Arthur smiled. "After some sort of fashion I'm going to open my mouth,"
he said. "I hardly know myself what will come out. All I do know is, I
never had quite so much respect for the courage that faces the cannon's
mouth as now. And it's you, Major, who are the pluckiest soldier I
know."
He smiled down at the white little face, its great gray eyes staring up
at him.
"Uncle Arthur--but--but--I wasn't plucky--all the time. Sometimes--it
hurt so I--had to cry."
The words were a whisper, but Uncle Arthur still smiled. "That doesn't
count, Major," he said. "Now I must go. Watch for the band."
Away in the distance, by and by, came the music. As it approached,
mingled with it David could hear the sound of marching feet. His mother
and the Red Cross nurse propped his head up a very little, so that he
could see into the street. Louder and louder grew the strains, then
stopped; the drums beat.
"Oh, they're not going to play as they go by!" cried David,
disappointed.
The tramp of the marching feet came nearer.
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