there is no hero business about it. I only did what all the other
Americans who went over there did--fought my--excuse me, my best,
against the beastly Germans."

"But your leg," said the Pastor impulsively, "it is gone. Aren't
you angry about that?"

Walter was silent for a moment. Then he answered.

"No, I don't think angry is the right word. You remember that story
about Nathan Hale in the Revolution--'I only regret that I have
but one life to give to my country.' Well, I'm glad that I had two
legs to give for my country, and particularly glad that she only
needed one of them."

"Tell me a bit about the fighting," said the Pastor, "I want to
know what it was like--the hero-touch--you understand?"

"Not for me," said Walter, "and certainly not now. Later on I can
tell you something, perhaps. But this is Christmas Day. And war?
Well, Doctor, believe me, war is a horrible thing, full of grime and
pain, madness, agony, hell--a thing that ought not to be. I have
fought alongside of the other fellows to put an end to it, and
now--"

The door swung open, and Sammy, the eldest son of the house, pranced
in.

"Look, Daddy," he cried, "see what Aunt Emily has sent me for
Christmas--a big box of tin soldiers!"