ous volumes were
burned. True enough. Their covers, their pictures, their good-smelling
leaves, these were ashes. But--_what was in each book had not been wiped
out_! No! The longshoreman had not been able to rob Johnnie of the
thoughts, the ideas, the knowledge which had been tied into those books
with the printed letter!

"I got 'em yet, all the stories!" he cried to himself. "The 'stronomy,
too! And the things in the Handbook! They're all in my brain!"

And the people of his books! They were not destroyed at all! Fire had
not wiped them out! They were just as alive as ever! As he lay,
stretched over the table edge, they took shape for him; and out of the
black corners of the room, from behind the cupboard, the stove, and the
chairs, they came trooping to him--Aladdin, the Sultan, the Princess
Buddir al Buddoor, Jim Hawkins, Uncas, King Arthur, Long John Silver,
Robinson Crusoe, Lincoln, Heywood, Elaine, Galahad, Friday, Alice, Sir
Kay!

"Oh!" he exclaimed in a whisper. "Oh, gee, all my friends!" Oh, yes, the
people in stories _did_ live on and on, just as Father Pat had said;
were immortal because they lived in the minds of all who loved them!

His eyes were shut. But he smiled at the group about him. "He didn't
hurt y'!" he said happily--but whispering as before, lest he disturb
Cis. "Say! He didn't hurt y' a teeny-weeny bit!"

Pressing eagerly round him, smiling back at him fondly, those book
people whom he loved best replied proudly: "Course he didn't! Shucks! We
don't bother 'bout _him_!"

"Oh, fine! Fine!" answered Johnnie.

Next, he understood in a flash why it was that Father Pat could feel so
satisfied about Edith Cavell. That general (whose name was like a hiss)
could shoot down a brave woman, and hide her body away in the ground,
_but he could not destroy her_! No! not with all his power of men and
guns! She would live on and on, just as these dear ones of his lived on!
And the fact was, her executioner had only helped in making her live!

Yes, and here she was, right now, standing in white beside scarlet-clad
Galahad! In the darkness her nurse's dress glimmered. "I'm better 'cause
I know you," Johnnie said to her. His tied right hand closed as if on
the hand of another, and he bent his head on the oilcloth, as if before
a Figure. "Oh, thank y' for comin'!"

Then came another wonderful thought: what difference did it
make--really--whether he was on his back on his square of old mattress,
or here