“I am sorry,” he said. “I have a message for Little Crotchet.”
HIS EYES LINGERED ON THE PORTRAIT
“If my son had lived,” remarked the children’s grandfather, by way of explanation, “he would be a grown man. As it is, he is still a little boy.”
“That is curious, too,” said the commander. “Since I heard of him, I have always thought of him as a little bit of a chap. Something like that.” He turned to the portrait on the wall almost impatiently.
“I am forgetting myself,” said the children’s grandfather, holding out his hand, which the soldier seized and pressed in his quick, nervous way. “Sit in this rocking-chair near the hearth and dry yourself. You and I are old acquaintances. Years ago you passed through this part of the country on horseback, and stopped here over night.”
“That is so,” replied the commander. “I was just beginning the business of life. You had already begun it.”
“To some extent. I was ahead of you, then, just as you have now outstripped me in the business of dealing out death and destruction.”
The commander rose from his chair quick as a flash, and again placed his hand on the old gentleman’s shoulder.