"I don't think they were a bit nice," said Budge, with considerable decision.
"Well, the first soldiers wanted to kill them, Budge."
"Then they was all bad, to want to kill each other."
"Oh no, they weren't; there were a great many real good men on both sides."
Poor Budge looked sadly puzzled, as he had an excellent right to do, since the wisest and best men are sorely perplexed by the nature of warlike feeling.
"Both parties of soldiers were on horseback," I continued, "and they were near each other, and when they saw each other they made their horses run fast, and the bugles blew, and the soldiers all took their swords out to kill each other with. Just then a little boy, who had been out in the woods to pick berries for his mamma, tried to run across the road, and caught his toe some way, and fell down and cried. Then somebody hallooed 'Halt!' very loud, and all the horses on one side stopped, and then somebody else hallooed 'Halt!' and a lot of bugles blew, and every horse on the other side stopped, and one soldier jumped off his horse, and picked up the little boy—he was only about as big as you, Budge—and tried to comfort him, and then a soldier from the other side came up to look at him; and then more soldiers came from both sides to look at him; and when he got better and walked home, the soldiers all rode away, because they didn't feel like fighting just then."
"O Uncle Harry! I think it was an awful good soldier that got off his horse to take care of that poor little boy."
"Do you, Budge? who do you think it was?"
"I dunno."
"It was your papa."