had left in his desk. 
 The house had been closed for weeks and the hall, 
 as she entered it, was cold with a chill that reached 
 the marrow of her bones — it was dim with the 
 half-gloom of drawn curtains and closed doors. 
 Even the rose-colored drawing-room as she stood 
 on the threshold held no radiance — it had the 
 stiff and frozen look of a soulless body. Yet she 
 remembered how it had throbbed and thrilled on the 
 night that Derry had come to her. The golden air 
 had washed in waves over her. 
 
 She shivered and went over to the window. She 
 pulled up a curtain and looked out upon the gray- 
 ness of the street. The clouds were low, and a 
 strong wind was blowing. Those who passed, bent 
 
 353 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 to the wind. She was slightly above the level of 
 the street, and nobody looked up at her. She might 
 have been a ghost in the ghostly house. ' 
 
 Well, she had to get the papers. She turned to 
 face the gloom, and as she turned she heard a 
 sound in the room above her. 
 
 It was the rather startling sound of muffled steps. 
 She dared not go into the hall. She felt compara- 
 tively safe by the window — . If — anything came, 
 she could open the window and call. 
 
 But she did not call, for it was Hilda who came 
 presently on rubber-heels and stood in the door. 
 
 " I thought I heard some one," she said, calmly. 
 
 " How did you get in? " was Jean's abrupt de- 
 mand. 
 
 " I had my key. I have never given it up." 
 
 " But this is no longer your home." 
 
 " It was never home," said Hilda, darkly. " It 
 was never home. I lived here with you and your 
 father, but it was never home." 
 
 Jean, more than ever afraid of this woman, had 
 a sudden sense of something tragic in the fact of 
 Hilda's homelessness. 
 
 " I don't quite see what you mean," she said, 
 slowly. 
 
 " You couldn't see," Hilda told her, " and you will 
 never see. Women like you don't." 
 
 "We — didn't get on very well together," Jean 
 354 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 saidj almost timidly, " but that was because we were 
 different." 
 
 "It wasn't because we were different that we 
 didn't get on," HUda said. " It was because you 
 were afraid of me. You knew your father liked 
 me." 
 
 With her usual frankness she spoke the truth as 
 she saw it. 
 
 " I was not afraid," Jean faltered. 
 
 " You were. But we needn't talk about that. I 
 am going to France." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " As soon as I can get there. That's why i came 
 here. To take away some things I wanted." 
 
 « Oh — " 
 
 " And one of the things I wanted was the picture 
 of your father which hung in your room. I have 
 taken that. You can get more of them. I can't. 
 So I have taken it." 
 
 They faced each other, this shining child and this 
 dark woman. 
 
 " But — but it is mine — Hilda." 
 
 " It is mine now, and if I were you, I shouldn't 
 -make a fuss about it." 
 
 " Hilda, how dare you ! " Jean began in the old 
 indignant way, and stopped. There was something 
 so sinister about it all. She hated the thought that 
 she and Hiltia were alone in the empty house — 
 
 355 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "Hilda, if you go to France, shall you see 
 Daddy?" 
 
 " I skall try. I had a letter from him the other 
 day. He told me not to come. But I am going. 
 There is work to do, and I am going." 
 
 Jean had a stunned feeling, as if there was noth- 
 ing left to say, as if Hilda were indeed a rock, and 
 words would rebound from her hard surface. 
 
 "But after all, you didn't really care for 
 Daddy—" 
 
 " What makes you say ttat? " 
 
 " You were going to marry the General." 
 
 " "Well, I wanted a home. I wanted some of the 
 things you had always had. I'm not old, and I am 
 tired of being a machine." 
 
 For just one moment her anger blazed, then she 
 laughed with something of toleration. 
 
 " Oh, you'd never understand if I talked a year. 
 So what's the use of wasting breath? " 
 
 She said "Good-bye" after that, and Jean 
 watched her go, hearing the padded steps — until 
 the front door shut and there was silence. 
 
 After that, with almost a sense of panic, she sped 
 through the empty rooms, finding the papers after 
 a frantic search, and gaining the street with a sense 
 of escape. 
 
 Yet even then, it was some time before her heart 
 beat normally, and always after that when she 
 
 356 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 thought of Hilda, it was against the chill and gloom 
 of the empty house, with that look upon her face of 
 dark resentment. 
 
 857 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE SINGING WOMAN 
 
 Somewhere in France, Drusilla had found the 
 Captain. Or, rather, he had found her. He had 
 come upon her one rainy afternoon, and had not 
 recognized her in her muddy uniform, with a strap 
 under her chin. Then all at once he had heard her 
 voice, crooning a song to a badly wounded boy 
 whose head lay in her lap. 
 
 The Captain had stopped in his tracks. " Dru- 
 silla— " 
 
 The light in her eyes gave him his welcome, but 
 she waved him away. 
 
 The boy died in her arms. When she joined her 
 lover, she was much moved. " It is not my work 
 to look after the wounded; I carry blankets and 
 things to refugees. But now and then — it hap- 
 pens. A shell burst in the street, and that poor 
 lad — ! He asked me to sing for him — you see, 
 I have been singing for them as they go through, 
 and he remembered — " 
 
 He was holding both of her hands in his. 
 " Dear woman, dear woman — " There were peo- 
 ple all about them, but there were no conventions in 
 
 358 
 
TEE SINOING WOMAN 
 
 war times, and nobody cared if he held her hands. 
 
 Her face was dirty, her hair wind-blown. She 
 was muddy and without a trace of the smartness 
 for which sh« had been famous. She was simply a 
 hard- worked woman in clothes of masculine cut, yet 
 never had she seemed so beautiful to her lover. 
 He bent and kissed her in the market-place. He 
 was an undemonstrative Englishman, but there was 
 that in her eyes which carried him away from self- 
 consciousness. 
 
 " I saw McKenzie in Paris," he said. " He told 
 me that you were here." 
 
 "We came over together. Did you get my let- 
 ter? " 
 
 " I have had no letters. But now that I have 
 you, nothing matters." 
 
 "Keally? Somehow I don't feel that I deserve 
 it." 
 
 " Deserve what? " 
 
 " All that you are giving me. But I have liked 
 to think of it. It has been a prop to lean on — " 
 
 " Only that — ?" 
 
 ^'A shield and a buckler, dearest, a cross held 
 high — " Her breath came quickly. 
 
 • ■•••■•• 
 
 They sat side by side on the worn doorstep of a 
 shattered building and talked. 
 
 " I am in a shack — a haraque — they call it," 
 Drusilla told him, " with three other women. We 
 
 359 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 have fixed up one room a little better than the 
 others, and whenever the men come through the 
 town some of them drift in and are warmed by our 
 fire, and I sing to them; they call me ' The Singing 
 Woman.' " " 
 
 She did not tell him how she had mothered the 
 lads. She was not much older than some of them, 
 but they had instiijctively recognized the maternal 
 quality of her interest in them. With all her 
 beauty they had turned to her for that which was in 
 a sense spiritual. 
 
 Hating the war, Drusilla yet loved the work she 
 had to do. There was, of course, the horror of it, 
 but there was, too, the stimulus of living in a world 
 of realities. She wondered if she were the same 
 girl who had burned her red candles and had served 
 her little suppers, safe and sound and far away 
 from the stress of fighting. 
 
 She wondered, too, if women over there were still 
 thinking of their gowns, and men of their gold- 
 Were they planning to go North in the summer and 
 South in the winter? Were they still care-frep and 
 comfortable? 
 
 People over here were not comfortable, but how 
 little they cared, and how splendid they were. She 
 had seen since she came such incredibly heroic 
 things — men as tender as women, women as brave 
 as men — she had seen human nature at its biggest 
 and best. 
 
 360 
 
THE SINGING WOMAN 
 
 " I have never been religious," she told the Cap- 
 tain, earnestly; "our family is the kind which 
 finds sufficient outlet in a cool intellectual conclu- 
 sion that all's right with the world, and it doesn't 
 make much di^erence what comes hereafter. You 
 know the attitude? 'If there is future life, we 
 shall be glad to explore, and if there isn't, we shall 
 be content to sleep ! ' 
 
 " But since I have been over here, I have carried 
 a little prayer-book, and I've read things to the 
 men, and when I have come to that part ' Gladly to 
 die — that we may rise again,' I have known that 
 it is true. Captain — " 
 
 He laid his hand over hers. " May I have your 
 prayer-book in exchange for mine? " He was very 
 serious. With all his heart he loved her, and never 
 more than at this moment when she had thrown 
 aside all reserves and had let him see her soul. 
 
 She drew the little book from her pocket. It was 
 bound in red leather, with a thin black cross on the 
 cover. His own was in khaki. 
 
 " I want something else," lie said, as he held the 
 book in his hand. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "This." He touched a lock of hair which lay 
 against her cheek. " A bit of it — of you — " 
 
 A band of poilus — marching through the street, 
 saw him cut it off. But they did not laugh. They 
 had great respect for a thing like that — and it 
 
 361 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 happened every day — when men went away from 
 their women. 
 
 They separated with a promise of perhaps a re- 
 union in Paris, if he could get leave and if she 
 could be spared. Then she drove away through 
 the mud in her little car, and he went back to his 
 men. 
 
 Thus they were swept apart by that tide of war 
 which threatened to submerge the world. 
 
 Drusilla, arriving late at her baraque, made tea, 
 and sat by an infinitesimal stove. 
 
 She found herself alone, for the other women 
 were away on various errands. She uncovered all 
 the glory of her lovely hair, and in her little mirror 
 surveyed pensively the ragged lock over her left ear. 
 
 A man like that, oh, a man like that. What more 
 could a woman ask — than love like that? 
 
 Yet even in the midst of her thought of him, came 
 the feeling that she was not predestined for happi- 
 ness. She must go on riding over rough roads on 
 her errands of mercy. Nothing must interfere with 
 that, not love or matters of personal preference — 
 nothing. 
 
 She was very tired. But there was no time for 
 rest. A half dozen kilted Highlanders hailed her 
 through the open door and asked for a song. She 
 gave them "Wee Hoose Amang the Heather — " 
 standing on the step. It was still raining, and 
 they took with them a picture of a girl with glori- 
 
 362 
 
THE SINGING WOMAN 
 
 ous uncovered hair, and that cut tell-tale lock 
 against her cheek. 
 
 Drusilla watching them go, wondered if she 
 would ever see them again, with their pert caps, 
 the bare knees of them — the strong swing of their 
 bodies. 
 
 She stretched her arms above her head. " Oh, 
 oh, I'm tired — " 
 
 She went in and poured another cup of tea. She 
 left the door open. Indeed it always stood open 
 that the room might shine its welcome. 
 
 Snatching forty winks, she waked to find a 
 woman standing over her — a tall woman in a blue 
 cloak and bonnet, who held in her hand a dripping 
 umbrella. 
 
 She felt that she still dreamed. "It can't be 
 Hilda Merritt?" 
 
 " Yes, it is." HUda set the umbrella in the wood 
 box. " I knew you were here." 
 
 "Who told you?" 
 
 " Dr. McKenzie." 
 
 " Oh, you are with him, then? " 
 
 "He won't have me. That's why I came to you." 
 
 "Tome?" 
 
 " Yes. I want you to tell him not to — turn me 
 away." 
 
 Drusilla showed her bewilderment. " But, surely 
 nothing that I could say would have more weight 
 with him than, your own arguments." 
 
 363 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "You are Ms kind. He'd listen. Things that 
 you say count with him." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean." 
 
 " Well, I've offended him. And he won't forgive 
 me. Not even for the sake of the -jrork. And I'm 
 a good nurse, Miss Gray. But he's as hard as nails. 
 And — and he sent me away." 
 
 "Oh, I'm sorry," Drusilla said gently. Hilda 
 was a dark figure of tragedy, as she sat there 
 statuesquely in her blue cloak. 
 
 " You could make him see how foolish it is to re- 
 fuse to have a good worker; men may die whom I 
 could save. He thinks that — those things don't 
 mean anything to me, that I am arguing from a per- 
 sonal standpoint. He wouldn't think that of you." 
 
 "I'll do what I can, of course," Drusilla said 
 slowly. She was not sure that she wanted to get 
 into it, but she was sorry for Hilda. 
 
 "Won't you have a cup of tea," she said im- 
 pulsively, "and take off your cloak? I am afraid 
 I haven't seemed a bit hospitable. I was so sur- 
 prised." 
 
 Hilda gave a little laugh. " I'm not used to such 
 courtesies — so I didn't miss it. But I should like 
 the tea, and something to eat with it. I left Dr. 
 McKenzie's hospital early this morning, and I 
 haven't eaten since — I didn't want anything to 
 eat — " 
 
 She watched Drusilla curiously as she set forth 
 364 
 
THE SINGING WOMAN 
 
 the food. " It must seem strange to you to live in 
 a room like this." 
 
 " I like it." , 
 
 "But you have always had such an easy life, 
 Miss Gray." 
 
 Drusilla smiled. "It may have looked easy to 
 you. But I give you my word that keeping up with 
 the social game is harder than this." 
 
 "You say that," Hilda told her crisply, "not 
 because it's true, but because it sounds true. Do 
 you mean to tell me that you like to be muddy and 
 dirty and live in a place like this? " 
 
 " Yes, I like it." Something flamed in the back 
 of DrusUla's eyes. "I like it because it means 
 something, and the other didn't." 
 
 "Well, I don't like it," Hilda stated. "But 
 nursing is all I am fit for. I came over with a lot 
 of other nurses, and they tell me at the hospital I 
 am the best of the lot — and in war times you can't 
 afford to miss the experience. But then I am used 
 to a hard life, and you are not." 
 
 " Nciither are the men in the trenches used to it. 
 That's the standard I apply to Inyself — for every 
 hard thing I am doing, it is ten times harder for 
 them. I wish all the people at home could see how 
 wonderful they are." 
 
 " That's Jean McKenzie's word — wonderful. 
 Everything was wonderful, and now she has mar- 
 ried Derry Drake." 
 
 365 
 
THE Tlif SOLDIER 
 
 "Yes, she lias married Derry," Drusilla stood 
 staring into the little round stove. 
 
 She roused herself presently. " I call them Babes 
 in the Wood. They seem so young, and yet Derry 
 isn't really young — it is only that there's such a 
 radiant air about him." 
 
 Hilda's bitterness broke forth. " Why shouldn't 
 he be radiant? Life has given him everything. It 
 has given her everything ; in a way it has given you 
 everything. I am the one who goes without — it 
 looks as if I should always go without the things I 
 want." 
 
 " Don't think that," Drusilla said in her pleasant 
 fashion. " Nobody is set apart — and some day 
 you will see it. Did you know that Derry may be 
 over now at any time, and that Jean is to stay with 
 the General? " 
 
 " Yes," Hilda moved restlessly. There came to 
 her a Vision of the big house, of the shadowed room, 
 of the room beyond, and of herself in a tiara, with 
 ermine on her cloak. 
 
 What a dream it had been, and she had waked to 
 this ! 
 
 She rose. " If Dr. McKenzie doesn't take me 
 back he may be sorry. Will you write to him? " 
 
 " I shall see him Saturday — in Paris. I have 
 promised to dine with him. Captain Hewes is com- 
 ing, too, if he can." 
 
 Hilda, going away in the rain, dwelt moodily on 
 366 
 
THE SINGING WOMAN 
 
 Drusilla's opportunities. If only she, too, might 
 dine in Paris with men like Dr. McKenzie and Cap- 
 tain Hewes. There were indeed, men who might 
 ask her to dine with them, but not as Drusilla had 
 been asked, as an equal and as a Mend. 
 
 The way was long, the road was muddy. There 
 was not much to Ipok towards at the end. It was 
 not that she minded the dreadf ulness of sights and 
 sounds — she had been too much in hospitals for 
 that. But she hated the ugliness, the roughness, the 
 grinding toil. 
 
 Yet had she been with Dr. McKenzie, she would 
 have toiled gladly for him. There would have been 
 the sight of his crinkled copper head, the sound of 
 his voice, his teasing laugh to sustain her. And 
 now it was Drusilla who would see him, who would 
 sit with him at the table, who would tempt his teaS' 
 ing laugh. 
 
 Well — if he didn't take her back, he would be 
 sorry. There had been a patient in the hospital 
 who in his delirium had whispered things. When 
 he had come to himself, she had told him calmly, 
 " You are a spy." He had not whitened, but had 
 measured her with a glance. " Help me, and you 
 shall see the Emperor. There will be nothing too 
 good for you." 
 
 Drusilla, after Hilda's departure, sat by her little 
 stove and thought it over. She divined something 
 which did not appear on the surface. She was glad 
 
 367 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 that slie had promised to plead Hilda's cause. The 
 woman's face haunted her. 
 
 And now the other workers who shared Drusilla's 
 shack returned, bringing news of many wounded 
 and on the way. Then came the darkness of the 
 night, the long line of ambulances, the ghastly pro- 
 cession that trailed behind. 
 
 And all through the night Drusilla sang to men 
 who rested for a moment on their weary way, out 
 of the shadows came eager voices asking for this 
 song and that — then they would pass on, and she 
 would throw herself down for a little sleep, to rouse 
 again and lift her voice, while the other women 
 poured the coffee. 
 
 She was hoarse in the morning, and white with 
 fatigue, but when one of the women said, " You 
 can't keep this up, Drusilla, you can't stand it," she 
 smiled. " They stand it in the trenches, and some 
 of them are so tired." 
 
 She was as fresh as paint, however, on Saturday, 
 when she met Dr. McKenzie in Paris. " I have had 
 two hot baths, and all my clothes are starched and 
 ironed and fluted by an adorable Frenchwoman who 
 opened her house for me," she announced as she sat 
 down with him at a corner table. " I never wore 
 fluted things before, but you can't imagine how 
 civilizing it is after you've been letting yourself 
 down. 
 
 368 
 
TEE SINGING WOMAN 
 
 The Doctor was tired, and he looked it. " No one 
 has starched and fluted me.'* 
 
 " Poor man. I'm glad you ran away from it all 
 for a minute with me. Captain Hewes thought he 
 might be able to come. But I haven't heard from 
 him, have you? " 
 
 " No. But he may blow in at any moment. It 
 seems queer, doesn't it, Drusilla, that you and I 
 should be over here with all the rest of them left 
 behind." 
 
 She hesitated, then brought it out without pre- 
 lude. " Hilda came to see me." 
 
 " To see you? Why? " 
 
 " She is broken-heaxted because you won't let her 
 work with you." 
 
 " I told her I could not. And she hasn't any 
 heart to break." 
 
 " I wonder if you'd mind," Drusilla ventured, 
 " telling me what's the matter." 
 
 " A rather squalid story," but he told it. " She 
 wanted to marry the General." 
 
 " Poor thing." 
 
 He glanced at her in surprise. " Then you de- 
 fend her? " 
 
 " Oh, no — no. But think of having to marry to 
 get the — the fleshpot^, and to miss all of the real 
 meanings. I talked to Hilda for a long time, and 
 somehow before she left she made me feel sorry. 
 
 369 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 She wants so much that she will never have. And 
 she will grow hard and bitter because life isn't giv- 
 ing her all that she demands." 
 
 " Did she ask you to plead her cause? " 
 
 " Yes," frankly. " She feels that you ought to 
 give her another chance." 
 
 He ran his fingers through his crinkled hair. " I 
 don't want her. I'm afraid of her." 
 
 " Afraid? " 
 
 " She sees the worst that is in me, and brings it 
 to the surface. And when I protest, she laughs and 
 insists that I don't know myself. That I am a sort 
 of Dr. Jekyll, with the Mr. Hyde part of me 
 asleep — " 
 
 " And you let her scare you like that? " 
 
 He nodded, " Every man has a weak spot, and 
 mine is wanting the world to think well of me." 
 
 " Think well of yourself. What would Jean say 
 if she heard you talking like this? " 
 
 " Jean? " she was startled by the breaking up of 
 his face into deep lines of trouble. " Do you know 
 what she is doing, Drusilla? She is staying in that 
 great old house playing daughter to the General." 
 
 " Marion says the General's affection for her is 
 touching — he doesn't want her out of his sight." 
 
 " And because he doesn't want her out of his sight, 
 she must stay a prisoner. I say that he hasn't done 
 anything to deserve such devotion, Drusilla. He 
 hasn't done anything to deserve it." 
 
 370 
 
TEE SINGING WOMAN 
 
 " You are jealous." 
 
 "No. It isn't that. Though I'll confess that 
 something pulls at my heart when I thiuk of it — . 
 But I want her to be happy." 
 
 "I think she is happy. Life is giving her the 
 hard things — but you and I would not be without 
 the — hard things ; we have reached out our hands 
 for them, because the world needs us. Are you go- 
 ing to deny your daughter that? " 
 
 " Oh, I suppose not. But I hate it. Women 
 ought to be happy — care-free, not shut up in sick 
 rooms or running around in the rain."' 
 
 " Oh, you men, how little you know what makes 
 a woman happy." She stopped, and half rose from 
 her chair. " Captain Hewes is coming." 
 
 " I don't know that I am glad, Drusilla," the Doc- 
 tor turned to survey the beaming ofl&cer, " for now 
 you won't have eyes or ears for me." 
 
 But she was glad. 
 
 While the Captain held her hand in his as if he 
 would never let her go, she told him about being 
 fluted and starched. " I don't look as dishevelled 
 as I did the other day." 
 
 " You looked beautiful the other day," he assured 
 her with fervor, " but this is better, because you are 
 rested and some of the sadness has gone out of your 
 eyes." 
 
 Dr. McKenzie watched them enviously, " I real- 
 ize," he reminded them, " that I am the fifth wheel, 
 
 371 
 
THE TIN 80LDIEB 
 
 or any other superfluous thing, but you can't get rid 
 of me. I am homesick — somebody's got to cheer 
 me up." 
 
 " "We don't want to get rid of you," Drusilla told 
 him, smiling. 
 
 But he knew that her loveliness was all for the 
 Captain. She was lighted up by the presence of 
 her betrothed, made exquisite, softer, more 
 womanly. Love had come slowly to Drusilla, but it 
 had come at last. 
 
 When the Doctor left them, he was in a daze of 
 loneliness. He wanted Jean, he wanted sympathy, 
 understanding, good-comradeship. 
 
 For just one little moment temptation assailed 
 him. There was of course, Hilda. She would 
 bring with her the atmosphere of familiar things 
 which he craved. There would be the easy give and 
 take of speech which was such a relief after his pro- 
 fessional manner, there would be his own teasing 
 sense of how much she wanted, and of how little he 
 had to give. There would be, too, the stimulus to 
 his vanity. 
 
 A broken-hearted Hilda, Drusilla had said. 
 There was something provocative in the situation — 
 elements of drama. Why not? 
 
 He thought about it that night when once more 
 back at his work he and his head nurse discussed a 
 case of shell shock — a pitiful case of fear, loss of 
 memory, complete prostration. 
 
 372 
 
TEE SINGING WOMAN^ 
 
 The nurse was a plain little thing, very compe- 
 tent, very quiet. She was, perhaps, no more com- 
 petent than Hilda in the mechanics of her profes- 
 sion, but she had qualities which Hilda lacked. 
 She was not very young, and there were younger 
 nurses under her. Yet in spite of her plainness and 
 quietness, she wielded an influence which was re- 
 markable. The whole hospital force was feeling 
 the effect of that influence. It was as if every 
 nurse had in some rather high and special way 
 dedicated herself — as nuns might to the con- 
 ventual life, or sisters of charity to the service of 
 the poor. There was indeed a heroic aspect to it, a 
 spiritual aspect, and this plain little woman was 
 setting the pace. 
 
 And Hilda, coming in, would spoU it all. Oh, he 
 knew how she would spoil it. With her mocking 
 laugh, her warped'-judgments, her skeptical point of 
 view. 
 
 No, he did not want Hilda. The best in him did 
 not want her, and please God, he was giving his best 
 to this cause. However he might fail in other 
 things, he would not fail in his high duty towards 
 the men who came out of battle shattered and 
 broken, holding up their hands to him for help. 
 
 " I am going to let Miss Shelby have the case," 
 the plain little nurse was saying, " when he begins 
 to come back. She will give him what he needs. 
 She is so strong and young, so sure of the eternal 
 
 373 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Tightness of things — and she's got to make him 
 sure." 
 
 The Doctor nodded. " Some of ns are not 
 sure — " 
 
 She agreed gravely. " But we are learning to be 
 sure, aren't we, over here? Don't you feel that all 
 the things you have ever done are little compared 
 to this? That men and women are better and big- 
 ger than you have believed? " 
 
 " If anyone could make me feel it/' he said, " it 
 would be you." 
 
 When she had gone, he wrote letters. 
 
 He wrote to Jean — he wrote every day to Jean. 
 
 He wrote to Hilda. 
 
 " You are splendidly fitted for just the thing that 
 you are doing. Men come and go and you care for 
 their wounds. But we have to care here for more 
 than men's bodies, we care for their minds and 
 souls — we piece them together, as it were. And 
 we need women who believe that God's in his 
 Heaven. And you don't believe it. Hilda. I 
 fancy that you see in every man his particular 
 devil, and like to lure it out for him to look at — " 
 
 He stopped there. He could see her reading what 
 he had written. She would laugh a little, and write 
 back : 
 
 " Are you any better than I? If I am too black 
 to herd with the white sheep, what of you; aren't 
 you tarred with the same brush — ? " 
 
 374 
 
THE SINGING WOMAN 
 
 He toi*e up the letter and sent a brief note. Why 
 explain what he was feeling to Hilda? She was of 
 those who would never know nor understand. 
 
 And he felt the need tonight of understanding — 
 of sympathy. 
 
 And so he wrote to Emily. 
 
 37S 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 WHITE VIOLETS 
 
 Bruce McKbnzib's letter arriving in due time at 
 the Toy Shop, found Emily very busy. There were 
 many women to be instructed how to do things with 
 gauze and muslin and cotton, so she tucked the let- 
 ter in her apron pocket. But all day her mind 
 «vent to it, as a feast to be deferred until the time 
 came to enjoy it. 
 
 In the afternoon Ulrich StoUe arrived, bearing 
 the inevitable tissue paper parcel. 
 
 " Do you know what day it is? " he asked. 
 
 " Thursday." 
 
 " There are always Thursdays. But this is a spe- 
 cial Thursday." 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 "And you ask me like that?' It is a Thursday 
 for valentines." 
 
 " Of course. But how could you expect me to 
 remember? Nobody ever sends me valentines." 
 
 " My father has sent you one." It was a heart- 
 shaped basket of pink roses ; " but mine I couldn't 
 bring. You must come and see it. Will you dine 
 with us tonight? " / 
 
 376 
 
WHITE VIOLETS 
 
 " Oh, I am so busy." 
 
 " You are not too busy for that. Let your little 
 Jean take charge." 
 
 Jean, all in white with her white veU and red 
 crosses was more than ever like a little nun. She 
 was remote, too, like a nun, wrapped not in the con- 
 templation of her religion, but of her love. 
 
 She still made toys, and the proceeds of the sale 
 of Lovely Dreams had been contributed by herself 
 and Emily for Bed Cross purposes. There were 
 rows and rows of the fantastic creatures behind 
 glass doors on the shelves, and for Valentine's Day 
 Jean had carved and painted pale doves which car- 
 ried in their beaks rosy hearts and golden arrows 
 and whose wings were outspread — . 
 
 There were also on the shelves the white plush 
 elephants which Franz StoUe and his friends had 
 made, and which were, too, being sold to swell the 
 Bed Cross fund. 
 
 Thus had the Toy Shop come into its own. " I 
 have enough to live on," Emily had said, " at least 
 for a while, and I am taking no more chances for 
 future living, than the men who give up everything 
 to fight." 
 
 So enlisted in this cause of mercy as men had en- 
 listed in the cause of war, Miss Emily led where 
 others followed, and the old patriarch of all the 
 white elephants, who had been born in a country 
 of blood and iron, looked down on women working 
 
 377 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 to heal the wounds which his country had made. 
 
 " Let your little Jean look after things," Dlrich 
 repeated. 
 
 " Do you mind, my dear? " 
 
 " Mind what, Emily — ? " 
 
 " If I go with Mr. StoUe — to see his father about 
 the — toys." 
 
 "Darling — no;" Jean kissed her. "I don't 
 mind in the least, and the ride will do you good." 
 
 " But you are not going to see my father about 
 toys," Ulrich told her, twinkling, as he followed 
 her to the back of the shop. 
 
 "Do you think I was going to tell her that?" 
 
 She put on her coat and hat and off she went with 
 Ulrich, leaving still unread in the pocket of the big 
 apron the letter which Bruce McKenzie had written 
 her. 
 
 All the way out Ulrich was rather silent. It was 
 not, however, the silence, of moodiness or dullness, 
 it was rather as if he wanted to hear her speak. It 
 was, indeed, a responsive, stimulating silence, and 
 she glowed under his glance. 
 
 It seemed to her, as she talked, that these adven- 
 tures with Ulrich Stolle were in every way the most 
 splendid thing that had happened to her. They 
 were always unexpected, and they were packed to 
 the brim with pleasure of a rare quality. 
 
 When they reached their destination, Ulrich took 
 her at once to the hothouses. As they passed down 
 
 378 
 
WHITE VIOLETS 
 
 the fragrant aisles, she found that all the men had 
 gone, their day's work over; only she and Ulrich 
 were under the great glass roof. 
 
 "Anton comes back later," Ulrich explained, 
 " but at this hour the houses are empty, and dinner 
 will not be ready for an hour. We have it all to 
 ourselves, Emily." 
 
 Her name, spoken with so much ease, without a 
 sign of self-consciousness, startled her. Her in- 
 quiring glance showed her that he was utterly un- 
 aware that he had spoken it. Her breath came 
 quickly. 
 
 The birds sang and the stream sang, and suddenly 
 her heart began to sing. 
 
 You see it had been so many years since Emily 
 had known romance ; — indeed, she had never known 
 It — ^ there had always been, in her mother's time, 
 her sense of the proper thing, and her sense of duty, 
 and her sense of making the best of things — and 
 now for the first time in her life there was no 
 make-believe. This was a worldr of realities, with 
 Ulrich leading the way, his hands gathering flowers 
 for her. 
 
 He stopped at last at the entrance of a sort of 
 grotto where great ferns towered — at their feet was 
 a bed of white violets. 
 
 " You see," he said, " I could not bring it. I 
 came here this morning to pick the violets — for you 
 — to let them say, ' I love you ' — " 
 
 3f9 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Even the birds seemed silent, and the little 
 stream ! 
 
 " And suddenly they spoke to me, ' Let her see 
 us here, where you have so often thought of her. 
 Tell her here that you love her — ' 
 
 " How much I love you," and now she found her 
 hands in his, " I cannot tell you. It seems to me 
 that the thought of you as my wife is so exquisite 
 that I cannot believe it will ever come to pass. 
 And I have so little to offer you. Even my name is 
 hated because it is a German name, and my old 
 house is German, and my father — 
 
 "But my heart's blood is for America. You 
 know that, and so I have dared to ask it, not that 
 you will love me now, but that you may come to 
 think of loving me, so that some day you will care 
 a little." 
 
 The birds were singing madly, the streams were 
 shouting — Emily was trembling. Nobody had 
 ever wanted her like this — nobody had ever made 
 her feel so young and lovely and — wanted — . She 
 had had a proposal or two, but there had been al- 
 ways the sense that she had been chosen for certain 
 staid and sensible qualities ; there had been nothing 
 in it of red blood and rapture. 
 
 " If you should come to us, to me and my father, 
 you would be a queen on a throne. If you could 
 love me just a little in return — " 
 
 She could not answer, she just stood looking up 
 380 
 
WHIT^ VIOLETS 
 
 1' 
 at Mm, and suddenly'his arms went around her. 
 
 " Tell me, beloved." 
 
 An hour later they went in to his father, and 
 after that Emily was lifted up on the wings of an 
 enthusiasm which left her breathless, but beatified. 
 " I knew when I first saw you what we desired," 
 said the old man, " and my son knew. All that I 
 have is yours both now and afterwards — " 
 
 Dinner was a candle-lighted feast, with heart- 
 shaped ices at the end. 
 
 "How sure you were," Emily told her lover, 
 smiling. 
 
 "I was not sure. But I set the stage for suc- 
 cess. It was only thus that I kept up my courage. 
 There were so many chances that the curtain might 
 drop on darkness — ," -his hand went over hers. 
 " If it had been that way, I should have let the ices 
 melt and the violets die — ." 
 
 After dinner they went over the house. "Why 
 should we wait," Ulrich had said, "you and I? 
 There is nothing to wait for. Tell me what you 
 want changed in this old house, and then come to it, 
 and to my heart." 
 
 It was, she found, such a funny old place. It had 
 been furnished by men, and by German men at that. 
 There was heaviness and stuffiness, and all the bric- 
 a-brac was fat and puffy, and all the pictures were 
 
 381 
 
THE TIN %)LDIER 
 
 highly-colored, with the women in them blonde and 
 buxom, and the men blond and bold — . 
 
 But Ulrich's room was not stuffy or heavy. The 
 windows were wide open, and the walls were white, 
 and the cover on the canopy bed was white, and 
 there were two pictures, one of Lincoln and one of 
 Washington, and that was all. 
 
 " And when I have your picture, it will be per- 
 fect," he told her. "Where I can see you when I 
 wake, and pray to you before I go to sleep." 
 
 " But why," she probed daringly, " do you want 
 my picture? " 
 
 " Because you are so — beautiful — " 
 
 It was not to be wondered that such worship 
 went to Miss Emily's head. She slipped out of the 
 dried sheath of the years which had saddened and 
 aged her, and emerged lovely as a flower over which 
 the winter has passed and which blooms again. 
 
 " I don't want to change anything," Emily told 
 her lover as they went downstairs, " at least not 
 very much. I shall keep all of the lovely old carved 
 things — with the fat cupids." 
 
 As she lay awake that night, reviewing it all, she 
 thought suddenly of Bruce McKenzie's letter in her 
 apron pocket. The apron was in the Toy Shop, and 
 it was not therefore until the next morning that she 
 read the letter. 
 
 In it Dr. McKenzie asked her to marry him. 
 
 " I should like to think that jvhen I come back, 
 
 382 
 
WHITE VIOLETS 
 
 you will be waiting for me, Emily. I am a very 
 lonely man. I want someone who will sympathize 
 and understand. I want someone who will love 
 Jean, and who will hold me to the best that is in 
 me, and you can do that, Emily; you have always 
 done it." 
 
 It was a rather touching letter, and she felt its 
 appeal strongly. Indeed, so stern was her sense of 
 self-sacrifice, that she had an almost guilty feeling 
 when she thought of Ulrich. If he had not come 
 into her life at the psychological moment, she might 
 have given herself to Bruce McKenzie. 
 
 But the letter had come too late. Oh, how glad 
 she was that she had left it in her apron pocket ! 
 
 She answered it that night. 
 
 " I am going to be very frank with you, Bruce, 
 because in being frank ^^'ith you I shall be frauk 
 with myself. If Ulrich Stolle had not come into 
 my life, I should probably have thought I cared for 
 you. Even now when I am saying ' no,' I realize 
 that your charm has always held me, and that the 
 prospect of a future by your pleasant fireside holds 
 many attractious. But since you left Washingtpn, 
 something has happened which I never expected, 
 and all of my preconceived ideas of myself have 
 been overturned. Bruce, I am no longer the Emily 
 you have known — a little staid, gray -haired, with 
 pretty hands, but with nothing else very pretty 
 about her; a lady who would, perhaps, fill grace- 
 iuUy, a position for which her aristocratic nose fits 
 her. I am no longer the Emily of the Toy Shop, 
 
 383 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 wearing spectacles on a black ribbon, eating her 
 lunches wherever she can get them. No, I am an 
 Emily who is young and beautiful, a sort of fairy- 
 tale Princess, an Emily who, if she wishes, shall sit 
 on a cushion and sew a fine seam, but who doesn't 
 wish it because she hates to sew, and would much 
 rather work in her silver-bell-and-cockle shell gar- 
 den — oh, such a wonderful garden as it is ! 
 
 "And I am all this, Bruce, I am young and beauti- 
 ful and all the rest, because I am seeing myself 
 through the eyes of my lover. 
 
 " He is Ulrich StoUe, as I have said, and you 
 mustn't think because his name is German that he 
 is to be cast into outer darkness. He is as Ameri- 
 can as you with your Scotch blood, or as I wltli my 
 English blood. And he is as loyal as any of us. 
 He is too old to be accepted for service, but he is 
 giving time and money to the cause. 
 
 " And he loves me rapturously, radiantly, roman- 
 tically. He doesn't want me as a cushion for his 
 tired head, he doesn't want me because he thinks it 
 would be an act of altruism to provide a haven for 
 me in my old age, he wants me because he thinks I 
 am the most remarkable woman in the whole wide 
 world, and that he is the most fortunate man to 
 have won me. 
 
 "And you don't feel that way about it, Bruce. 
 You know that I am not beautiful, there is no glam- 
 our in your love for me. You know that I am not 
 wonderful, or a fairy Princess — . And you are 
 righf, and he is wrong. But it is his wrongness 
 which makes me love him. Because every woman 
 wants to be beautiful to her lover, and to feel that 
 she is much desired. 
 
 384 
 
WHITE VIOLETS 
 
 "You will ask why I am telling you all this. 
 Well, there was one sentence in your letter which 
 called it forth. You say that you want me because 
 I will hold you to the best that is in you. 
 
 "Oh, Bruce, what would you gain if I held you? 
 Wouldn't there be moments when in spite of me 
 you would swing back to women like Hilda? You 
 are big and fine, but you are spoiled by feminine 
 worship — it is a temptation which assails clergy- 
 men and doctors — who have, as it were, many 
 women at their feet. 
 
 "Does that sound harsh? I don't mean it that 
 way. I only want you to come into your own. 
 And if you ever marry I want you to find some 
 woman whom you can love as you loved your wife, 
 someone who will touch your imagination, set you 
 on tire with dreams, and I could never do it. 
 
 " Yet even as I finish this letter, I am tempted 
 to tear it up and tell you only of my real apprecia- 
 tion of the honor you have conferred upon me in 
 asking me to be your wife. I know that you are 
 offering me more in many ways than Urich StoUe. 
 I don't like his name, because something rises up 
 in me against Teuton blood and Teuton nomencla- 
 ture. But he loves me, and you do not, and be- 
 cause of his love for me and mine for him, every- 
 thing else seems too small to consider. 
 
 " Oh, you'd laugh at his house, Bruce, but I love 
 even the fat angels that are carved on everything 
 from the mahogany chests to the soup tureens. It 
 is all like some old fairy-tale. I shall make few 
 changes; it seems such a perfect setting for Ulrich 
 and his busy old gnome of a father. 
 
 " When you get this, pray for my happiness. Oh, 
 I do want to be happv. I have made the best of 
 
 385 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 things, but there has been much more of gray than 
 rose-color, and now as I tui'n my face to the setting 
 sun, I am seeing — loveliness and light — " 
 
 She read it over and sealed it and sent it away. 
 It was several weeks before it reached Doctor Mc- 
 Kenzie. He was vei"y busy, for the spring drive of 
 the Qermans had begun, and shattered men were 
 coming to him faster than he could handle them. 
 But he found time at last to read it, and when he 
 laid it down he sat quite still from the shock of it. 
 
 And the next time he saw Drusilla he said to her, 
 " Emily Bridges is going to be married, and she is 
 not going to marry me." 
 
 " I am glad of it," Drusilla told him. 
 
 " My dear girl, why? " 
 
 " Because you don't love her, and you never did." 
 
 386 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE HOPE OF THE WOULD 
 
 The great spring drive of the Germans brought 
 headlines to the papers which men and women in 
 America read with dread, and scoffed at when they 
 talked it over. 
 
 " They'll never get to Paris," were the words on 
 their lips, but in their hearts they were asking, 
 "Will they—?" 
 
 Easter came at the end of March, and Good Fri- 
 day found Jean working very early in the morning 
 on fawn-colored rabbits with yellow ears. She 
 worked in her bedroom because it was warmed by 
 a feeble wobd fire, and Teddy came up to watch her. 
 
 " The yellow in their ears is the sun shining 
 through," Jean told him. " We used to see them 
 in the country on the path in front of the house, 
 and the light from the west made their ears look 
 like tiny electric bulbs." 
 
 Margaret-Mary entranced by one small bunny 
 with a splash of white for a cotton tail, sang, 
 " Pitty sing, pitty sing." 
 
 "They don't weally lay eggs, do they?" Teddy 
 ventured. 
 
 387 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "1 wouldn't ask such questions if I were you, 
 Teddy." 
 
 " Why not? " 
 
 " Because you might find out that they didn't lay 
 eggs, and then you'd feel terribly disappointed." 
 
 " Well, isn't it better to know? " 
 
 Jean shook her head. " I'm not sure — it's nice 
 to think that they do lay eggs — blue ones and red 
 ones and those lovely purple ones, isn't it? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And if they don't lay them, who does? " 
 
 " Hens," said Teddy, rather unexpectedly, " and 
 the rab-yits steal them." 
 
 "Who told you that?" 
 
 " Hodgson. And she says that she ties them up 
 in rags and the colors come ofE on the eggs." 
 
 " Well, I wouldn't listen to Hodgson." 
 
 " Why not? I like to listen." 
 
 " Because she hasn't any imagination." 
 
 " What's 'magination? " 
 
 They were getting in very deep. Jean gave it up. 
 " Ask your mother, Teddy." 
 
 So Teddy sought his unfailing source of informa- 
 tion. " What's 'magination, Mother." 
 
 " It is seeing things, Teddy, with your mind in- 
 stead of your eyes. When I tell you about the poor 
 little children in France who haven't any food or 
 any clothes except what the Eed Cross gives them, 
 
 388 
 
TEE HOPE OF THE WORLD 
 
 you don't really see them with your eyes, but your 
 mind sees them, and their cold little hands, and 
 their sad little faces — " 
 
 "Yes." He considered that for a while, then 
 swept on to the things over which his chUdish brain 
 puzzled. 
 
 " Mother, if the Germans get to Paris what wHl 
 happen?" 
 
 He saw the horror in her face. 
 
 " Do you hate the Germans, Mother? " 
 
 " My darling, don't ask me." 
 
 After he had gone downstairs, Margaret got out 
 her prayer-book, and read the prayers for the day. 
 
 " Oh, merciful God, who hast made all men and 
 hatest nothing that thou hast made, nor desirest 
 the death of a sinner, but rather that he should be 
 converted and live, have mercy on all Jews, Turks, 
 infidels and heretics, and take from them all ig- 
 norance, hardness of heart, and contempt of Thy 
 word, and so fetch them home, blessed Lord, to Thy 
 flock, that they may be saved — " 
 
 She shut the book. No, she could not go on. 
 She did not love her enemies. She was not in the 
 least sure that she wanted the Germans to be saved! 
 
 On Easter morning, however, Teddy was in- 
 structed to pray for his enemies. "We mustn't 
 have hate in our hearts." 
 
 " Why mustn't we. Mother? " 
 389 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 "Well, Father wouldn't want it. We hate the 
 evil they do, but we must pray that they will be 
 shown their wickedness and repent." 
 
 " If they re-pyent will they stop fighting? " 
 
 " My dearest, yes." 
 
 " How would they stop? " 
 
 Jean, who was ready for church and waiting, 
 warned, " You'd better not try to give an answer to 
 that, Margaret, there isn't any." 
 
 Teddy ignored her. " How would they stop. 
 Mother? " 
 
 " Well, they'd just stop, dear — " 
 
 " Would they say they were sorry? 
 
 Would William of Prussia ever he sorry? 
 
 " Can God stop it. Mother? " 
 
 Margaret wrenched her mind away from the pic- 
 ture which his words had painted for her, the Kaiser 
 on his knees ! Miserere mei, Deus — 
 
 With quick breath, " Yes, dear." 
 
 " Then why doesn't He stop it. Mother? " 
 
 Why? Why? Why? Older voices were asTdng 
 that question in agony. 
 
 " He will do it in His own good time, dearest. 
 Perhaps the world has a lesson to learn." 
 
 With Teddy walking ahead with nurse, Jean pro- 
 claimed to Margaret, " I shan't pray for them." 
 
 " I know how you feel." 
 
 "Shall you?" 
 
 " Yes," desperately, " I must." 
 390 
 
THE HOPE OF THE WORLD 
 
 "Why must you?" 
 
 " Because of — Win," Margaret said simply. In 
 her widow's black, with her veil giving her height 
 and dignity, she had never been more beautiful. 
 " Because of Win, I must. There are wives in Ger- 
 many who suffer as I suffer — who are not to blame. 
 There are children, like my children, asking the 
 same questions — . This drive has seemed to me 
 like the slaughter of sheep, with a great Wolf be- 
 hind them, a Wolf without mercy, sending thejn 
 down to destruction, to — death — " 
 
 "And the Wolf— ?" 
 
 Margaret raised her hand and let it drop, " God 
 knows." 
 
 And now soldiers were being rushed overseas. 
 Trains swept across the land loaded with men who 
 ga2ed wistfully at the peaceful towns as they passed 
 through, or chafed impotently when, imprisoned in 
 day coaches, they were side-tracked outside of great 
 cities. 
 
 And on the battle line those droves and droves of 
 gray sheep were driven down and down — to death 
 — by the Wolf. 
 
 The war was coming closer to America. A look 
 of care settled on the faces of men and women who 
 had, hitherto, taken things lightly. Fathers, who 
 had been very sure that the war would end before 
 their sons should go to France, faced the fact that 
 the end was not in sight, and that the war would 
 
 391 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 take its toll of the youth of America. Mothers, who 
 had not been sure of anything, but had hidden their 
 fears in their hearts, stopped reading the daily 
 papers. Wives, who had looked upon the camp ex- 
 periences of their husbands as a rather great ad- 
 venture, knew now that there might be a greater 
 adventure with a Dark Angel. The train-sheds in 
 great cities were crowded with anxious relatives 
 who watched the troops go through, clutching at the 
 hope of a last glimpse of a beloved face, a few 
 precious moments in which to say farewell. 
 Yes, the war was coming near I 
 Derry wrote that he might go at any moment, but 
 hoped for a short furlough. It was on this hope 
 that Jean lived. She worked tirelessly, making 
 the much-needed surgical dressings. When Emily 
 tried to get her to rest, Jean would shake her head. 
 "Darling, I must. They are bringing the 
 wounded over." 
 
 " But you mustn't get too tired." 
 " I want to be tired. So that I can sleep." 
 She was finding it hard to sleep. Often she rose 
 and wrote in her memory book, which was becoming 
 in a sense a diary because she confided to its pages 
 the things she dared not say to Derry. Some day, 
 perhaps, she might show him what she had written. 
 But that would be when the war was over, and 
 Derry had come back safe and sound. Until then 
 
 392 
 
THE HOPE OF THE WORLD 
 
 she would have to smile in her letters, and she did 
 not always feel like smiling ! 
 
 But that was what Derry called them, " Smiling 
 letters!" 
 
 " They smile up at me every morning, Jean." 
 
 So she wrote to him bravely, cheerfully, of her 
 busy days, of how she missed him, of her love and 
 longing, but not a word did she say of her world as 
 it really was. 
 
 But there was no laughter in the things she said 
 to the old memory book. 
 
 " I don't like big houses — not houses like this, 
 with grinning porcelain Chinese gods at every turn 
 of the hall, and gold dragons on the bed-posts. 
 There are six of us here besides the servants, yet 
 we are like dwarfs in a giant palace. Perhaps if 
 we had the usual fires it wouldn't seem quite so 
 forlorn. But the china in the cabinets is so cold — 
 and the ceilings are so high — and the marble 
 floors — . 
 
 " Perhaps if everyone were happy it would be dif- 
 ferent. But only Emily is happy. And I don't see 
 how she can be. She is going to marry a Hun! 
 Of course, he isn't really, and he'd be a darling dear 
 if it weren't for his German name, and Ms German 
 blood, and the German things he has in his house. 
 But Emily says she loves his house, that it speaks 
 to her of a different Germany — of the sweet old 
 
 393 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 gay Germany that waltzed and sang and loved 
 simple things. It seems so funny to think of Emily 
 in love — she's so much older than people are usu- 
 ally when they are engaged and married. 
 
 " But Emily is the only happy one, except the 
 children, and I sometimes think that even they have 
 the shadow on them of the dreadful things that 
 are happening. Margaret-Mary tries to knit, and 
 tires her stubby little fingers with the big needles, 
 and Teddy, poor chap, seems to feel that he must be 
 the man of the family and take his father's place, 
 and he is pathetically careful of his mother. 
 
 " I wonder if Margaret feels as I do about it all? 
 She is so sweet and smiling — and yet I know how 
 her heart weeps, and I know how she longs for her 
 own house and her own hearth and her own hus- 
 band — 
 
 " Oh, when my Derry comes back safe and sound 
 — and he will come back safe, I shall say it over 
 and over to myself until I make it true — when 
 Derry comes back, we'll build a cottage, with win- 
 dows that look out on trees and a garden — and 
 there'll be cozy little rooms, and we'll take Polly 
 Ann and MuflSn — and live happy ever after — . 
 
 " I wonder how father stands it to be always with 
 people who are sick? I never knew what it meant 
 until now. The General is an old dear — but some- 
 times when I sit in that queer room of his with its 
 lacquer and gold and see him in his gorgeous dress- 
 
 394 
 
THE HOPE OF THE WORLD 
 
 ing gown, I feel afraid. It is rather dreadful to 
 tliink that he was once young and strong like Derry, 
 and that he will never be young and strong again. 
 
 " Oh, I want the war to end — I want Derry, and 
 sunshine and well people. ' It seems a hundred 
 years since I did anything just for the fun of doing 
 it. It seems a million years since Daddy and I 
 drove downtown together and drank chocolate 
 sodas — 
 
 " But then nobody is drinking chocolate sodas — 
 at least no one is doing it light-heartedly. You 
 can't be light-hearted when the person you love best 
 in the world is going to war. You can be brave, and 
 you can make your lips laugh, but you can't make 
 your heart laugh — you can't — you can't — . 
 
 " I talk a great deal to the women who come to 
 Emily's Toy Shop. And I am finding out that some 
 of those that seem fluffy-minded are really very 
 much in earnest. There is one little blonde, who 
 always wears white silk and chiffon, she looks as if 
 she had just stepped from the stage. And at first I 
 simply scorned her. I felt that she would be the 
 kind to leave ravellings in her wipes, and things 
 like that. But she doesn't leave a ravelling. She 
 works slowly, but she does her work well — . But 
 now and then her hands tremble and the tears fall ; 
 and the other day I went and sat down beside her 
 and I found out that her husband is flying in 
 France, and that her two brothers are at the 
 
 395 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 front — And one of them is among the missing; 
 he may be a prisoner and he may be dead — , And 
 she is trying to do her bit and be brave. And now 
 I don't care if she does wear her earlocks outside of 
 her veil and load her hands with diamonds — she's 
 a dear — and a darling. But she's scared just as I 
 am — and as Mary Connolly is, and as all the 
 women are, though they don't show it — . I won- 
 der if Joan of Arc was afraid — in her heart as the 
 rest of us are? Perhaps she wasn't, because she 
 was in the thick of it herself, and we aren't. Per- 
 haps if we were where we could see it and have the 
 excitement of it all, we should lose our fear. 
 
 " But when women tell me that the women have 
 the worst of it — that they must sit at home and 
 weep and wait, I don't believe it. We suffer — of 
 course, and there's the thought of it all like a bad 
 dream, and when we love our loved ones — it is 
 heartbreak. But the men suffer, daily, in all the 
 little things. The thirst and the vermin, and the 
 cold and wet — and the noise — and the f rightful- 
 ness. And they grow tired and hungry and home- 
 sick, — and death is on every side of them, and hor- 
 ror — . Some of the women who come to the sho]) 
 sentimentalize a lot. One woman recited, ' Break, 
 break, break — , the other day, and the rest of them 
 cried into the gauze, cried for themselves, if you 
 please; 'For men must work and women must 
 
 396 
 
THE HOPE OF TEE WORLD 
 
 weep.' And then my little blonde told tliem what 
 she thought of them. Her name is ' Maisie,' 
 wouldn't you know a girl like that would be called 
 'Maisie'? 
 
 " ' If you think,' she said, * that you suffer — what 
 in God's name will you think before the war is over? 
 It hasn't touched you. You won't know what suf- 
 fering means until your men begin to come home. 
 You talk about hardships ; not one of you has gone 
 hungry yet — and the men over there may be cut off 
 at any moment from food supplies, and they are al- 
 ways at the mercy of the camp cooks, who may or 
 may not give them things that they can eat. And 
 they lie oiit under the stars with their wounds, and 
 if any of you has a finger ache, you go to bed with 
 hot water bottles and are coddled and cared for. 
 But our boys, — there isn't anyone to coddle them 
 — they have to stick it out. And we've got to stick 
 it out — and not be sorry for ourselves. Oh, why 
 should we be sorry for ourselves? ' The tears were 
 streaming down her cheeks when she finished, and 
 a gray-haired woman who had wept with the others 
 got up and came over to her. ' My dear,' she said, 
 * I shall never pity myself again. My two sons are 
 over there, and I've been thinking how much I have 
 given. But they have given their young lives, their 
 futures — their bodies, to be broken — ' And then 
 standing right in the middle of the Toy Shop that 
 
 397 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 mother prayed for her sons, and for the sons of 
 other women, and for the husbands and lovers, and 
 that the women might be brave. 
 
 " Oh, it was wonderful — as she stood there like 
 a white-veiled ijrophetess, praying. 
 
 " Yet a year ago she would have died rather than 
 pray in public. She is a conservative, aristocratic 
 woman, the kind that doesn't wear rings or try to 
 be picturesque — and she has always kept her feel- 
 ings to herself, and said her prayers to herself — or 
 in church, but never in all her life has she been so 
 fine as she was the other day praying in the Toy 
 Shop. 
 
 " Yet in a way I am sorry for myself. Not for 
 me as I am to-day, but for the Jean of Yesterday, 
 who thought that patriotism was remembering Bun- 
 ker Hill ! 
 
 " Of course in a way it is that — for Bunker Hill 
 and Lexington and Valley Forge are a part of us 
 because our grandfathers were there, and what they 
 felt and did is a part of our feeling and doing. 
 
 " I have always thought of those old days as a 
 sort of picture — the embattled farmers in their 
 shirt-sleeves and with their hair blowing, and the 
 ^.Midnight Eide, and the lantern in the old North 
 Church — and the Spirit of '76. And it was the 
 same with the Civil War; there was always the 
 vision of cavalry sweeping up and down slopes as 
 they do in the movies, and of the bugles calling, and 
 
 398 
 
TEE HOPE OF THE WORLD 
 
 bands playing ' Marcliing tlirougli Georgia ' or 
 ' Dixie ' as the case might be — and flags flying — 
 isn't it glorious to think that the men in gray are 
 singing to-day, ' The Star Spangled Banner ' with 
 the rest of us? 
 
 " But my thoughts never had anything to do with 
 money, though I suppose people gave it then, as 
 they are giving now. But you can't paint pictures 
 of men and women making out checks, and children 
 putting thrift stamps in little books, so I suppose 
 that in future the heroes and heroines of the emptied 
 pocket-books will go down unsung — . 
 
 " It isn't a bit picturesque to give untU it hurts, 
 but it helps a lot. I saw Sarah Bernhardt the other 
 day in a wonderful little play where she's a French 
 boy, who dies in the end — and she dies, exquisitely, 
 with the flag of France in her arms — the faded, 
 lovely flag — I shall never forget. The tears rau 
 down my cheeks so that I couldn't see, but her voice, 
 so faint and clear, still rings in my ears — 
 
 " If she had died clutching a Liberty Bond or 
 wearing a Bed Cross button, it would have seemed 
 like burlesque. Yet there are men and women who 
 are going without bread and butter to buy Liberty 
 Bonds, and who are buying them not as a safe in- 
 vestment, as rich men buy, but because the boys 
 need the money. And there ought to be poems writ- 
 ten and statues erected to commemorate some of 
 the sacrifices for the sake of the Bed Cross. 
 
 399 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " Yet I think that, in a way, we have not empha- 
 sized enough the picturesque quality of this war, 
 not on this side. They do it in France — they wor- 
 ship their great flyers, their great generals, their 
 crack regiments, everything has a personality, they 
 are tender with their shattered cathedrals as if 
 something human had been hurt, and the result is a 
 quickening on the part of every individual, a flam- 
 ing patriotism which as yet we have not felt. We 
 don't worship anything, we don't all of us know the 
 words of ' The Star Spangled Banner ' ; fancy a 
 Frenchman not knowing the words of the ' Marseil- 
 laise ' or an Englishman forgetting ' God Save the 
 King.' We don't shout and sing enough, we don't 
 cry enough, we don't feel enough — and that's all 
 there is to it. If we were hot for the triumph of 
 democracy, there would be no chance of victory for 
 the Hun. Perhaps as the war comes nearer, we 
 shall feel more, and every day it is coming 
 nearer — " 
 
 It was very near, indeed. Thousands of those 
 gray sheep were lying dead on the plains of Picardy 
 — the Allies fought with their backs to the wall — 
 Americans who had swaggered, secure in the prow- 
 ess of Uncle Sam, swaggered no longer, and pon- 
 dered on the parable of the Wise and Foolish Vir- 
 
 Slowly the nation waked to what was before it. 
 In America now lay the hope of the world. The 
 
 400 
 
THE HOPE OF TEE WORLD 
 
 Wolf must be trapped, the steep saved in spite of 
 themselves, those poor sheep, driven blindly to 
 slaughter. 
 
 The General was not quite sure that they were 
 sheep, or that they were being driven. He held, 
 rather, that they knew what they were about — and 
 were not to be pitied. 
 
 Teddy, considering this gravely, went back to pre- 
 vious meditations, and asked if he prayed for his 
 enemies. 
 
 " Bless my soul," said the old gentleman, " why 
 should I?" 
 
 " Well, Mother says we must, and then some day 
 they'll stop and say they are sorry — " 
 
 TI)e General chuckled, " Your mother is optimis- 
 tic." 
 
 " What's 'nopt'mistic? " 
 
 "It means always believing that nice things will 
 happen." 
 
 "Don't you believe that nice things will hap- 
 pen? " 
 
 " Sometimes — " 
 
 " Don't you believe that the war will stop? " 
 
 "Not until we've thrown the full force of our 
 fighting men into it — at what a sacrifice." 
 
 " Can't God make it stop? " 
 
 " He can, but He won't, not if He's a God of jus- 
 tice," said this staunch old patriot, " until America 
 has brought them to their knees — " 
 
 401 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " Will they say they are sorry then? " 
 " It won't make very much (lifference what they 
 say — " 
 
 But Teddy, having been brought up to under- 
 stand the things which belong to an officer and a 
 gentleman, had his own ideas on the subject. 
 "Well, I should think they'd ought to say they 
 were sorry — ." 
 
 402 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 MAECHING FEET 
 
 The end of April brought much rain; torrents 
 swept down the smooth streets, and the beauty of 
 the carefully kept flower beds in the parks was 
 blurred by the wet. 
 
 The General, limping from window to window, 
 chafed. He wanted to get out, to go over the hUls 
 and far away; with the coming of the spring the 
 wander-hunger gripped him, and with this restless 
 mood upon him he stormed at Bronson. 
 
 " It's a dog's life." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Bronson, dutifully. 
 
 " It is dead lonesome, Bronson, and I can't keep 
 Jean tied here all of the time. She is looking pale, 
 don't you think she is looking pale? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. I think she misses Mr. Derry." 
 
 " Well, she'll miss him a lot more before she gets 
 him back," grimly. " He'll be going over soon — " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " I wish I were going," the old man was wistful. 
 " Think of it, Bronson, to be over there — in the 
 thick of it, playing the game, instead of rotting 
 here — " 
 
 403 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 It was, of course, the soldier's point of view. 
 Bronson, being hopelessly civilian, did his best to 
 rise to what was expected of him. " You like it 
 then, sir?" 
 
 " Like it? It is the only life. We've lost some- 
 thing since men took up the game of business in 
 place of the game of fighting." 
 
 " But you see, sir, there's no blood — in busi- 
 ness." Bronson tried to put it delicately. 
 
 " Isn't there? Why, more men are killed in ac- 
 cidents in factories than are killed in war — mur- 
 dered by money-greedy employers." 
 
 " Oh, sir, not quite that." 
 
 " Yes, quite," was the irascible response. " You 
 don't know what you are talking about, Bronson. 
 Read statistics and find out." 
 
 " Yes, sir. Will you have your lunch up now, 
 sir? " 
 
 " I'll get it over and then you can order the car 
 for me." 
 
 " But the rain — ? " 
 
 " I like rain. I'm not sugar or salt." 
 
 Bronson, much perturbed, called up Jean. " The 
 General's going out." 
 
 " Oh, but he mustn't, Bronson." 
 
 " I can't say ' mustn't ' to him. Miss," Bronson 
 reported dismally. " You'd better see what you 
 can do — " 
 
 But when Jean arrived, the General was gone ! 
 404 
 
MARCHING FEET 
 
 " We'll drive out through the country," the old 
 man had told his chauffeur, and had settled back 
 among his cushions, his cane by his side, his foot 
 up on the opposite seat to relieve him of theVeight. 
 
 And it was as he rode that he began to have a 
 strange feeling about that foot which no longer 
 walked or bore him lightly. 
 
 How he had marched in those bygone days ! He 
 remembered the first time he had tried to keep step 
 with his fellows. The tune had been Yankee 
 Doodle — with a fife and drum — and he was a raw 
 young recruit in his queer blue uniform and visored 
 cap — . 
 
 And how eager his feet had been, how strongly 
 they had borne him, spuming the dust of the road 
 — as they would bear him no more — . 
 
 There were men who envied him as he swept past 
 them in the rain, men who felt that he had more 
 than his share of wealth and ease, yet he would have 
 made a glad exchange for the feet which took them 
 where they willed. 
 
 He came at last to one of his old haunts, a small 
 stone house on the edge of the Canal. From its 
 wide porch he had often watched the slow boats go 
 by, with men and women and children living in 
 worlds bounded by weather-beaten decks. To-day 
 in the rain there was a blur of lilac bushes along 
 the tow path, but no boats were in sight ; the Canal 
 was a ruffled gray sheet in the April wind. 
 
 405 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 Lounging in the low-ceiled front room of the stone 
 house were men of the type with whom he had once 
 foregathered — men not of his class or kind, but 
 interesting because of their very differences — hu- 
 man derelicts who had welcomed him. 
 
 But now, for the first time he was not one of 
 them. They eyed his elegances with suspicion — 
 his fur coat, his gloves, his hat — the man whose 
 limousine stood in front of the door was not one of 
 them ; they might beg of him, but they would never 
 call him " Brother." 
 
 So, because his feet no longer" carried him, and 
 he must ride, he found himself cast out, as it were, 
 by outcasts. 
 
 He ordered meat and drink for them, gave them 
 money, made a joke or two as he limped among 
 them, yet felt an alien. He watched them wist- 
 fully, seeing for the first time their sordidness, see- 
 ing what he himself had been, more sordid than any, 
 because of his greater opportunities. 
 
 Sitting apart, he judged them, judged himself. 
 If all the world were like these men, what kind of 
 world would it be? 
 
 " Why aren't you fellows fighting? " he asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 They stared at him. Grumbled. Why should 
 they fight? One of them wept over it, called him- 
 self too old — . 
 
 But there were young men among them. " For 
 406 
 
MARCHING FEET 
 
 God's sake get out of this — let me help you get 
 out." The General stood up, leaned on his cane. 
 " Look here, I've done a lot of things in my time — 
 things like this — " his arm swept out towards the 
 table, " and now I've only one good foot — the other 
 will never be alive again. But you young chaps, 
 you've got two good feet — to march. Do you know 
 what that means, to march? Left, right, left, right 
 and step out bravely — . Yankee Doodle and your 
 heads up, flags flying? And you sit here like this? " 
 
 Two of the men had risen, young and strong. 
 The General's cane pounded — ^he had their eyes! 
 "Left, right, left, right — all over the world men 
 are marching, and you sit here — " 
 
 The years seemed to have dropped from him. 
 His voice rang with a fire that had once drawn men 
 after him. He had led a charge at Gettysburg, and 
 his men had followed ! 
 
 And these two men would follow him. He saw 
 the dawn of their resolve in their faces. " There's 
 fine stuff in both of you," he said, " and the country 
 needs you. Isn't it better to fight than to sit here? 
 Get into my car and I'll take you down." 
 
 "Aw, what's eatin'' you," one of the older men 
 growled. " What game's this? Eecruitin'?" 
 
 But the young men asked no questions. They 
 came — glad to come. Koused out of a lethargy 
 which had bound them. Waked by a ringing old 
 voice. 
 
 407 
 
THE TIJSI ^ULumtc 
 
 The General was rather quiet when he reached 
 home. Jean and Bronson, who had suffered tor- 
 ments, watched him with concerned eyes. And, as 
 if he divined it, he laid his hand over Jean's. " I 
 did a good day's work, my dear. I got two men for 
 the Army, and I'm going to get more — " 
 
 And he did get more. He went not only in the 
 raiUj but in the warmth of the sun, when the old 
 fruit trees bloomed along the tow path, and the 
 backs of the mules were shining black, and the 
 women came out on deck with their washing. 
 
 And always he spoke to the men of marching 
 feet — . Now and then he sang for them in that 
 thin old voice whose thinness was so overlaid by the 
 passion of his patriotism that those who listened 
 found no flaw in it. 
 
 " He has sounded forth the trumpet that has never called re- 
 treat, 
 He is sifting forth the hearts of men before his Judgment seat, 
 O be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet, 
 Our God is marching on — " 
 
 There was no faltering now, no fumbled words. 
 With head up, singing — " Be jubilant, my feet — " 
 
 Sometimes he took Jean with him, but not always. 
 " There are places that I don't like to have you go, 
 my dear, but those are where I get my men." 
 
 At other times when he came out to where she 
 sat in the car there would flash before his eyes the 
 
 408 
 
MARCHING FEET 
 
 vision of his wife's face, as slie, too, had once sat 
 there, waiting — 
 
 Sometimes he took the children, and rode with 
 them on a slow-moving barge from one lock to au- 
 other, with the limousine meeting them at the end. 
 
 So he travelled the old paths, innocently, as he 
 might have travelled them throughout the years. 
 
 Yet if he thought of those difficult years, he said 
 never a word- He felt, perhaps, that there was 
 nothing to say. He took to himself no credit for 
 the things he was doing. If age and infirmity had 
 brought to him a realization of all that he had 
 missed, he was surely not to be praised for doing 
 that which was, obviously, his duty. 
 
 Yet it gave him a new zest for life, and left Jean 
 freer than she had been before. It left her, too, 
 without the fear of him, which had robbed their 
 relationship of all sense of security. 
 
 " You see, I never knew," she wrote in her mem- 
 ory book, "what might happen. I had visions of 
 myself going after him in the night as Derry had 
 gone and his mother. I used to dream about it, 
 and dread it." 
 
 Yet she had said nothing of her dread to Derry in 
 her smiling letters, and as men think of women, he 
 had thought of her in the sick room as a guardian 
 angel, shining and serene. 
 
 409 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 And now, faint and far came to the men in the 
 cantonments the sound of battles across the sea. 
 The bugles calling them each morning seemed to 
 say, " Soon, soon, you will go, you will go, you will 
 go—" 
 
 To Derry, listening, it seemed the echo of the 
 fairy trumpets, " Trutter-a-trutt, trutter-a-trutt, you 
 will go, yon will go, you will go — " 
 
 It was strange how the thought of it drew him, 
 drew him as even the thoughts of Jean his bride 
 did not draw—. He remembered that years ago 
 he had smiled with a tinge of tolerant sophistication 
 over the old lines : 
 
 " I could not love thee, dear, so much, 
 Loved I not honor more — " 
 
 Yet here it was, a truth in his own life. A 
 woman meaning more to him than she could ever 
 have meant in times of peace, because he could go 
 forth to fight for her, his life at stake, for her. It 
 was for her, and for other women that his sword 
 was unsheathed. 
 
 " If only they could understand it," he wrote to 
 Jean. " You haven't any idea what rotten letters 
 some of the women write. Blaming the men for go^ 
 ing over seas. Blaming them for going into it at 
 all. Taking it as a personal offense that their 
 lovers have left them. * If you had loved me, you 
 
 410 
 
MARCniNG FEET 
 
 couldn't have left me,' was the way one woman put 
 it, and I found a poor fellow mooning over it and 
 asked him what was the matter. ' It isn't a ques- 
 tion of what we want to do, it is a question of what 
 we've got to do, if we call ourselves men,' he said. 
 But she couldn't see that, she was measuring her 
 emotions by an inch rule. 
 
 " But, thank God, most of the women are the real 
 thing — true as steel and brave. And it is those 
 women that the men worship. It is a masculine 
 trait to want to be a sort of hero in the eyes of the 
 woman you love. When she doesn't look at it that 
 way, your plumes droop ! " 
 
 And now the bugles rang with a clearer note — 
 not, " You will go, you will go — " but, " Do not 
 wait, do not wait, do not wait." 
 
 The cry from abroad was Macedonian. " Come 
 over and help us I " It was to America that the 
 ghosts of those fighting hordes appealed. 
 
 " Take up our quarrel with the foe, 
 To you from faUing hands we throw 
 The torch — be yours to hold it high. 
 If ye break faith with us who die, 
 We shaU not sleep, though poppies grow 
 In Flanders' field — " 
 
 Gradually there had grown up in the hearts of 
 simple men a flaming response to that sacred charge. 
 Men whose dreams had never reached beyond a 
 
 411 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 day's frivolity, found springing up in their souls a 
 desire to do some deed to match that of the other 
 fellow who slept " in Flanders field." 
 
 " To you from falling hands we throw the torch — 
 be yours to hold it high — ," the little man who had 
 measured cloth behind a counter, the boy who had 
 sold papers on the streets, the bank clerk who had 
 bent over his books, the stenographer who had been 
 bound to the wheel of everlasting dictation, were 
 lighted by the radiance of that vision, " to hold it 
 high—." 
 
 " Gee, I never used to think," said Tommy Tracy, 
 "that I might have a chance to do a stunt like 
 that." 
 
 " Like what? " Derry asked. 
 
 Tommy found it a thing rather hard to express. 
 " Well, when you've been just a common sort of 
 chap, to die — for the other fellow — " 
 
 So men's bodies grew and their muscles hardened. 
 But their souls grew, too, expanding to the breadth 
 and height of the things which were waiting for 
 them to do across the sea. 
 
 And one morning Derry was granted a furlough, 
 and started home. He sent no word ahead of him. 
 He wanted to come upon them unawares. To catch 
 the light that would be on Jean's face when she 
 looked up and saw him. 
 
 There was rain and more rain when at last he 
 arrived in Washington. The trees as hia taxi 
 
 412 
 
MARCHING FEET 
 
 traversed the wide avenues showed clear green, 
 melting into vistas of amethyst and gray. The 
 parks as he j^assed were starred with the bright yel- 
 low and pinks of flowering shrubs. Washington, 
 in spite of the rain, was as lovely as a woman 
 whose color blooms behind a veil. 
 
 He came into the great house unannounced, hav- 
 ing his key with him. The General was out for a 
 ride, the children with him, Margaret and Emily 
 and Jean away, the servants in the back of the 
 house. 
 
 Derry, going up the stairs, two steps at a time, 
 stopped on the landing with head uncovered to greet 
 his mother. 
 
 Oh, lovely painted lady, is this the little white- 
 faced lad you loved, the big bronzed man, fresh from 
 hardships, strong in the sense of the thing he has to 
 do? 
 
 No promise made to you could hold him now. He 
 has weighed your small demands in the balance with 
 the world's great need. 
 
 He did not tarry long. Straight as an eagle to 
 its mate, he swept through the hall and knocked at 
 the door of Jean's room. There was no response. 
 He knocked again, turned the handle, entered, and 
 found the room empty. The tin soldier on the shelf 
 shouted, "Welcome, welcome — comrade," but 
 Derry had no ears to hear. Everywhere were signs 
 of Jean ; her fat memory book open on her desk, the 
 
 413 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 ivory and gold appointments of her dressing table, 
 her pink slippers, her prayer book — his own pic- 
 ture with flowers in front of it as before a shrine. 
 
 " My deal", my darling," his heart said when he 
 saw that. What, after all, was he that she should 
 worship him? 
 
 Impatient, he rang for Bronson, and the old man 
 came — bewildered, hurried, joyful. " It's a great 
 surprise, sir, but it's good to see you." 
 
 " It's good to see you, Bronson. Where's Miss 
 Jean?" 
 
 " At Miss Emily's shop, sir." 
 
 " As late as this? " 
 
 " Sometimes later. She tries to get home in time 
 for dinner." 
 
 "Where's Dad?" 
 
 ^'Driving with the children, and the ladies are 
 out on war work." 
 
 A year ago women had played bridge at this hour 
 in the afternoon, but there was no playing now. 
 
 " Don't tell Dad that I am here. I'll come back 
 presently with Mrs. Drake." 
 
 And now down the hall came an t)ld gray 
 dog, wild with delight, outracing Polly Ann, who 
 thought it was a play and leaped after him — Muf- 
 fin had found his master ! 
 
 But Derry left Muffin, left Bronson, left Polly 
 Ann, a wistful trio at the front door. He must 
 find Jean! 
 
 414 
 
MARCHING FEET 
 
 The day was darkening, and a liglit burned far 
 back on the Toy Shop. Derry, standing outside, 
 saw a room which was the very wraith of the gay 
 little shop as he had left it — with its white tables, 
 its long counters piled high with finished dressings ; 
 the white elephants in a spectral row behind glass 
 doors on the top shelf the only reminder of what 
 it once had beeni. 
 
 He saw, too, a small nun-like figure behind the 
 counter, a figure all in white, with a white veil 
 banded about her forehead and flowing down be- 
 hind. 
 
 All of her bright hair was hidden, her eyes were 
 on the compresses that she was counting. It 
 seemed to him that there was a sharpened look on 
 the little face. 
 
 He had not expected this. He had felt that he 
 would find her glowing as she had been on that first 
 night when he had followed his father through the 
 rain — his dream had been of crinkled copper hair, 
 of silver and rose, of youth and laughter and light- 
 ness — . 
 
 Her letters had been like that — gay, sparkling 
 — there had been times when they had seemed al- 
 most too exuberant, times when he had wondered if 
 she had really waked to the seriousness of the great 
 struggle, and the part he was to play in it. 
 
 Yet now he saw signs of suffering. He opened 
 the door. " Jean," he cried. 
 
 415 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 With the blood all drained from her face, she 
 stared at Mm as if she saw a specter — " Derry," 
 she whispered. 
 
 With his strong arms, he lifted her over the coun- 
 ter. " Jean-Joan, Jean-Joan — " 
 
 When at last she released herself, it was to laugh 
 through her tears. " Derry, pull down the shades ; 
 what will people think? " 
 
 He cared little what people would think. And, 
 anyway, very few people were passing at that late 
 hour in the rain. But he pulled them down, and 
 when he came back, he held her ofiE at arm's length. 
 "What have you been doing to yourself, dearest? 
 You are a featter-weight." 
 
 " Well, I've been working." 
 
 " How does it happen that you are here alone? " 
 
 "Emily had to go down to order supplies, and 
 Margaret went to a Liberty Loan meeting. I often 
 stay like this to count and tie." 
 
 " Don't you get dreadfully tired? " 
 
 " Yes. ' But I think I like to get tired. It keeps 
 me from thinking too much." 
 
 He drew her to him. " Take off your veil," he 
 said, almost roughly. " I want to see your hair." 
 
 Divested of her headcovering, she was more like 
 herself, but even then he was not content. He 
 loosed a hairpin here and there and ran his fin- 
 gers through the crinkled gold. " If you knew how 
 I've dreamed of it, Jean-Joan." 
 
 416 
 
MARCHING FEET 
 
 But he had not dreamed of the dearness of the 
 little face. " My darling, you have been pining, and 
 I didn't know it." 
 
 " Well, didn't you like my smiling letters? " 
 
 " So that was it? You've been trying to cheer 
 me up, and letting yourself get like this." 
 
 " I didn't want to worry you." 
 
 " Didn't you know that I'd want to be worried 
 with anything that pertained to you? What's a 
 husband for, dearest, if you can't tell him your 
 troubles? " 
 
 " Yes, but a soldier-husband, Derry, is different. 
 You've got to keep smiling — " 
 
 Her lips trembled and she clung to him. *' It is 
 so good to have you here, Derry." 
 
 She admitted, later, that she had confided her 
 troubles to her memory book. " There weren't any 
 big things, really — just missing you and all 
 that—" 
 
 He was jealous of the memory book. "I shall 
 read every word of it." 
 
 " Not until you come back from the war — and 
 then we can laugh at it together." 
 
 They fell into silence after that. With his arms 
 about her he thought that he might not come back, 
 and she clinging to him had the same thought. But 
 neither told the other. 
 
 " Do you know," she said at last, sitting up and 
 sticking the hairpins into her crinkled knot. " Do 
 
 417 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 you know that it's almost time for dinner, and that 
 the General will wonder where I am? " 
 
 " I told Bronson not to tell him." 
 
 "Oh, really, Derry? Let's make it a great sur- 
 prise." 
 
 Providentially the General was late. He and the 
 children came home to find the house quite remark- 
 ably illumined, and Margaret flushed and excited, 
 and in white. 
 
 " Is it a party. Mother? " Teddy asked, lending 
 his shoulder manfully to the General's hand, as, 
 with the chauffeur on the other side, they helped 
 the old man up the stairs. 
 
 " No, but on such a rainy night Bronson and I 
 tl^ought we'd have a little feast. Don't you think 
 that would be fun? " 
 
 The General was tired. " I had planned not to 
 come down again — " 
 
 " Please do," she beg'ged. 
 
 Bronson, knowing his master's moods, was on tip- 
 toe with anxiety. " I've your things all laid out, 
 sir." 
 
 " Well, well, I'll see." 
 
 Teddy, somewhat out of breath as they reached 
 the top landing was inspired to remark, " We'll be 
 'spointed if you don't come down — " 
 
 " You want me, eh? " 
 
 " Yes, I do. There isii't any other man — " 
 
 The General chuCkled. " Well, that's reason 
 418 
 
MARCHING FEET 
 
 enough — . You can count on me, Ted, for mascu- 
 line support." 
 
 The table was laid for six. Teddy appearing 
 presently in the dining room pointed out the fact to 
 Bronson, who was taking a last look. 
 
 " Is Margaret-Mary coming down? " 
 
 " She may later, for the sweets." 
 
 " Those aren't her spoons and forks." 
 
 " Well, well," said Bronson, " so they aren't " ; 
 but he did not have them changed. 
 
 The General in his dinner coat, perfectly groomed, 
 immaculate, found Jean in rose and sUver waiting 
 for him. 
 
 " How gay we are," he said, and pinched her 
 cheek. 
 
 Teddy in white linen and patent leathers also 
 approved. "You've got on your spangly dwess, 
 and it makes you pwetty — " 
 
 "Oh, Ted, is it just my clothes that make me 
 pretty?" 
 
 " I didn't mean that. Only tonight you're so 
 nice and — shining." 
 
 She shone, indeed, with such effulgence, that it 
 was a wonder that the General did not suspect. 
 But he did not, even when she said, " We have a 
 surprise for you." 
 
 " For me, my dear? " 
 
 " Yes. A parcel — it came this afternoon. We 
 want you to untie the string." 
 
 419 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " Where is it? " Teddy demanded. 
 
 " On the table in the blue room." 
 
 Teddy rushed in ahead of the rest, came back and 
 reported, " It's a big one." 
 
 It was a big one, cone-shaped and tied up in 
 brown paper. It was set on a heavy carved table, 
 a length of tapestry was under it and hid the legs 
 of the table. 
 
 " It looks like a small tree," the General re- 
 marked. " But why all this air of mystery? " 
 
 He was plainly bored by the fuss they were mak- 
 ing. He was tired, and he wanted his dinner. 
 
 But Jean, in an excited voice, was telling him to 
 cut the string, and Bronson was handing him a 
 knife. 
 
 And then — the paper dropped and eveiybody 
 was laughing, and Teddy was screaming wUdly and 
 he was staring at the khaki-clad upper half of a 
 tall young soldier whose silver-blond hair was 
 clipped close, and whose hand went up in salute. 
 
 " It's Cousin Derry. It's Cousin Derry," Teddy 
 was shouting, and Margaret-Mary piped up, " It's 
 Tousin Dee." 
 
 Derry stepped out from behind the table, where 
 leaning forward and wrapped up he had lent him- 
 self to the illusion, and put both hands on the Gen- 
 eral's shoulders. " Glad to see me. Dad? " 
 
 " Glad, my dear boy — " It was almost too much 
 for him. 
 
 420 
 
MARCHING FEET 
 
 Yet as supported by Ms son's arm, they went a 
 moment later into the dining room, he had a sense 
 of renewed strength in the youth and vigor of this 
 youth who was hone of his bone, flesh of his flesh. 
 If his own feet could not march here were feet 
 which would march for him. 
 
 There were flowers on the table, most extrava- 
 gantly, for these war times, orchids ; and there were 
 tall white candles in silver holders. 
 
 Jean shining between the candles was a wonder 
 for the world to gaze upon. Derry couldn't keep 
 his eyes off her. This was no longer a little nun of 
 the Toy Shop, yet he held the vision of the little 
 nun in his heart, lest he should forget that she had 
 suffered. 
 
 He talked to them all. But beating like a wave 
 against his consciousness was always the thought 
 of Jean. Of the things he had to tell her which he 
 could tell to no one else. He knew now that he 
 could reveal to her the depths of his nature. He 
 had withheld so much, fearing to crush her butter- 
 fly wings, but she was not a butterfly. They had 
 been playing at cross purposes, and writing letters 
 that merely skimmed the surface of their emotions. 
 It had taken those moments in the Toy Shop to 
 teach them their mistake. 
 
 Teddy, feeling that the occasion called for a re- 
 laxing of the chUdren-should-be-seen-and-not-heard 
 rule, asked questions. 
 
 421 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " How long can you stay? " 
 
 « Ten days." 
 
 " Are you going to Fwance? " 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Mother says Fve got to pray for the Germans." 
 
 " Teddy," Margaret admonished. 
 
 " Well, I rather think I would," Derry told him. 
 " They need it." 
 
 This was a new angle. " Shall you hate to kill 
 them?" 
 
 There was a stir about the table. The old man 
 and the women seemed to hang on Derry's answer. 
 
 " Yes, I shall hate it. I hate all killing, but it's 
 got to be done." 
 
 He spoke presently, at length, of what many men 
 thought of war. 
 
 " We are red-blooded enough, we Americans, but 
 I think we hate killing the other man rather more 
 than we fear being killed. It's sickening — bay- 
 onet practice. Killing at long range is different. 
 The children of my generation were trained to 
 tender-heartedness. We looked after the birds and 
 rescued kittens, and were told that wars were im- 
 possible — long wars. But war is not impossible, 
 and it has come upon us, and we are finding that 
 men must be brave not merely in the face of losing 
 their own lives, but in the face of taking the lives of 
 — others. I sometimes wonder what it must have 
 seemed to those Germans who went first into Bel- 
 
 422 
 
MARCHING FEET 
 
 giilm. Some of them must have been kind — some 
 of them must have asked to be shot rather than be 
 set at the vi^ork of butcheiy. 
 
 " I sometimes think," he pursued, " that if we 
 could give moving pictures of the war just as it is 
 — in all its horror and hideousness — show the pic- 
 tures in every little town in every country in the 
 world, that war would stop at once. If the Ger- 
 mans could see themselves in those towns in Bel- 
 gium — if the world could see them. If we could 
 see men mowed down — wounded, close up, as our 
 soldiers see them. If our people should be forced 
 to look at those pictures, as the people of war-rid- 
 den countries have been forced to gaze upon reali- 
 ties, money would be provided and men provided in 
 such amounts and numbers that those who began 
 the war would be forced to end it on the terms the 
 world would set for them. 
 
 " The fact that men are going into this war in 
 spite of their aversion to killing shows the stuff of 
 which they are made. It is like drowning kittens," 
 he smiled a little. " It has to be done or the world 
 would be overrun by cats." 
 
 Teddy, wide-eyed, was listening. " Do people 
 drown kittens? " he asked. " Oh, I didn't think 
 they would." It was a sad commentary on the con- 
 ditions of war that he was more heavily oppressed 
 by the thought of drowned little cats than by the 
 murder of men. 
 
 423 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 " My dear fellow," Derry said, " we won't talk 
 about such things. I must beg your pardon for 
 mentioning it." 
 
 The talk flowed on then in lighter vein. " Ealph 
 Witherspoon is in town," Jean youchsafed. " He 
 had a bad fall and was sent home to get over it. 
 Mrs. Witherspoon has asked me there to dine. I 
 shall take you with me." 
 
 " I didn't know that people were dining out in 
 these times." 
 
 " Mrs. Witherspoon prideS herself on her con- 
 servation menus. She says that she serves war 
 things, that she gives us nothing to eat that the men 
 need, and she likes her friends about her." 
 
 " We shall miss Drusilla," Derry said. " I've 
 been worried about her since the Huns recaptured 
 those towns in France." 
 
 " Daddy wrote that she is not far from his hos- 
 pital, doing splendid work, and that the men adore 
 her." 
 
 " They would," said Derry. " She is a great- 
 hearted creature. I can fancy her singing to them 
 over there. You know what a wonder she was at 
 that sort of thing — " 
 
 After dinner the General was eager to have his 
 son to himself. " The women will excuse us while 
 we smoke and talk." 
 
 Derry's eyes wandered to Jean. " All right," he 
 said with an effort. 
 
 424 
 
MARCHING FEET 
 
 The General's heart tightened. His son was his 
 son. The little girl in silver and rose was in a 
 sense an outsider. She had not known Derry 
 throughout the years, as his father had known him. 
 How could she care as much? 
 
 Yet she did care. He realized how Derry's com- 
 ing had changed her. He heard her laugh as she 
 had not laughed in all the weeks of loneliness. She 
 came up and stood beside Derry, and linked her 
 arm in his and looked up at him with shining eyes. 
 
 " Isn't he — wonderful? " she asked, with a catch 
 of her breath. 
 
 " Oh, take her away," the old gentleman said. 
 " Go and talk to her somewhere." 
 
 Derry's face brightened. " You don't mind? " 
 
 " Of course not," stoutly. " Bronson says that 
 the rain has stopped. There's probably a moon 
 somewhere, if you'll look for it." 
 
 Margaret went up to put the children to bed. 
 Emily, promising to come back, withdrew to write 
 a letter. The old man sat alone. 
 
 He limped into the blue room, and gazed in- 
 differently around on its treasures. Once he had 
 cared for these plates and cups — his quest for 
 rare porcelains had been eager. 
 
 And now he did not care. The lovely glazed 
 things were for the eye, not for the heart. He 
 would have given them all for the touch of a loving 
 hand, for a voice that grew tender — . 
 
 425 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 There was the patter of little feet on the polished 
 floor. Margaret-Mary in a diminutive blue dress- 
 ing gown and infinitesimal slippers, with her curls 
 brushed tidily up from the back of her neck and 
 skewered with a hairpin, came over and laid her 
 hand on his knee. " Dus a 'itte 'tory? " she asked 
 ingratiatingly. She adored stories. 
 
 He picked her up, and she curled herself into the 
 corner of his arm. 
 
 Her mother found her there. " Mother's naughty 
 little girl," she said, " to run away — " 
 
 " Let her stay," the General begged. " Somehow 
 my heart needs her tonight." 
 
 426 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 SIX DAYS 
 
 Four days of Derry's furlough had passed, four 
 palpitating days, and now the hours that the lovers 
 spent together began to take on the poignant quality 
 of coming separation. Every moment counted,, 
 nothing must be lost, nothing must be left unsaid,, 
 nothing must be left undone which should empha- 
 size their oneness of thought and purpose. 
 
 They read together, they walked together, they 
 rode together, they went to church together. If 
 they included the General in their plans it was be- 
 cause they felt his need of them, not theirs of him. 
 They lived in a world created to survive for ten 
 days and then to collapse like a pricked bubble — 
 
 And it was because of the dread of collapse that 
 Jean began to plan a structure of remembrance 
 which should endure after Derry's departure. 
 
 " Darling," she said, " there are only six days — 
 "What shall we do with them?" 
 
 THE FIFTH DAX 
 
 It was Sunday, and in the morning they went 
 dutifully to church. They ate their luncheon duti- 
 
 427 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 fully with the whole family, and motored dutifully 
 afterwards with the General, Then at twilight 
 they sought the Toy Shop. 
 
 They had it all to themselves, and they had told 
 Bronson that they would not be home for dinner. 
 So Jean made chocolate for Derry as she had made 
 it on that first night for his father. They toasted 
 Avar bread on the electric grill, and there were 
 strawberries. 
 
 They were charmed with their housekeeping. 
 "It would have been like this," Derry said — all 
 eyes for her loveliness, " if you had been the girl in 
 the Toy Shop and I had been the shabby boy — " 
 
 Jean pondered. " I wonder if a big house is ever 
 really a home?" 
 
 " Not ours. Mother tried to make it — but it has 
 always been a sort of museum with Dad's collec- 
 tions." 
 
 " Do you think that some day we could have a 
 little house? " 
 
 "We can have whatever you want." His smile 
 warmed her. 
 
 " Wouldn't you want it, Derry? " 
 
 " If you were in it." 
 
 " Let's talk about it, and plan it, and put dream 
 furniture in it, and dream friends — " 
 
 " More Lovely Dreams? " 
 
 " Well, something like that — a House o' Dreams, 
 Derry, without any gold dragons or marble halls or 
 
 428 
 
SIX DAYS 
 
 queer porcelain things; just our own bits of furni- 
 ture and china, and a garden, and Muffin and Polly 
 Ann — " Her eyes were wistful. 
 
 " Ton shall have it now if you wish." 
 
 " Not until you can share it with me — " 
 
 And that was the beginning of their fantastic 
 pilgrimage. In the time that was left to them they 
 were to find a house of dreams, and as Jean said, 
 expansively, " all the rest." 
 
 "We will start tonight," Derry declared. 
 " There's such a moon." 
 
 It was the kind of moon that whitened the world ; 
 one swam in a sea of light. Derry's runabout was 
 a fairy car. Jean's hair was molten gold, her 
 lover's pale silver — as with bare heads, having 
 passed the city limits, they took the open road. 
 
 It was as warm as summer, and there were 
 fragrances which seemed to wash over them in 
 waves as they passed old gardens and old orchards. 
 There was bridal-wreath billowing above - stone 
 fences, snow-balls, pale globes among the green, 
 beds of iris, purple-black beneath the moon. 
 
 They forded a stream — more silver, and a silver 
 road after that. 
 
 " Where are we going? " Jean breathed. 
 
 " I know a house — " 
 
 It was a little house set on top of a hill, where 
 indeed no little house should be set, for little houses 
 should nestle, protected by the slopes back of them. 
 
 429 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 But this little house was set up there for the view 
 — the Monument a spectral shaft, miles away, the 
 Potomac broadening out beyond it, the old trees of 
 the Park sleeping between. This was what the 
 little house saw by night; It saw more than that by 
 day. 
 
 It was not an empty house. One window was 
 lighted, a square of gold in a lower room. 
 
 They did not know who lived in the house. They 
 did not care. For the moment it was theirs. 
 Leaving the car, they sat on the grass and surveyed 
 iheir property. 
 
 " Of course it is ours," Jean said, " and when you 
 are over there, you can think of it with the moon 
 shining on it." 
 
 " I like the sloping roof," her lover took up the 
 refrain, " and the big chimney and the wide win- 
 dows." 
 
 " I can sit on the window seat and watch for you, 
 Derry, and there will be smoke coming out of the 
 chimney on cold days, and a fire roaring on the 
 hearth when you open the door — " ' 
 
 They decided that there ought to be eight 
 rooms — , and they named them, The Log-Fire 
 Koom; The Eoom of Little Feasts; the Place of 
 Pots and Pans — 
 
 " That's the first floor," said Jean. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The upper floor was harder — The Eoyal Suite; 
 430 
 
SIX DATS 
 
 The Friendly Room, for the dream maid of all work ; 
 The Spare Chamber — 
 
 " My grandmother had a spare chamber," Jean 
 explained, " and I always liked the sound of it, as 
 if she kept her hospitality pressed down and run- 
 ning over — " 
 
 Derry, who had written it all by the light of the 
 moon, held his pencil poised. " There is one more," '. 
 he said, " the little room towards the West — " 
 
 Jean hesitated for the breadth of a second. 
 " Well, we may need another," she said, and left it 
 nameless. 
 
 The door opened and a man came out. If he saw 
 them, they meant nothing to him — a pair of lovers 
 by the wayside ; there were many such. 
 
 He paced back and forth on the gravel walk. 
 They could hear the crunch of it under his feet. 
 They saw the shining tip of Ms cigar — smelt its 
 fragrance — . 
 
 Again the door opened, to frame a woman. She 
 called and her voice was young. 
 
 " Dearest, it is late. Are you coming in? " 
 
 His young voice answered. His far-flung cigar- 
 end trailed across the darkness, his eager steps gave 
 quick response — the door was^ shut — . 
 
 " Oh, Derry, I'd call you like that — " 
 
 " And I should come." 
 
 The light went out on the lower floor, and pres- 
 ently in a room above a window was illumined. 
 
 431 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 THE SIXTH DAY 
 
 A dream house must have dream furniture. 
 There are old shops in Alexandria, where, less often 
 than in earlier years, one may find treasures, bow- 
 legged chairs and gate-legged tables, yellowed let- 
 ters written by famous pens, steel engravings which 
 have hung in historic halls, pewter and plate. Luster 
 and Sevres, Wedgwood and Willow, Chippendale 
 and Hepplewhite, Adams and Empire, everything 
 linked with some distinguished name, everything 
 with a story, real or invented. One may buy an 
 ancestor for a song, or at least the portrait of 
 one, and silver with armorial bearings, and no one 
 will know if you do not tell them that your heir- 
 looms have come from a shop. 
 
 And Alexandria, as all the world knows, is 
 reached from Washington by motor and trolley, 
 train or ferry. 
 
 It was by ferry that the lovers preferred to go in 
 the glory of this May morning, feeling the breeze 
 fresh in their faces as with a motley crowd they 
 stood on the lower deck and looked towards the old 
 town. 
 
 Thus they came to the wharves, flanked by ancient 
 warehouses in a straggly row along the water line. 
 The windows of these ancient edifices had looked 
 down on Eevolutionary heroes, the old brick walls 
 had echoed to the sound of fife and drum — the old 
 
 432 
 
8IX DATS 
 
 streets had once been thronged by men in blue and 
 buff. Since those days the quaint little cify had 
 basked in the pride of her traditions. She had 
 tolerated nothing modern untU within this very 
 year she had waked to find that her red-coat enemy 
 was now her friend, that the roads which George 
 Washington had travelled were being trod once 
 more by marching men; that in the church where 
 he had worshipped prayers were being said once 
 more for men in battle. 
 
 And into the shops, with their storied antiques, 
 drifted now men in olive-drab and men in blue, and 
 men in forester's green, who laughed at the flint 
 locks and powder horns, saluted the Father of his 
 Country whenever they passed his picture, gazed 
 with reverence on ancient swords and uniforms, 
 dickered for such small articles as might be bought 
 out of their limited allowances, and paid in the end, 
 cheerfully, prices which would have been scorned 
 by any discriminating buyer. 
 
 " There must be a table for the Log-Fire Room,'" 
 Jean told her husband, " and a fire-bench, not too 
 high, and a big chair for you, and another chair 
 for me — " 
 
 " And a stool for your little feet — ." 
 
 " And a desk for you, Derry." 
 
 " And an oval mirror with a gold frame, for me to 
 see your face in, Jean- Joan — " 
 
 Then there was a four-poster bed with pine- 
 433 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 apples, and an Adams screen, an old brass-bound 
 chest, the most adorable things in Sheffield and crys- 
 tal, and to crown it all, a picture of George Wash- 
 ington — a print, faintly colored, with the coun- 
 try's coat of arms carved on the frame. 
 
 Yet not one thing did they buy except a quite 
 sumptuous and splendid marriage coffer which sug- 
 gested itself at once as the only wedding present for 
 Emily. 
 
 The price took Jean's breath away. " But, dear- 
 est—" 
 
 " Nothing is too good for Emily, Jean-Joan." 
 
 That night Derry drew a picture of the house in 
 Jean's niemory book. 
 
 " I'll put a garden in frpnt — " 
 
 "How can you put in a garden, Derry, when 
 there isn't one? " 
 
 She wore a lace robe and a lace cap, and there 
 were pink ribbons threaded in, and her cheeks were 
 pink. " You can't put in a garden until there is 
 one, Derry. When we find it, it must be a love- 
 some garden, with the old-fashioned flowers, and a 
 fountain with a cupid — and a fi^h-pond." 
 
 With this settled, he proceeded, with facile pen, 
 to furnish the house. There was the Log-Fire 
 Eoom, with the print of George Washington over 
 the mantel, with Jean's knitting on the table ; Muf- 
 fin on one side of the fire, and Polly Ann on the 
 
 431 
 
SIX DAYS 
 
 other. He even started to put Jean in one of the 
 big chairs, but she made him rub it out. " Not yet, 
 Derry. You see, I am not living in it yet. I am 
 living here, with you alive and loving — " 
 
 He caught her to him. "When you are away 
 from me," she whispered, "I'll live in it — and 
 you'll be there — and I shall never feel alone — " 
 
 Yet later, t)erry coming in unexpectedly after a 
 talk with his father, found her sobbing with her 
 head on the fat old book. 
 
 " My darling — " 
 
 "It isn't that I am unhappy, Derry — . It is 
 just for that one little minute, I wanted it to be 
 real — " 
 
 THE SEVENTH DAY 
 
 It was on the morning of the seventh day that a 
 letter came from DrusUla. 
 
 " Dear Babes in the Wood: 
 
 " I am writing this to tell you that the next time 
 I see Captain Hewes, I am going to marry him. 
 That sounds a little like a hold-up, doesn't it? But 
 it is the way we are doing things over here. He 
 has wanted it for so long, and I am beginning to 
 know that I want it, too. It has been hard to tell 
 just what was really best in the face of all that is 
 happening. It has seemed sometimes as if it were a 
 sacrilege to think of love and life in the midst of 
 death and destruction. 
 
 " I shan't have any trousseau ; I shan't have a 
 435 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 wedding journey. He will just blow in some day, 
 and the chaplain will marry us, and the little old 
 cur6 of this village will give us Ms blessing. 
 
 " I never expected to be married like this. You 
 know the kind of mind I have. I must always see 
 the picture of myself doing things, and there had 
 always been a sort of dream of some great church 
 with a blur of gold light at the far end, and myself 
 floating up the aisle in a cloud of white veil, and a 
 hushed crowd and the organ playing. 
 
 " And it won't be a bit like that. I shall wear a 
 uniform and a flannel shirt, and I'll be lucky if my 
 boots are not splashed with mud. It will seem 
 queer to be married with my boots on, as men died 
 in old romances. 
 
 " Perhaps by the time this reaches you, Drusilla 
 Gray will be Drusilla Hewes, and so I ask your 
 blessing, and your prayers. 
 
 " I should never have asked for your prayers a 
 year ago. I should have been thanking you for your 
 wedding present of glass and silver, and asking you 
 to dine with me on Tuesday or Thursday as the case 
 might be. But now, the only thought that holds 
 me is whether God will give my Captain back to 
 me, and the hope that if not, I may have the strength 
 to bear it — . 
 
 " I am sure that Derry will feel the sublimity of 
 it all when he comes — death is so near, yet so little 
 feared; the men know that tonight or tomorrow 
 they may be beyond the shadows, and it holds them 
 to something bigger than themselves. 
 
 " But be sure of this, my dears, that when Derry 
 goes the seas will not part you — . Spirit touches 
 spirit, space has nothing to do with it. Often when 
 
 436 
 
SIX DAYS 
 
 I am alone, the Captain conies to me, speaks to me, 
 cheers me; I think if he should die in battle, he 
 would still come. 
 
 " If ever I have a home of my own, I shall build 
 an altar not to the Unknown God but to the God 
 whom 1 had lost and have found again. I go into 
 old churches here to pray, and it is no longer a mat- 
 ter of feeling, no longer a matter of form, it is somes- 
 thing more than that. 
 
 " And now I can't ask you to dance at my wed- 
 ding, but I can ask you to wish me happiness and 
 a long life 'with my lover, or failing that, the 
 strength to give him up — " 
 
 She signed herself, " Always loving you both, 
 
 " Deusilla." 
 
 " Such a dear letter," said Jean. 
 
 "And such a different Drusilla. Do you think 
 that the Drusilla of the old days would have built 
 an altar?" 
 
 And it was because of Drusilla's letter that 
 Derry took Jean that afternoon to the great Library 
 with the gold dome and guided her to a corridor 
 made beautiful by the brush of an artist who had 
 painted " The Occupations of the Day " ; in one 
 lunette a primitive man and woman knelt before a 
 pile of stones on which burned a sacred flame. 
 Above them was blue sky — flowers grfew within 
 reach of their hands — the fields stretched beyond. 
 
 " We must build an altar, dearest." 
 
 " In our hearts — " 
 
 " And in our House of Dreams — " 
 437 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 THE EIGHTH DAY 
 
 There was no getting out of the Witherspoon 
 dinner, and it was when Ralph greeted Jean that he 
 said to her, " You are lovelier than ever." 
 
 She smiled at him. " It is because my heart is 
 singing — " 
 
 " Do you feel like that? " 
 
 She nodded. " In three days the song will cease 
 — the lights will go out, and the curtain will fall — 
 the end of the world will come." 
 
 " Drake goes in three days? " 
 
 " He goes back to camp. I don't expect to see 
 him again before he sails." 
 
 " Lucky fellow.*' 
 
 " To go? " 
 
 "To have you." 
 
 " Please don't." 
 
 " Let me say this — that I acted like a cad ; I'd 
 like to feel that you've forgiven me." 
 
 " I have forgotten, which is better, isn't it? " 
 
 " How sweet you are — and all the sweetness is 
 Derry's. Well, when I go over, will you pray for 
 me, my dear?" 
 
 He was in dead earnest. "There are so few 
 women — who pray — but I rather fancy that you 
 must — " 
 
 All around theln ;was surging talk. "How 
 438 
 
;Sf/X DAYS 
 
 strange it seems," Jean said, " that we should be 
 speaking of such things, here — " 
 
 " No," Ealph said, " it is not strange. I have a 
 feeling that I shan't come back." 
 
 Alma Drew on the other side of him claimed his 
 attention. " War is the great sensational oppor- 
 tunity. And there are people who like patriotism 
 of the soiind-the-trumpet-beat-the-drum yariety — " 
 
 " You said that rather cleverly. Alma," Ralph 
 told her, " but you mustn't forget that was the kind 
 of patriotism our forefathers had, and it seemed 
 rather effective." 
 
 " Men aren't machines," Jean said hotly. " They 
 are flesh and blood, and so are women — a fife and 
 drum or a bag-pipe means more to them than just 
 crude music; the blood of their ancestors thrilled 
 to the sound." 
 
 " As savages thrill to a tom-tom." 
 
 They stared at her. 
 
 " It is all savage," Alma said, crisply and coolly. 
 " We are all murderers. We are teaching our men 
 to run Germans through with bayonets, and trying 
 to make ourselves think that they aren't breaking 
 the sixth commandment. Yet in times of peace, 
 when a man kills he goes to the electric chair — " 
 
 It was Derry who answered that. " If in times 
 of peace I heard you scream and saw you set upon 
 by thieves and murderers, and stood with my hands 
 
 439 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 in my pockets while you were tortured and killed, 
 would you call my non-interference laudable? " 
 
 " That's different." 
 
 " It is the same thing. The only difference lies 
 in the fact that thousands of defenceless women and 
 little children are calling. Would you have the na- 
 tion stand with its hands in its pockets? " 
 
 Alma, cold as ice, challenged him : " Why 
 should they call to us? We'll be sorry some day 
 that we went into it." 
 
 Out of a dead silence, a man said : " Not long 
 ago, I went into a sweet shop in England. A 
 woman came in with two children. They were rosy 
 children and round. They carried muffs. 
 
 " She bought candy for them — ■ and when she 
 gave it to them, I saw that they had — no hands — " 
 
 A gasp went round the table. 
 
 " They were Belgian children." 
 
 That night Jean said to Deny with a sternness 
 which set strangely upon her, "We must have 
 friends in our House of Dreams. The latchstrings 
 will always be out for people like Emily and Marion, 
 and Drusilla, and Ulrich and Ralph — " 
 
 "Yes—" 
 
 " But not for Hilda and Alma." 
 
 THE NINTH DAY 
 
 It was on the ninth day that Derry waked his wife 
 at dawn. " I've ordered the car. It rained in the 
 
 440 
 
THESE ARE MY JEWELS 
 
SIX DAYS 
 
 night, and now — oh, there was never such a morn- 
 ing; there may never be such a morning for us 
 again." 
 
 " What time is it, Derry? " 
 
 " Sunrise time — come and see." 
 
 Her window faced the east, and she saw all the 
 pearl of it, and the faint rose and the amethyst and 
 gold. 
 
 "We shall eat our breakfast ten miles from 
 town," Derry said, as their car carried him out into 
 the country, " and there's a lovesome garden — " 
 
 " With old-fashioned flowers and a fountain and 
 a Cupid? " 
 
 " With all that — and more — " 
 
 The garden belonged to an old woman. For 
 years and years she had planted flowers — tulips 
 and hyacinths and poppies and lilies and gladiolus 
 and larkspur and phlox and ladyslipper — there 
 had always been a riot of color. 
 
 She had an old gardener, and she would stand 
 over him, leaning on her silver-topped ebony cane, 
 with a lace scarf covering her hair, and would point 
 out the places to plant things. 
 
 But now in her garden she had strawberries and 
 Swiss chard and sweet herbs, and rows and rows of 
 peas and young onions and potatoes, with a place 
 left for corn at the back, and tomatoes in every 
 spare space. 
 
 And there was lettuce, and an asparagus bed, and 
 441 
 
THE TIN. SOLDIER 
 
 everything on this May morning was shouting to 
 the sun. 
 
 "I had always thought," said the old lady tp 
 Derry, when he presented Jean, " that a vegetable 
 garden was uninteresting. But it is a little world 
 
 — with class distinctions of its own, if you please. 
 All the really useful vegetables we call common; 
 it is the ones we can do without which are the 
 aristocrats. The potatoes and cabbages and onions 
 are really important, but I am proudest of my 
 young peas and my peppers and cucumbers and 
 tomatoes, and that's the way of the world, isn't it? 
 If there was only an aristocracy things would stop, 
 but the common folk could go on alone until the 
 end of time." 
 
 She gave Jean a blue bowl to pick strawberries 
 in ; and Derry dug asparagus — the creamy shoots 
 were tipped with pale purple and pink, deepening 
 into green where they had stood too long in the sun. 
 
 " Aren't there any flowers? " Jean was anxious. 
 
 " Come and see." The old woman went ahead 
 of them, her cane tap-tapping on the stone flags. 
 
 She opened a gate which was flanked by brick 
 walls. " These," she said, whimsically, " are my 
 jewels." 
 
 All the sweetness which had once spread over her 
 domain was concentrated here, fragrance and flame 
 
 — roses, iris, peonies — honeysuckle — ruby and 
 emerald, amethyst and gold; a Cupid riding a swan, 
 
 442 
 
SIX DATS 
 
 with water pouring from his quiver into a shallow 
 marble basin. 
 
 " I should not haye dared keep this, if it had not 
 been for the other — " the old woman told them. 
 " I am very sure that in these days God walks in 
 vegetable gardens — " 
 
 For breakfast they had strawberries and rad- 
 ishes, thin little corn cakes — and two fresh eggs 
 from the chickens which most triumphantly occu- 
 pied the conservatory. 
 
 " This is the only way I can do my bit," the old 
 lady explained, " by helping with the world's food 
 supply. My eyes are bad and I cannot sew, my fin- 
 gers are twisted and I cannot knit, and Dennis is 
 old — but we plan the garden and plant — " 
 
 And that night Jean said to Derry, " I am glad 
 there were flowers to make it lovesome — and I am 
 glad there were vegetables to make it right." 
 
 So he drew a waving field of corn back of the 
 dream cottage, and tomatoes and peas to the right 
 and left — with onions in a stiff row along the bor- 
 der, and potatoes storming the hillside. But the 
 gate which led to the Lovesome Garden was open 
 wide, so that one might see the Cupid as he rode 
 his swan. 
 
 THE LAST DAY 
 
 It was on the tenth day that Derry said, " We 
 have our house and the furniture for it, and we 
 
 443 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 have built an altar, and found our friends, and we 
 have planted a garden — what shall we do on the 
 last day?" 
 
 And Jean said, rather unexpectedly, " We will go 
 to the circus." 
 
 " To the circus? " 
 
 " Yes. And take the children — they are dying 
 to go, and Margaret can't. It is up to you and me, 
 Derry." 
 
 Even Nurse was to stay behind. "We'll have 
 them all to ourselves." 
 
 Derry was dubious, a little hurt. " It seems 
 rather queer, doesn't it, on our last day? " 
 
 "I — I think I should like it better than any- 
 thing else, Derry." ^ 
 
 And so they went. 
 
 It was warm with a hint of showers in the air, 
 and both of the children were in white, ^ Jean was 
 also in white. They rode in the General's limou- 
 sine to where the big tent with all its flags flying 
 covered a vast space. 
 
 " Cousin Derry, Mother said I might have some 
 peanuts." 
 
 " All right, old man." 
 
 " And Margaret-Mary mustn't. But there are 
 some crackers in a bag." 
 
 It was all most entrancing, the gilded wagons, 
 the restless beasts behind their bars, the spotted 
 
 444 
 
SIX DATS 
 
 ponies, the swaying elephants, the bands playing, 
 the crowds streaming — . 
 
 Teddy held tight to Jean's hand. Margaret-Mary 
 was carried high on Derry's shoulder. All of her 
 curls were bobbing, and her eyes were shining. 
 Now and then she dropped a light kiss on the silver 
 blond hair of her cavalier. 
 
 " Tousin Dee," she murmured, affectionately. 
 
 " She's an adorable kiddie," Derry told Jean as 
 they found their seats. 
 
 " Cousin Derry," Teddy reminded him, " don't 
 forget the peanuts." 
 
 And now the trumpets blared and the drums 
 boomed, and the great parade writhed like a glit- 
 tering serpent around the huge circle, then broke up 
 into various groups as the performance began in 
 the rings. 
 
 After that one needed all of one's eyes. Teddy 
 sat spellbound for a while, but found time at last to 
 draw a long breath. " Cousin Derry, that is the 
 funniest clown — " 
 
 " The little one? " 
 
 " The big one; oh, well, the little one, too." 
 
 Silence again while the elephants did amazing 
 things in one ring, with Japanese tumblers in an- 
 other, with piebald ponies beyond, and things being 
 done on trapezes everywhere. 
 
 Teddy slipped his hand into Derry's. "It's — 
 445 
 
TEE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 it's almost like having Daddy/' he confided. "I 
 know he's glad I'm here." 
 
 Derry's big hand closed over the small one. " I'm 
 glad, too, old chap." 
 
 Margaret-Mary having gazed her fill, slept com- 
 fortably in Jean's arms. 
 
 " Let me hold her," Derry said. 
 
 Jean shook her head. " I love to have her here." 
 
 She hdd taken off her hat, and as she bent above 
 the child her hair made a halo of gold. In the 
 midst of all the tawdriness she was a still and 
 sacred figure — a Madonna with a child. 
 
 Teddy, when he reached home, told the General 
 all about it. 
 
 <' It was be-yeutiful — but Cousin Jean cwied — " 
 
 " Cried? " 
 
 " I saw a tear rwunning down her cheek, and it 
 splashed on Margaret-Mary's nose — " 
 
 And that night Derry said, "My darling, what 
 shall I draw in our book? " 
 
 " The thing that you want most to remember, 
 Derry." 
 
 So he drew her all in white, bending ov^r a child 
 of dreams. 
 
 The next morning, she told him " Good-bye." 
 They had come along to the Toy Shop for their fare- 
 well, so that there was only the old white elephant 
 
 446 
 
SIX DAT8 
 
 to see her tears, and the Lovely Dreams to be sorry 
 for her. 
 
 Yet her head was held high at the very last, and 
 she was not sorry for herself. " I am glad and 
 proud to have you go, dearest. I am glad and 
 proud — " 
 
 And after he had gone, she worked until lunch 
 time on the bandages and wipes, and rode with the 
 General in the afternoon, with her hand in his, 
 knowing that it comforted him. 
 
 But very late that night, when every one else in 
 the big house was fast asleep, she crept out into 
 the hall in her lace robe and lace cap and pink 
 slippers and stood beneath the picture of the 
 painted lady. "He will come back," she said. 
 "He must come back — and — oh, oh, Derry's 
 mother in Heaven — you mnst tell me how to live — 
 without him — ." 
 
 447 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 " AND, AFTER ALL, HE CAME TO THE WARS ! " 
 
 A PERFECT day, with men lying dead by thousands 
 on the battlefield; twilight, with a young moon; 
 night and the stars — 
 
 Brasilia's throat was dry with singing — there 
 had been so many hurt, and she had found that it 
 helped them to hear her, so when a moaning, groan- 
 ing, cursing ambulance load stopped a moment, she 
 sang; when walking wounded came through sag- 
 ging with pain and dreadful weariness, she sang; 
 and when night fell, and an engine was stalled, 
 and she took in her own car a man who must be 
 rushed to the first collecting station, she found 
 herself still singing — . And this time it was " The 
 Battle Hymn of the Eepublic." 
 
 The man propped up beside her murmured, " My 
 Captain liked that — he used to sing it — " 
 
 "Yes?" She was listening with only half an 
 ear. There were so many Captains. 
 
 " He was engaged to an American." 
 
 She listened now. " Your Captain — ? " 
 
 " Captain Hewes." 
 
 She guided the car steadily. " Dawson Hewes? " 
 
 " Yes. Do you know him? " 
 448 
 
^'EE GAME TO TEE WARS!" 
 
 *' I — I am the girl he is going to marry ^ — " 
 
 He froze into silence. She bent towards him. 
 " What made you say — was ^ ? " 
 
 " He's — gone West — " 
 
 « Dead? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 "When?" She still drove steadily through the 
 dark. 
 
 " To-day." 
 
 She looked up at the stars. So — he would never 
 come blowing in with the sweet spring winds. 
 
 " I'd rather have been — shot — than to have told 
 you that — " the man beside her was saying, " but, 
 you see, I didn't know you were the girl — " 
 
 "Of course you couldn't. You mustn't blame 
 yourself." 
 
 She delivered her precious charge at the hospital 
 and put up her car for the night. Standing alone 
 under the stars she wondered what she should do 
 next. There was no one to tell — the women who 
 had worked with her in the town which had since 
 been recaptured by the Germans had gone to other 
 towns. But she had stayed as near the front as 
 possible, and she had never felt lonely because at 
 any moment her lover might come — there had al- 
 ways been the thought that he might come — , 
 
 And now he would never come ! 
 
 She had a room in the house of an old woman, all 
 of whose sons were in the war. So far two of them 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 had escaped death. But the old woman said often, 
 fatalistically, " They will not always escape — but 
 it will be for France." 
 
 The old woman had soup on the fire for Drusilla'a 
 supper. The room was faintly lighted. " What is 
 it?" she asked, as the girl dropped down on the 
 doorstep. 
 
 " My Captain is dead — " 
 
 The 61d woman rose and stood over her. "It 
 comes to all." 
 
 " I know." 
 
 " Will you eat your soup? When the heart fails, 
 the body must have strength." 
 
 Drusilla covered her face with her hands. The 
 room was very still. The old woman went back to 
 her chair by the fire and waited. At last she rose 
 and filled a small bowl with the soup — she broke 
 into it a small allowance of bread. Then she came 
 and sat on the step beside the girl. 
 
 "Eat, Mademoiselle," she said, with something 
 like authority, and Drusilla obeyed. And when she 
 gave back the bowl, the old woman set it on the 
 floor, and drew the girl's head to her breast. 
 
 And Drusilla lay there, crying softly, a lonely 
 American mothered by this indomitable old woman 
 of France. 
 
 Days passed, days in which men came and men 
 went and Drusilla sang to them. And now new 
 faces were saen among the tired and war-worn ones. 
 
 450 
 
"HE CAME TO TEE WARS!" 
 
 Eager young Americans, pressing forward towards 
 the front, found a countrywoman in the little town, 
 and they wrote home about her, " She's a beauty, 
 by jinks, and when she sings it pulls the heart out 
 of you. She's the kind you want to say your pray- 
 ers to." 
 
 So her fame went forth and took on gradually 
 something of the supernatural — her tall, straight 
 slenderness, her steady eyes, her halo of red hair 
 grew to have a sort of sacred significance, like that 
 of some militant young saint. 
 
 Then came a day when Derry's regiment marched 
 through the town to the trenches, spent an interval, 
 and came back, awed by what it had seen, but un- 
 daunted. 
 
 Drusilla, sitting on the doorstep of the stone 
 house, saw a tall figure striding down the street. 
 He stopped to speak to an old woman and doflfed his 
 hat, showing a clipped silver-blond head. 
 
 Drusilla went flying through the dusk. " Derry, 
 Derry ! " 
 
 He stared and stared again. " Is it you? " he 
 asked. Nothing was vivid now about Drusilla ex- 
 cept her hair, 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He took her hands in his. " My dear girl." It 
 was hard for either of them to speak. 
 
 " Did Bruce McKenzie tell you that my Captain 
 has — gone West? " 
 
 451 
 
THE TIN. SOLDIER 
 
 " I had a letter. I haven't seen him. His hos- 
 pital isn't far from here, I understand." 
 
 " Just outside. He — he has been a great help 
 — to me, Derry." 
 
 She took him back to her doorstep and they sat 
 down. 
 
 " Tell me about Jean." 
 
 He tried to tell her, wavered a little and spoke 
 the truth. " The hardest thing was leaving her. 
 I don't mind the fighting. I don't mind anything 
 but the fact that she's over there and I'm over here. 
 But it had to be — of course." 
 
 " Yes, everything had to be, Derry. I am believ- 
 ing that more and more. .When my Captain went 
 -■ — I found how much I cared. I hadn't always been 
 sure. But I am sure now, and I am sure, too, that 
 he knows — " 
 
 " Love — in these times, Derry — isn't building a 
 nest — and singing songs in the tree tops on a May 
 morning; it goes beyond just the man and the 
 woman ; it even goes beyond the child. It goes as 
 far as the future of mankind. What the future of 
 the world will be depends not so much on how much 
 you love Jean or she loves you, or on how much I 
 loved and was loved, but on how much that love 
 will mean to the world. If we can't give up our 
 own for the sake of the world's ideal then love 
 hasn't meant what it should to you and to me, 
 Derry — " 
 
 462 
 
"HE CAME TO TEE WARS!" 
 
 She rose as a group of men approached. " They 
 want me to sing for them. You won't mind? " 
 
 " My dear girl, I have heard of you everywhere. 
 I believe that some of the fellows say their prayers 
 to you at night — " 
 
 She stood up and sang. Her hair caught the 
 light from the room back of her. She gave them a 
 popular air or two, a hymn, " The Marseillaise — " 
 
 He missed nothing in her then. In spite of her 
 paleness, the old fire was there, the passion of pa- 
 triotism — there was, too, a new note of triumphant 
 faith. 
 
 She needed no candles now, no red and white and 
 ^ blue for a background — she did not even need her 
 beauty, her voice was enough — 
 
 When she sat down and the men had gone she said 
 to Derry, " Do you remember when I last sang the 
 * Marseillaise ' for you? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 He brought out from his pocket a tiny object and 
 set it on the step, so that the light from the open 
 door shone on it. 
 
 " You gave it to me, Drusilla." 
 
 " Oh, my little tin soldier." 
 
 " And after all, he came to the wars — " 
 
 Very proudly the litlle soldier shouldered his 
 musket. ^ 
 
 He had indeed come to the wars, and the winds 
 of France blew upon him, the stars of France were 
 
 453 
 
THE TIN SOLDIER 
 
 over his head, the soil of France was beneath his 
 feet. 
 
 Trutter-a-trutt, trutter-a-trutt — blew all the 
 bugles of France, and the little tin soldier was at 
 last content ! 
 
 Derry Jiad, too, in his pocket a letter from Jean. 
 He read to Drusilla the part that belonged to her. 
 
 " Tell Drusilla that there's a chair in our dream 
 house for her. I often shut my eyes and see her in 
 it, and I see Daddy and you, Derry, all home safe, 
 from the war and the world at peace — " 
 
 " Safe and at home and the world at peace — . 
 Wip the time ever come, Derry? " 
 
 " You know it will come. It must ---" 
 
 It was three days later that Dr. McKenzie mo- 
 tored over for a late supper with Drusilla and 
 Derry. They were served by the old woman who 
 had mothered the lonely girl. 
 
 " To think," the Doctor said, as they sat at their 
 frugal board, " to think that we three should be here 
 in the midst of all this; and yet a year ago I was 
 wondering what to do with the rest of my life, Dru- 
 silla was running around telling people what kind 
 of pictures to put on their walls, and what kind of 
 draperies to put at their windows, and Derry was 
 trying to' pretend that he was not an elegant idler; 
 and now — we are seeing a world made over — " 
 
 " You are seeing the world of men made over," 
 454 
 
"HE CAME TO THE WARS!" 
 
 said Drusilla, "but the most wonderful thing is 
 seeing the women made over." 
 
 " I don't want to see the women made over," the 
 Doctor groaned. " They are nice enough as it is. I 
 want my little Jean gay and smiling — and Derry 
 tells me that she is a nun in a white veil." 
 
 " She is more than that," Derry said, and a great 
 light came into his eyes. " I sometimes feel that 
 she and Drusilla are holding hands across the sea 
 — two brave women in different spheres." 
 
 Drusilla, wise Drusilla pondered. " Perhaps the 
 war will teach men like Bruce that wotaen aren't 
 playthings — " 
 
 " Don't be too hard on me, Drusilla." 
 
 " I am not hard. I am telling the truth." 
 
 " I'll forgive you, because in these weeks you've 
 taught me a lot — " Bruce McKenzie's world 
 would not have recognized in this tired and serious 
 gentleman its twinkling, teasing man of medicine. 
 
 Weary feet on the stones — ■ 
 
 " I must go to them," Drusilla said. 
 
 She went out on the step. They saw the men 
 cluster about her — French and English, Scotch — 
 a few Americans. 
 
 Her voice soared : 
 
 " In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was bom across the sea, 
 With the glory In his bosom which transfigures you and me. 
 As he died to make men holy, let us die to mal^e men free — 
 While God is marching on — " 
 
 455 
 
TSE TIN 80LDIEB 
 
 "Look," said the Doctor, "Do you see their 
 faces, Derry? " 
 
 Gazing up at her as if they drank her in, the men 
 listened. She was the daughter of a nation of 
 dreamers, the daughter of a nation which made its 
 dreams come true. 
 
 Tired and spent, they saw in her hope personified. 
 They saw America coming fresh and unworn to fight 
 a winning battle to the end. So they turned their 
 faces towards Drusilla. She was more to them 
 than a singing woman. Behind her stood a stead- 
 fast people — and God was marching on. 
 
 THl END 
 
 4m 
 
ZANE GREY'S NOVELS 
 
 ■ May ht nad whereyer books ira sold. Ask for Bresset i Dunlap's lltt 
 rHE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS ^ 
 
 A New York sodetf girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontier wafr 
 ctre. , Her loyal superintendent rescues h^ when she is captured by bandits. A 
 Curpnsms' cliinax brings the story to a delightful close. 
 
 THE RAINBOW TRAIL 
 
 The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer In Uie freat westea 
 jqilands— uitil at last love and uith awake. 
 
 DESERT GOLD 
 
 The storydescribes the recant upriBing' alone the border, and ends 'mth the fln^g 
 ^ the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl who is tha stoty'tt heroinet 
 
 RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE 
 
 A jpicturesque romance of Utah ot some forty years ago when Mormon ailthoritf 
 tuled. The prosecntion of Jane ^tbersteen is the them&^of the story, 
 
 THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN 
 
 This is the record of a trip which the author took with Bu£Ealo JoneSi known as die 
 preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert and of a hunt in **tbat 
 wonderful country of dnep canons and giant pines." 
 
 THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT 
 
 A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young Kow 
 Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall become 
 the second wife of one of the Mormons— Well, that's the problem of this great story. 
 
 THE SHORT STOP 
 
 The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and fortune as 
 a professional ball player. His bard knocks at the start are followed by such socoess 
 as clean sportsmanship, courage and honest ought to win. 
 
 BETTY ZANE (' 
 
 This story tells of Ae bravery and heroism of Betty* the beautiful young dster ol 
 old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. 
 
 THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 After killing a man in self defense^ Buck Duane becomes an outlaw aloiur the 
 
 prisonei 
 raptors 
 
 JTHE BORDER LEGION 
 
 ) Joan Bandle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless Western mininc 
 jfamp, to prove nis mettle. Then realizing that she loved him— -she followed him out. 
 On ner way, she is captured by a bandit !:und, and trouble begins when she shoots 
 Kslls, the leadet^-and nurses hun to health a^rain. Here enters another romance-* 
 vhen Joan, ^guised as an outlaw, observes Jmi, in the throes of dissipation. A gold 
 ^rike, a thiilling robbery— gamblii^ and gun play carry you along breathlessly. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS, * 
 
 By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey 
 
 The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, " Buffalo Bill." as told by his sister and 
 Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his nrst encounter with an In- 
 dian. We see "Bill" as a p = . .. „ .^ ™.,.. 
 the Scouts, and later engagea 
 
 also a very interesting account c — _._ __ 
 
 acter In pnbHc life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of America than 
 " Buffalo Bill," whose daring and bravery made him famous. 
 
 iSrOSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NeW YoRK 
 
 Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds a young girTheld 
 prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings down upon himself the wrath of her 
 captors and henceforth is hunted on one side by honest men, on the other by oatlawSi 
 
STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY 
 
 GENE STRATTON-PORTER 
 
 Way bd had wharewr hooks an soU. AsK for Grosset & Dunlip's llrt. 
 
 MICHAEL O'HALLORAN, Illustrated by Frances Rogers. 
 
 Michael is a quick-witted little Irish newsboy, living in Northetn 
 Indiana. He adopts a deserted little girl, a cripple. He also as- 
 sumes the responsibility of leading the entire rural community up- 
 ward and onward, * 
 LADDIE. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer. 
 
 Tbla is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in Indiana. The 
 story is told by Little Sister, the youngest member of a large family, 
 but it is concerned not so much with childish doings as with the love 
 afiain of older members of the family. Chief among them is that 
 of Laddie and the Princess, an English girl who has come to live in 
 the neighborhood and about whose family there hangs a mystery. 
 THE HARVESTER. lUustrated by W. L, Jacobs. 
 
 " The Harvester, " is a man of the woods and fields, and if the 
 book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man it wonld 
 be notable. But when the Girl comes to his " Medicine Woods," 
 there begins a romance of the rarest idyllic quality. 
 FRECKLES . Illustrated. 
 
 Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way ia 
 which he takes hold of life ; the nature friendships he forms in the 
 great Limberlost Swamp ; the manner in which everyone who meets 
 him succumbs to the charm of his engaging personality ; and big 
 love-story with " The Angel " are full of real sentiment. 
 A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. ^Illustrated. 
 
 The story of a girl of the. Michigan woods ; a buoyant, loveabl* 
 type of the self-reliant American, ^er philosophy is one of love and 
 kindness towards all things ; her hope is never dimmed. And by 
 the sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from 
 barren and unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage, 
 AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. Illustrations in colors. 
 
 The scene of this charming love story is laid in Central Indiana. 
 The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing 
 love. The novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of 
 nature, and its pathos and tender sentimeiit will endear it to all. 
 THE SONG OF THE CARDINAL. Profusely illustrated. 
 
 A love ideal of the Cardinal bird and his mate, told with delicacy 
 and humor. 
 
 Grosset & Dunlap, ^Publishers, New York 
 
NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY 
 
 WILLIAM MacLeod RAINE 
 
 May bG had wharever books are sold. ° Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 
 
 MAVERICKS 
 
 A tale of tlie western frontier, where the " rustler " abounds. One of the sweetest 
 love stories ever told. 
 
 A TEXAS RANGER 
 
 How a member of the border police saved the life of an innocent man, followed a 
 fugitive to Wyoming, and then passed through deadly pezil to ultimate luippiaess. 
 
 WYOMING 
 
 In this vivid story the author brings out the turbid life of the frontier with all its 
 engaging 6sab. and vigoT. 
 
 RIDGWAY OF MONTANA 
 
 The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics and mining in- 
 dustms are the religion of the country. 
 
 BUCKY O'CONNOR 
 
 Every chapter teems with wholesome, stirring adventures, replete with the daahii^ 
 spirit of the border. 
 
 CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT 
 
 A story of Arizona ; of swift-riding men and dariz^ outlawi ; of a bitter feud be- 
 tween cattle-men and sheep-herdera. , 
 
 BRAND BLOTTERS 
 
 A story of the turbid life of the frontier with a charming love interest running 
 through Its pages. 
 
 STEVE YEAGER 
 
 A story brimful of excitement, mth enough gun-play and adventore to suit anyone. 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE DONS 
 
 A Western story of romance and adventure, comprising a vivadous and stirring 
 tale. 
 THE HIGHGRADER 
 
 A breezy, pleasant and amusing love story of Western mining life. 
 THE PIRATE OF PANAMA 
 
 A tale of old-time pirates and of modem love, hate and adventure. 
 THE YUKON TRAIL 
 
 A crisply entertaining love story in the land where might makes right. 
 
 THE VISION SPLENDID 
 
 In which two cousins are contestants for the same prizes ; political honors and the 
 hand of a girl. 
 
 THE SHERIFF'S SON 
 
 The hero finally conquers both himself aud his enemies and wins the love of a 
 wonderful girl. 
 
 Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York 
 
THE NOVELS OF 
 
 MARY ROBERTS RINEHART 
 
 May ba had wheravar backs ara gold. Ask tar Grasset t Punlap's list 
 
 "K." Illustrated. 
 
 K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that 
 has known hiin, and goes to live in a little town where 
 beautiful Sidney Page lives. She is in training to become a 
 nurse. The joys and troubles of their young love are told 
 with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which has 
 made the author famous. 
 
 THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. 
 Illustrated by floward Chandler Christy. 
 
 An absorbing detective story woven aroimd the mysteri- 
 ous death of the "Man in Lower Ten." The strongest 
 elements of Mrs. Rinehart's success are found in this book. 
 
 WHEN A MAN MARRIES. 
 
 Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. 
 
 A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him; 
 finds that his aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who 
 contributes to the family income and who has never seen 
 the wife, knows nothing of the domestic upheaval. How 
 the 3'^oung man met the situation is humorously and most 
 entertainingly told. 
 
 THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. ' lUus. by Lester Ralph. 
 
 The summer occupants of "Sunnyside" find the dead 
 body of Arnold Armstrong, the son of the owner, on the cir- 
 cular staircase. Following the murder a bank failure is an- 
 nounced. Around these two events is woven a plot of 
 absorbing interest. 
 
 THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. 
 
 Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.) ^ 
 
 Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great vio- 
 linist, suddenly realizes that her money is almost gone. She 
 meets a young ambitious doctor who offers her chivalry and 
 sympathy, and together with world-worn Dr. Anna and 
 Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and slender means. 
 
 Grosset & DuNLAP, Publishers, New York 
 
BOOTH TARKINGTON'S 
 NOVELS 
 
 May bs had wherever books are sold. Askjfar Grossat & Dunlap's list. 
 
 SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. 
 
 No one but the creator of Pernod could have portrayed 
 the immortal young people of this story. Its humor is irre- 
 Bistible and reminiscent of the time when the reader was 
 Seventeen. 
 
 PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. 
 
 This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, hu- 
 morous, tragic things which are locked secrets to most older 
 folks. It is a finished, exquisite work. 
 
 PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. 
 
 Like " Penrod " and " Seventeen," this book contains 
 some remarkable phases of real boyhood and some of the best 
 stories of juvenile prankishness that have ever been written. 
 
 THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. 
 
 Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who re- 
 volts against his father's plans for him to be aT servitor of 
 big business. The love of a fine girl turns Bibb's life from 
 faUure to success. 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. 
 
 A story of love and politics, — ^more especially a picture of 
 a coimtry editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book 
 lies in the love interest. 
 
 THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. 
 
 The " Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's 
 engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder 
 of another, leads another to lose his fortune, and in the end 
 marries a stupid and unpromising suitor, leaving the really 
 worthy one to marry her sister. 
 
 Aak for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 
 
 Geosset & DuNLAP, Publishers, New Yobk 
 
SEWELL FORD^S STORIES 
 
 May ha had wlieraver books are sold. Asli for Groisst ft Dunlap's Ust 
 
 SHORTY McCABE. lUustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 
 
 A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigoroUf 
 thinker, sees life, and tells about it in a very unoonventionaJt way 
 gIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. 
 Jttustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 
 
 Twenty skits, presenting people with their faibles, Sympathy 
 Tnth human nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requid 
 sites for " side-stepping with Shorty." ^ 
 
 SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. 
 Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 
 
 Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revampetf 
 right up to the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a 
 "conscience fund," and gives joy to all concerned. 
 SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS. 
 Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 
 
 These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of Ms studio for 
 physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at 
 swell yachting parties. 
 TORCHY. lUus, by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. 
 
 A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom pe» 
 culiar to the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells tha 
 story of his experiences. 
 TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoto, 
 
 Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in 
 the previous book. 
 
 ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. 
 
 Torchy .:alls desperately in love with "the only girl that evet 
 wsri," but that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the yaang 
 people apart, which brings about many hilariously funny sltUMtiona 
 T ORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster ■Lincoln. 
 
 Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary 
 For the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and 
 infectious American slang. 
 
 WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown. 
 Torchy goes on a treasiu-e search expedition to the Florida West 
 Coast, in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust 
 and with his friend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's 
 permission to plac e an engagement ring on Vee's finger. 
 
 Grosset & DuNLAP, Publishers, New Yo^ 
 
 "- — ' '^ 
 
JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S 
 
 STORIES OF ADVENTURE 
 
 May b» had wlnrever tookt are said, tok far Onattt »ri Bimlw'* Htt 
 
 KAZAN 
 
 The tale of a " quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" 
 torn between the call of the human and his wild mate. 
 
 BAREE, SON OF KAZAN 
 
 The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the failant 
 part he played in the lives of a man and a woman. 
 THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM 
 
 The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, 
 and his battle with Captain Plum. 
 THE DANGER TRAIL 
 
 A tale of snow, of love, of Indian vengeance, and a mystery 
 of the North. 
 
 THE HUNTED WOMAN 
 
 A tale of the "end of the line," and of a graat fight in th« 
 "valley of gold" for a woman. 
 
 THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH 
 
 ~ I 
 
 The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilder- 
 ness is blended with the courtly atmosphere of France. 
 THE GRIZZLY KING 
 
 The story of Thor, the big grizzly who lived in a vaU«y where 
 man had never come. -^ 
 
 ISOBEL 
 
 A love story of the Far North. 
 THE WOLF HUNTERS 
 
 A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian mldenies» 
 THE GOLD HUNTERS 
 
 The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds. 
 
 THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE 
 
 Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and 
 women. 
 
 BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY 
 
 A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was 
 made from this book. 
 
 Grosset & DuNLAP, Publishers, New York 
 
ELEANOR H. PORTER'S NOVELS 
 
 May lie had whereve r books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 
 
 JUST DAVID 
 
 The tale of a loveable boy and the place he comes to 
 fill in the hearts of the gruff farmer folk to whose care he 
 is left 
 
 THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING 
 
 A compelling romance of love and marriage. 
 
 OH, MONEY! MONEY! 
 
 Stanley Fulton, a wealthy bachelor, to test the disposi- 
 tions of his relatives, sends them each a check for i^lOO,- 
 000, and then as plain John Smith comes among them io 
 watch the result of his experiment. 
 
 SIX STAR RANCH 
 
 A wholesome story of a club of six girls and their sum- 
 mer on Six Star Ranch. 
 
 DAWN 
 
 The story of a blind boy whose couragt leads him 
 through the gulf of despair into a final victory gained by 
 dedicating his life to the service of blind soldiers. 
 
 ACROSS THE YEARS 
 
 Short stories of our own kind and of our own people. 
 Contains some of the best writing Mrs. Porter has done. 
 
 THE TANGLED THREADS 
 
 In these stories we find the concentrated charm and 
 tenderness of all her other books. 
 
 THE TIE THAT BINDS 
 
 Intensely human stories told with Mrs. Porter's won- 
 derful talent for warm and vivid character drawing. 
 
 Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York