In words that throbbed with passion, he pictured the coming glory of a
mighty nation whose shores would be washed by two oceans, whose wealth
and manhood would be the hope and inspiration of the world. Never before
had words been given such wings. The ringing tones found the Boy's soul
and set his brain on fire. A big idea was born within his breast. This
was his country. His feet pressed its soil. Its hills and plains, its
rivers and seas were his. His hands would help to build this vision of a
great spirit into the living thing. He breathed softly and his eyes
sparkled. When the crowd cheered, he leaped to his feet, swung his
little cap into the air and shouted with all his might. When the last
glowing picture of the peroration faded into a silence that could be
felt, and the tumult had died away, he saw men and women crowding around
the orator to shake his hand.
"Take me, Ma!" he whispered. "I want to see him close!"
The mother lifted him in her arms above the crowd, pressed forward, and
the Boy's shining eyes caught those of the brilliant statesman. Over the
heads of the men by his side the orator extended his hand and grasped
the trembling outstretched fingers.
He smiled and nodded, that was all. The Boy understood. From that moment
he had an ideal leader whose words were inspired.
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