So the war began and all the men of the country flocked to the colours and there was great excitement.
At the end of a year the army of the old King had conquered and peace was proclaimed.
The day that the troops returned was a great holiday. The streets were gay with flags and banners, and every one came out to welcome the victors. That night the old King, dressed as a plain citizen, slipped through his palace gates and mingled with the crowd. He saw the illuminations and heard with emotion the joyous songs and cries of exultation.
Overcome by the noise and rejoicing he turned down a quiet street and presently he came on a woman weeping in a doorway. He asked the cause of her grief and she told him that her husband had been slain in battle.
“Ah,” said the old King, “I am truly sorry to hear that, but, after all, there is a consolation in knowing that he died fighting for his King.”
“I am not so sure,” replied the sorrowing widow. “We had a quarrel and he went and joined the army to spite me.”
Farther on the King met a poor old man bowed with grief and sighing deeply as he leaned on his staff.
“How is this, old man?” cried the King. “Why do you sorrow when so many are gay?”
“Alas,” groaned the other, “I have just heard that my son was killed in this horrible war.”
“You have cause for sorrow, my friend,” said the old King sympathetically, “but remember he fell in a good cause. He died for his King.”