"You mustn't spoil him," said Schotz, after a moment, with the perfunctory morality of the childless man. The smile broke out again. "Bless you, you can't spoil children with love. Why, my boy plays with his soldiers, but he doesn't know that war is anything but a game. I wish his father could win battles with toy soldiers and tin swords." His eyes were drawn back to the counter. The next moment he was lost to every sight and sound. Marvellous operations were soon in progress on the counter. One set of men was intrenched behind all the boxes within sight. Advance and retreat--shifting to right and to left--both sides alert, one would have said--they seemed so under the great hands that hovered over them--the besieged army handled with the same cool intelligence--both sides manoeuvred for position. The cuckoo-clock in the corner struck eleven. The little clerk stared with mouth open at the big man who played with toys. Schotz watched him with questioning eyes as the stranger knitted shaggy brows over some problem that baffled him. Creeping over nearer, closing in around by patient degrees, came the army marshalled by the plain little officer, with sword at attention, marching on foot at the head of his men. "I have it!" cried the Man, in heart-felt triumph. He looked up. There was a dawning realization of his audience. "A queer thing for an old man like me to be playing with toy soldiers," he laughed, sweeping the late combatants into an undignified heap. "So have I seen the officers at home in the _école de guerre_. Such play would aid you were you a soldier." The tall man shot a quick glance at Joseph, in which there was much humor and some suspicion. "Tell me--" he began. But he did not finish his sentence. He was feverishly anxious to be gone. There was so much to be done; the child's fingers were clumsy as she wrapped up the soldiers. But he found time for a smile at the little maid and a sympathetic pressure of Joseph's hand before he crossed the threshold and was gone. At the same moment there was a bustle at the door. Mrs. Schotz hurried in, market-basket in hand. She had not laid it down before she was at her husband's side, her anxious eyes searching his face to find how he had fared. "Clara, the tall man has been here again." "Yes," she said, "I met him. Do you know yet who he is?" "I have thought that I have somewhere seen a face like that," replied Joseph, slowly. "Something made me feel--his playing with the soldiers, which yet seemed more than play--he might be in the army--he might even be an officer--and yet he had not the air. Still, they are not all drilled in schools, these officers in this war." "But listen," said his wife, as she seated herself by him, with joy that there was something to tell that he would be glad to hear. "I have something to tell you. This morning, on my way to market, everywhere there were soldiers--dirty, lean as from hunger, faces black with powder stains. At first I was afraid--"