Hit's a hard job with a
Britisher's bullet still a-pinchin' me in the leg."
"Did you fight with General Washington?"
"Lordy, no, I ain't that old, ef I do look like a scarecrow. No, I fit
under Old Hickory at New Orleans. I tell ye, Sonny, them Britishers
burnt out Washington fur us but we give 'em a taste o' fire at New
Orleans they ain't goin' ter fergit."
"Did we lick 'em good?"
"Boy, ye ain't never heard tell er sich a scrimmage--we thrashed 'em
till they warn't no fight in 'em, an' they scrambled back aboard them
ships an' skeddaddled home. Britishers can't fight nohow. We've licked
'em twice an' we kin lick 'em agin. But the old soldier that does the
fightin'--everybody fergits him!"
The Boy looked longingly at his string of fish for a moment with the
pride of his heart, and then held up his treasure.
"You can have my fish if ye want 'em; they'll make you a nice supper."
The old soldier stroked the tangled hair and took his string of fish.
"You're a fine boy! I won't fergit you, Sonny!"
The words comforted him until he neared the house. And then a sense of
bitter loss welled up in spite of all.
"Did I do right, Ma?" he asked wistfully.
She placed her hand on his forehead:
"Yes--I'm proud of you. I know what that gift cost a boy's heart. It was
big because it was all you had and the pride of your soul was in it.
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