"But of all the noble lessons of this old man's life," he said, in conclusion, "none is more beautiful in spirit than this last act; this expression of gratitude to his faithful nurse. What is so commonplace, so soon forgotten as a bit of old broom-handle? But look at this." Again he held up the chain. "See the transforming power of a noble purpose! He has made of it an anchor, and fastened to her heart, with every link, the memory of his great gratitude. "I don't want to preach," he went on, "but I must say that you young people, I fear, miss the spirit with which the nation should honour this day, if you do not see that the success of its celebration depends entirely on this same transforming power. A heartfelt gratitude to the heroes who won and kept our liberty can make beautiful the most commonplace act of commemoration." Later, when the February afternoon was nearing twilight, there was a muffled sound of fife and drum on the hospital stairs. The many feet stepped lightly, but with a measured tramp, tramp as Miss Clay's school marched down the long corridor, four abreast. The captain had been delirious at intervals all the afternoon. Now he opened his eyes with a puzzled expression, for the martial music made him forget his surroundings. "It's just the young people from the school," explained the nurse, opening the door wider, that he might see the long rows of bright-faced boys and girls in the hall. Max came in and took the old soldier's hand, stroking it affectionately while he talked. "They're going to sing 'Hail Columbia,' captain. You know how it goes: "Let independence be our boast, Ever mindful what it cost, Ever grateful for the prize!" "You see we never were really 'mindful what it cost' until we knew you, captain," Max went on, "so we never thought about being especially grateful to anybody before. This is a sort of thank-offering to such men as Washington--and you." The captain tried to raise himself from the pillows--tried to speak some word of greeting to the young people who were watching him, but sank back exhausted. "I can't!" he said to the nurse in a voice that trembled pitifully. "You tell them how glad--how proud--" Then speech failed him. The next moment the boys and girls began to sing. A happy light came into the dim old eyes, as the sweet voices were lifted up in the inspiring airs that he loved so well. They marched out softly when the songs were done, waving good-bye to him with their handkerchiefs. Down the street the music of fife and drum sounded fainter and fainter. The room was growing dark. Max, who lingered behind, saw the white head turn on the pillow and heard a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction: "The dear children! God help 'em to keep the old flag flying!" And that was the captain's last audible prayer. JODE'S CIRCUS MONEY