"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 I have withdrawn everything of the kind from my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."

The shabby old gentleman murmured, disconsolately.

"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, smiling 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 flush that had flamed in his cheeks was
still 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 threshold. Then, with his
head high, he steered his unsteady parent out into the rain.

It was late when the two women left the shop. Miss Emily, struggling