“They’re going after him. They’ll get him down.” Lincoln almost forgot to breathe. The little figure looked so small against the loom of that great half-finished monument—a tiny, struggling shape swarmed over by half a dozen men in blue who clung precariously to the spidery trestles, caught him and passed him down slowly, kicking and fighting, from one to another. They brought him up in a few minutes, a pathetic, disheveled sight, tear-stained, dragging his feet, still kicking at the shins of the men who restrained him. His military cap was over one eye, his belt half off, the toy sword dragging. “Fetch him here!” sternly ordered the President of the United States. Tad stumbled close, held tight by the elbows by two privates. His chin was shaking, sobs shook him. “Oh, Papa—Oh, Papa—” he gasped, trying to fling himself at the tall man with the suddenly grim and forbidding face. But Lincoln was unrelenting. “Thomas Lincoln! Give me that sword!” he ordered in a terrible voice. Trembling Tad jerked the sword loose, handed it over. “Present the hilt, in proper military order!” snapped his father. Tad reversed the sword, his hand shaking so that almost it fell to the ground. “Yes, sir!” His voice was very thin and small. Solemnly Lincoln broke the sword over his knee, tossed it to one side. “You are now reduced to the rank of private, Thomas Lincoln,” he stated, “until such time as you can conduct yourself in the proper manner and discipline of an officer of the Army of the United States. Strip off his epaulets, Corporal.” The corporal obeyed, looking unhappy and ill at ease, handing the gold-fringed boards into the hands of the commander in chief. “Private Thomas Lincoln, you will now escort the President of the United States back to the White House,” ordered Abraham Lincoln. “Forward march!” Every man of Company K fell in, marched in grave formation, eyes straight ahead, chins set, weapons held ready, to the side door of the house. Lincoln entered first, turned on the doorstep, and soberly saluted the ranks. “My deepest gratitude, men of Company K,” he said, “for labor beyond the call of duty.” Tad marched in stiffly; then, with a frightened look backward at this stranger who had been his adored and indulgent father, flew through the hall and up the stairs. His mother came hurrying out of the sitting room but he ignored her, flying past her to the room with the great high-topped bed. There Private Thomas Lincoln dived under the bed. When the dinner gong sounded, he refused to come out, even at his father’s stern order. “All right,” dismissed Abraham Lincoln. “Since you’re such a craven and a coward, Private Lincoln, you may remain in durance there. I can eat two drumsticks.” Tad rolled out, swiftly, covered with dust and lint. “I am not a coward!” he sobbed. “I climbed most to the top of that silly ole monument!”