Christmas was in her heart and she would not be denied. So it came
to pass that the one-legged Hero was in his own house on the happy
day, and joy was bubbling all around him.

When the old Pastor entered, late in the afternoon, the Christmas-tree
was twinkling with lights, the children swarming and buzzing all over
the place, so that he was dazed for a moment. There were Walter's
mother and his aunt and his sisters-in-law, boys and girls of various
sizes, and a jubilant and entrancing baby. The Pastor took it all
in, and was glad of it, but his mind was on the Hero.

Katharine, who always understood everything, whispered softly:
"Walter is waiting to see you, Doctor. He is in his study, just
across the hall."

_Waiting?_ Well, what can a man whose right leg has been cut
off above the knee, and who has not yet been able to get an artificial
one--what can he do but wait?

The room was rather dimly lighted; brilliance is not good for the
eyes of the wounded. Walter was in a long chair in the corner; his
face was bronzed, drawn and lined a little by suffering; but steady
and cheerful as ever, with the eager look which had made his students
listen to him when he talked to them about English literature.

"My dear Walter," said the Pastor, "my dear boy, we are so glad
to have you home with us again. We are very proud of you. You are
our Hero."

"Thank you," said Walter, "it is mighty good to be home again. But