the words--held pathetically to the memory of those days when he had
marched in the glory of his youth, strength and spirit given to a
mighty cause!

The pity of it wrung Derry'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 servant 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 his way down. His flashlight revealed the
General, a humped-up figure on the bank of a little frozen stream.

"Go home, Derry," he said, as he recognized his son. "I want to sit by
myself."