“None whatever; he simply vanished.” “Ungrateful little brute!” said Aladdin. Then he bethought him of Peter. “I’ll come back later, Margaret,” he said, “but it behooves me to go and look up the good Mrs. Brackett.” He hardly knew how he got out of the house. He felt like a criminal who has been let off by the judge. The sun was now low, and the shadows long and black. Aladdin found Peter where he had left him, balancing on the great stone at the entrance, and sending up clouds of smoke. He rose when he saw Aladdin, and he looked paler and more worn. “Peter,” said Aladdin, “from the bottom of my heart I wish you luck.” Aladdin had never seen just such a look as came into Peter’s eyes; at once they were full of infinite pity, and at peace with the whole world. “Peter,” said Aladdin, “give me back my pipe.” His voice broke in spite of himself, for he had given up golden things. “I--” he said, “I’ll wait here a little while, but if--if all goes well, Peter, don’t you bother to come back.” They clasped hands long and in silence. Then Peter turned with a gulp, and, his weakness a thing of the past, went striding up the driveway. But Aladdin sat down to wait. And now a great piping of tree-frogs arose in all that country. Aladdin waited for a long time. He waited until the day gave way to twilight and the sun went down. He waited until the twilight turned to dark and the stars came out. He waited until, after all the years of waiting and longing, his heart was finally at peace. And then he rose to go. For Peter had not yet come. BOOK III “Where are the tall men that marched on the right, That marched to the battle so handsome and tall? They ‘ve been left to mark the places where they saw the foemen’s faces, For the fever and the lead took them all, Jenny Orde, The fever and the lead took them all. “I found him in the forefront of the battle, Kenny Orde, With the bullets spitting up the ground around him, And the sweat was on his brow, and his lips were on his sword, And his life was going from him when I found him. “We lowered him to rest, Jenny Orde, With your picture on his breast, Jenny Orde, And the rumble of pursuit was the regiment’s salute To the man that loved you best, Jenny Orde.” XXX