w
somewhere in a hospital in northern France, well back of the lines,
recuperating from his injuries. I shall communicate this information
at once to his parents, together with such encouragement as is
contained in my grandson's letter."

Proud as a king, he turned from the sympathetic group, entered his
carriage and was driven toward Chestnut Valley.

It was late in September when Aleck Sands came home. The family at
Bannerhall, augmented within the last year by the addition of Colonel
Butler's favorite niece, was seated at the supper table one evening
when Elmer Cuddeback, now grown into a fine, stalwart youth, hurried
in to announce the arrival.

"I happened to be at the station when Aleck came," he said. "He looked
like a skeleton and a ghost rolled into one. He couldn't walk at all,
and he was just able to talk. But he said he'd been having a fine time
and was feeling bully. Isn't that nerve for you?"

"Splendid!" exclaimed the colonel, holding his napkin high in the air
in his excitement. "A marvelous young man! I shall do myself the honor
to call on him in person to-morrow morning, and compliment him on his
bravery, and congratulate him on his escape from mortal injury."

He was as good as his word. He and his daughter both went down to
Cherry Valley and called on Aleck Sands. He was lying propped up in
bed, attended by a thankful and devoted mother, trying to give rest to
a tired and irritated body, and to enjoy once more the sights and
sounds of home. He was too weak to do much talking, but almost his
first words were an anxious inquiry about Pen. They told him what they
knew.

"He came to see me at the hospital in August," said Aleck. "It was
like a breeze from heaven. If he doesn't come back here alive and well
at the end of this war, with the Victoria Cross on his breast, I shall
be ashamed to go out on the street; he is so much the braver soldier
and the better man of the two of us."

"He has written to us," said the colonel, and his eyes were moist, and
his voice choked a little as he spoke, "that you, yourself, in the
matter of courage in battle, upheld the best traditions of American
bravery, and I am proud of you, sir, as are all of your townsmen."

The colonel would have remained to listen to further commendation of
his grandson, and to discuss with one who had actually been on the
fighting line, the conditions under which the war was being waged;
but his daughter, seeing that the boy needed