“'The little girl didn't seem to notice her mother. She was running around on the ruins and picking up broken dishes. I reckon that kid had got used to the crying of men and women. The sight of grief didn't worry her any more--not a bit. She was flying around like a bird on the ruins. “'We sat down behind some bushes by the iron fence just to see what happened. “'By and by I heard the little girl call in a voice that kind o' made me swaller--honest it was as sweet as the first bird song in the spring. “'“Mother! Mother!” she called. “'“What is it--little one!” the mother answered. “'“Dinner's ready.” “Talk about silver bells! Say, mister, never again! Honest, I never heard a sound like the voice of that kid. It kind o' floored me--sure thing! Up there at the front we just hear the growling of cannon and the whinnying of horses and the swearing of men day and night. Maybe that's why the kid's voice took hold of us that way. I don't know. After I had heard it I felt as if I could walk to Kansas City. Honest Injun! “'We peeked through the bushes and saw that the little girl had dragged a board between her and her mother and covered it with broken dishes. Then she began to chitter-chatter. “'Here's some lovely soup and there's a fine goose and a great bowl full of the best jelly that ever was and potatoes and celery and spinach and everything that you like, mother. It's a Christmas dinner you know. Papa will sit here and Henri will sit there and we are going to have the grandest time.” “'So the little chatter-box went on--good deal like a fine lady--and her mother said: “'“Papa! Henri! They are not here! They will eat no more with? us.” “'“Why?” “'”_Mort pour la patrie_--both of them! my child!” “'“No, mother, they are here. I can see them just as plain! Come, mother, they are waiting!” “'Oh, by thunder! If I only had a mind like that I said to myself--a mind that hadn't got so kind of stiff and sore and muscle bound--a mind that was so clean and supple and that hadn't forgotten how to believe in the things I do not see. Or do ye suppose that the clear eyes of a kid can realty see things that we can't? “'“God bless you--nay little saviour! You know how to make me happy--don't ye?” said the mother with her handkerchief at her eyes. “Then they both sat down there and began to eat that ghostly dinner with the ghosts of the dead. “'Gosh all hemlock! I just shut my eyes and heard a sound like a wind blowing in my head. I turned and whispered to my pal.' “'“You stay here. I'll be back right away.”' “Then I sloped on my tiptoes. Went to the cellar and found that man and brought him with me. I told him to invite them to dinner and that I would pay for it. I didn't care if it took the last sous marquee in my breeches. “When we got back they were both singing _The Marseillaise_, that my mother taught me when I was a kid, as they sat at their Christmas dinner: Amour sacré de la patrie