"For a few minutes," answered Doctor Morris. "I want you to take something to one of my patients at the hospital. I'll leave you with him while I go on to the Berridge place."
Max, who had expected a long sleigh-ride, forgot his disappointment when he found that Captain Wilshire was an old soldier, who bore the scars of more than one battle. An internal wound, received at Shiloh, still troubled him at times, and exposure during the last year of the war had brought on the consumption that was now slowly taking his life away.
"He is one of the truest patriots it has ever been my honour to meet," said the doctor. "I have known many statesmen in my time, several generals and two Presidents. Any one of them might well be proud to take off his hat to Joe Wilshire. When you see the old hero lying alone, Max, in that cheerless little room in the hospital, I want you to think of the reason why I so greatly respect him. It is not simply because he was brave in battle, or because his heroic cheerfulness kept him alive through half a year in Libby Prison, or because he came home with the seeds of disease planted in his system and his good right hand crippled and useless. Many a man has encountered these tests, and yet has lost his zeal for his country as soon as the cannon smoke cleared away and the martial music was done."
"Then why is it, papa?" asked Max, for they had reached the house, and the doctor was looking in the bottom of the sleigh for the hitching-strap.
"Well, when he came home, he was of course poor. He made a meagre living for his wife and baby with only a few acres of land and of fruit-trees with which to do it. Several times his old comrades suggested to him that he ought to apply for some fat government office, but he always said, 'Boys, I know that you mean well, and that you and my friends could probably get me in on the score of my being a disabled soldier; but I know and you know that I am not competent to fill such an office. If I could fill an office, and at the same time serve my country by doing so, I'd unhesitatingly take one. But I'd only be serving myself by filling my pockets at the government's expense. No, I'm obliged to you, boys, but I can't feel that it would be exactly honourable.'
"Now that's patriotism, Max, of the highest type, showing unselfish loyalty and love of country!" exclaimed the doctor, as he sprang out of the sleigh. "I was disturbed and hurt just now, when I heard the boys talking about Washington being a 'back number.' It hurt because there is some truth in it. Wars call out such generals, but there are too few men in these times of peace who step into office with Washington's high, unselfish motives. And I fear the number is few of men who will deliberately give up the honour and emolument of office because they believe some one else can render better service, or because principle pulls harder than public purse-strings. Yes, such patriotism is getting to be a 'back number'—so far back that it has grown burdensome for some people to honour it, even once a year."
Max had seldom heard his father speak so indignantly before, and looked at him in surprise as he gave a final fierce tug at the knot he had tied in the halter.
An hour later, when Doctor Morris called at the hospital, Max came running down-stairs with his eyes shining and an old battered canteen under his arm. "The captain gave it to me!" he said. "He has ever so many old relics in his chest, and there is a splendid story about each one. O papa, isn't he just the lovablest old man? He asked me to come often and bring some of the boys. He says he gets so lonesome!"
Nobody but the nurse knew how many times Max climbed the hospital stairs during the next two weeks. At first he always brought some boy with him to listen to the captain's stories, and carry away some relic as a treasured keepsake from the chest beside his bed; but later, the captain coughed too frequently to talk much. Then Max came alone, with bunches of hothouse flowers and little paper bags full of tempting fruit.
No matter when the boy came, he always found the captain busy with his carving. Day by day the old broomstick was slowly approaching a wonderful transformation. It would soon be turned into a long, slender chain, with each tiny, separate link perfectly fashioned. Sometimes, the nurse, not knowing that it was intended for her, and wondering at the old man's childish impatience to finish it, would gently insist on taking it out of his feverish fingers.