he officer was
colonel no longer, he was a "hero," or rather, "the hero." Sam now
began to save his pennies for other soldiers, and to beg for more and
more as successive birthdays and Christmases came round. He played at
soldiers himself, too, coaxing the less warlike children of the
neighborhood to join him. But his enthusiasm always left them behind,
and they tired much sooner than he did of the sport. He persuaded his
mother to make him a uniform something like that of the lead soldiers,
and the stores of Homeville were ransacked for drums, swords, and belts
and toy-guns. He would stand on guard for hours at the barnyard gate,
saluting in the most solemn manner whoever passed, even if it was only
a sparrow. The only interest in animals which survived his change of
heart was that which he now took in horses as chargers. He would ride
the farm-horses bare-back to the trough, holding the halter in one hand
and a tin sword in the other with the air of a field-marshal. When
strangers tapped him on the cheek and asked him--as is the wont of
strangers--"What are you going to be, my boy, when you grow up?" he
answered no longer, as he used to do, "A driver, sir," but now
invariably, "A hero."

It so happened some two or three years after Sam's mind had begun to
follow the paths of warfare that his father and mother took him one day
to an anniversary celebration of the Methodist Church at Homeville, and
a special parade of the newly organized "John Wesley Boys' Brigade" of
the church was one of the features of the occasion. If Mrs. Jinks had
anticipated this, she would doubtless have left Sam at home, for she
knew that he was already quite sufficiently inclined toward things
military; but even she could not help enjoying the boy's unmeasured
delight at this, his first experience of militarism in the flesh. The
parade was indeed a pretty sight. There were perhaps fifty boys in
line, ranging from six to eighteen years of age. Their gray uniforms
were quite new and the gilt letters "J.W.B.B." on their caps shone
brightly. They marched along with their miniature muskets and fixed
bayonets, their chubby, kissable faces all a-smile, as they sang
"Onward, Christian Soldiers," with words adapted by their pastor:

"Onward, Christian soldiers,
'Gainst the heathen crew!
In the name of Jesus
Let us run them through."

By a curious coincidence their captain had a white feather