“Well, it is a nice watch but it never cost that much money,” she admitted grudgingly. “Mary, this watch was a prize. It was competition. Anybody else could have won it, anybody who contributed more to their fair than I did.” He took the watch from her hands and slid it back to his pocket. “Here—” he handed her the old one—“put this away. You can give it to Bob when he comes home. Run along now, Tad, I’ve got work to do.” Tad slipped out of the room a bit disconcerted. Mama ought not to have got mad. She was trying not to get mad so often, his father assured him. They had to help her, be careful not to provoke her. Tad skittered down the long stairs almost colliding with a workman who carried a stepladder, with a long wreath of greenery hung over his shoulder. “What’s that for?” the boy demanded. “For the Christmas receptions and things. Decorations. Don’t know how I’ll get it hung. Can’t drive no nails in this wall. Hard as rock. Nails just bends double.” “You could glue it,” suggested Tad helpfully. “Yah!” scorned the workman. “Get along out of my way, boy.” “My father is the President!” stated Tad, sternly, drawing himself up in his uniform. “He is that, but you ain’t—nor no colonel either.” “I am so. I’m an honorary colonel.” “Call it ornery and I’ll agree. Now quit bothering me. I’ve got to figure where to put up two Christmas trees.” “Two?” Tad’s eyes widened. “One down here and one up yonder—private, for you I reckon. So everybody wants to get a favor out of your Pa can send you a present.” “All I want,” sighed Tad, backing off to watch the man ascend the ladder, “is my nanny goat back.” “Your nanny goat has likely been made into stew by this time. You won’t be driving a goat team through this house any more, busting up things and ruinin’ the floors.” “I bet I get her back,” bragged Tad. “All Company K is helping me look for her.” “Soldiers have got more important things to do than hunt goats,” stated the man from his perch. “They got to find out who put that bullet through your old man’s hat.” Tad was galvanized with excitement. “Hey! He never told me.” He tore back up the stairs. Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War, was just coming out of his father’s office. Tad backed off and flattened himself against the wall. Mr. Stanton was running the war; he was tall and grim with a long gray beard but no mustache to soften a stern mouth, and his eyes could look very hard and coldly at a boy through his round spectacles. Behind Stanton marched Senator Sumner and Tad knew him too. Senator Sumner was always mad about something and now, as he strode past the boy, Tad heard him mutter angrily, “Amnesty! Amnesty! I’d give North Carolina amnesty at the end of a rope!” Tad wriggled behind the visitor and slipped in before anyone closed the door. He marched straight to the desk where John Hay was putting papers in envelopes and licking the flaps. “Who shot a bullet through my father’s hat?” he demanded.