e little voices in
the dark.

"Perhaps you think that was the end of it, and that the Tin Soldier ran
away to the wars, to help his country and save the world from ruin.
But Fate wasn't as kind to him as that. For when the little boy came
again to the old house, he looked for the Tin Soldier. But he wasn't
on the shelf. And he looked and looked and, the old man looked, and
the wooden trumpeters blew out their cheeks, 'Trutter-a-trutt,
trutter-a-trutt--where is the Tin Soldier?--trutter-a-trutt--.'

"But they did not find him, for the Tin Soldier had fallen through a
crack in the floor, and there he lay as in an open grave."

Drusilla's voice was heard in the lower hall, and the deeper voice of
Captain Hewes. Margaret sped down to meet them, leaving the story,
reluctantly, in that moment of heart-breaking climax.

When later Derry followed her, she had a chance to say, "I hope you
gave it a happy ending."

"Oh, did you hear? Yes. They found him in time to send him away to
war. But Hans Andersen didn't end it that way. He knew life."

She stared at him in amazement. Was this the Derry whose supply of
cheerfulness had seemed inexhaustible? Whose persistent optimism had
been at times exasperating to his friends?

Throughout the evening she was aware of his depression. She was aware,
too, of the mistake which she had made in bringing Derry and Captain
Hewes together.

The Captain had red hair and a big nose. But he was a gentleman in the
fine old English sense; he was a soldier with but one idea, that every
physically able man should fight. Every sentence that he spoke was
charged with this belief, and every sentence carried a sting for Derry.

More than once Peggy found it necessary to change the subject
frantically. Drusilla supplemented her efforts.

But gradually the Captain's manner froze. With a sort of military
sixth sense, he felt that he had been asked to break bread and eat salt
with a slacker, and he resented it.

After dinner Drusilla sang for them. Sensitive always to atmosphere,
she soothed the Captain with old and familiar songs, "Flow gently,
sweet Afton," and "Believe me if all those endearing young charms."

Then straight from these to "I'm going to marry 'Arry on the Fifth of
January."

"Oh, I say--Harry Lauder," was Captain Hewes' eager comment. "I heard
him singing to the chaps in the trenches just before I sailed--a little
stocky man in a red kilt. He'd laugh, and you'd