"And then that poor little chap broke away from his mother, and he run
out and saw one of the Boshes, as we call them, fetch me one over the
jaw with his clenched fist. Oh dear! oh dear! he might have done it a
dozen times if only that little child hadn't seen him.

"He had a poor bit of a toy I'd bought him at the village shop; a toy
gun it was. And out he came running, as I say, Crying out something in
French like 'Bad man! bad man! don't hurt my Anglish or I shoot you';
and he pointed that gun at the German soldier. The German, he took his
bayonet, and he drove it right through the poor little chap's throat."

The soldier's face worked and twitched and twisted itself into a sort
of grin, and he sat grinding his teeth and staring at the man in the
black robe. He was silent for a little. And then he found his voice,
and the oaths rolled terrible, thundering from him, as he cursed that
murderous wretch, and bade him go down and burn for ever in hell. And
the tears were raining down his face, and they choked him at last.

"I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure," he said, "especially you being a
minister of some kind, I suppose; but I can't help it, he was such a
dear little man."

The man in black murmured something to himself: "_Pretiosa in
conspectu Domini mors innocentium ejus_"--Dear in the sight of the
Lord is the death of His innocents. Then he put a hand very gently on
the soldier's shoulder.

"Never mind," said he; "I've seen some service in my time, myself. But
what about that wound?"