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“That’s fine, sonny–all those tin soldiers. But don’t you think they ought to belong to me? You have lots of other toys, you know. Would you give the soldiers to me?”

The child looked up at him, puzzled for a moment; then a flash of comprehension passed over his face, and he nodded valiantly.

“Sure, Father,” he said, “You’re the Captain. Keep the soldiers. I’ll play with the other toys,” and he skipped out of the room.

Mayne’s look followed him with love. Then he turned to the old Pastor and a strange expression came into his face, half whimsical and half grim.

“Doctor,” he said, “will you do me a favor? Poke up that fire till it blazes. That’s right. Now lay this box in the hottest part of the flames. That’s right. It will soon be gone.”

The elder man did what was asked, with an air of slight bewilderment, as one humors the fancies of an invalid. He wondered whether Mayne’s fever had quite left him. He watched the fire bulging the lid and catching round the edges of the box. Then he heard Mayne’s voice behind him, speaking very quietly.

“If ever I find my little boy playing with tin soldiers, I shall spank him well. No, that wouldn’t be quite fair, would it? But I shall tell him why he must not do it, and I shall make him understand that it’s an impossible thing.”