“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!” Mayne smiled as the little boy carefully laid the box on his knee; but there was a shadow of pain in his eyes, and he closed them for a few seconds, as if his mind were going back, somewhere, far away. Then he spoke, tenderly, but with a grave voice. “That's fine, sonny--all those tin soldiers. But don't you think they ought to belong to me? You have lots of other toys, you know. Would you give the soldiers to me?” The child looked up at him, puzzled for a moment; then a flash of comprehension passed over his face, and he nodded valiantly. “Sure, Father,” he said, “You're the Captain. Keep the soldiers. I'll play with the other toys,” and he skipped out of the room. Mayne's look followed him with love. Then he turned to the old Pastor and a strange expression came into his face, half whimsical and half grim. “Doctor,” he said, “will you do me a favor? Poke up that fire till it blazes. That's right. Now lay this box in the hottest part of the flames. That's right. It will soon be gone.” The elder man did what was asked, with an air of slight bewilderment, as one humors the fancies of an invalid. He wondered whether Mayne's fever had quite left him. He watched the fire bulging the lid and catching round the edges of the box. Then he heard Mayne's voice behind him, speaking very quietly. “If ever I find my little boy _playing with tin soldiers,_ I shall spank him well. No, that wouldn't be quite fair, would it? But I shall tell him why he must not do it, and _I shall make him understand that it's an impossible thing.”_ Then the old Pastor comprehended. There was no touch of fever. The one-legged Hero had come home from the wars completely well and sound in mind. So the two men sat together in love by the Christmas fire, and saw the tin soldiers melt away. SALVAGE POINT The Hermanns built their house at the very end of the island, five or six miles from the more or less violently rustic “summer-cottages” which adorned the hills and bluffs around the native village of Winterport.