"For, after all, toys are the only things that are worth the consideration of wise folks like you and me." He was busily extricating a package from his pocket. It was done up in many wrappings. He watched while the sick man pulled off the papers, one after another. Joseph became angry with them--they seemed endless. Then the President chuckled gleefully, for he saw the color coming into Joseph's face. At last the toy stood in Joseph's hand revealed--a little tin soldier. Joseph looked at it in wonder. "But what--?" he began. Then, "Why, it is the old uniform--he carries the tricolor. Where did you find Napoleon's soldier, my President?" The President watched him tenderly. "That is my secret, friend Joseph. Does he look to you like the little color-bearer, my friend, that marched gayly out, in the sparkling sunshine? But see--he is no child--his hair is gray." He bent forward. He saw a spasm of pain contract the worn face. He saw the involuntary movement of muscles when tortured nerves cry out. He saw the stark will of the man who sternly commanded his anguish to be decent and to make no moan. "He is a soldier, my Joseph, one of my soldiers, and in the evening he is doing the greatest deed of all." The President's voice had sunk into a cadence which was melodious with all the pain the world has known--and all the joy. He held with his own the sufferer's eyes so that he could not fail to understand. "He is a hero--!" The President sat with the sick man in a pregnant silence, while the color came back into the face of the man on the bed. At last there came a smile. When he was satisfied that his work was done, the President rose. For a moment his hand touched Joseph's brow as the sculptor does his clay, with that touch which is a caress. "And now, friend Joseph, good-bye." After he had gone, Joseph looked at the toy the President had left. He put it to his lips. He held it to his meagre chest. And thus they lay, the man and the toy, until the exultation on Joseph's face softened into perfect peace. "Toys--toys--" So his thoughts sang themselves. "Toys. Nothing else is real. Toys of tenderness--toys of mirth--toys that sail a man back to childhood--toys that sweep a man into manhood--and beyond." He held the color-bearer passionately close. "A hero!" he said. "Thank God for the man who knows our hearts. The world is his toy-shop and men and women are his toys. He can use everybody--it makes no difference how ugly a toy may be. He loves them even when they are naughty--just like a little girl when she spanks her dolly." Joseph smiled at his own thoughts with tenderness.... "Just like the Christ who suffers us to come to Him." "I wonder ... is it because he loves people or because he plays with them that he is so far above them?--I believe he is very far off--looking on. He is really neither smiling nor looking sad--just seeing." The room was quiet. The pain had ceased. Joseph clasped his toy and slept.