Suddenly she looked round and saw him. Quite simply and naturally she offered him a share of her book, saying enthusiastically:
“Isn’t it splendid? And my daddie was there through it all.”
“Are you ready?” she said presently.
The man nodded, and she turned the page. Then, with tears still shining on her cheeks, she began to read aloud:
“It was a procession of lions. And presently, when the two battalions of Devons met—both full of honors—and old friends breaking from the ranks gripped each other’s hands and shouted, everyone was carried away, and I waved my feathered hat and cheered and cheered until I could cheer no longer for joy that I had lived to see the day....”
Here she stopped, and, turning her radiant face to the man beside her, cried:
“Aren’t you glad you weren’t born in any other century? Isn’t it a good thing to be in the world when there are such splendid things happening?”
The man smiled down at her, saying heartily: “It is, indeed!” And straightway they were friends.
Ever afterward they sat in the middle of the seat quite close together, and although Winny—that was her name—continued to read “From London to Ladysmith,” she read it aloud, and “Mendelejeef” lay neglected on the far end of the seat.
They talked a great deal about the war, and the man found that this little girl knew all about it, from the battle of Glencoe to the relief of Ladybrand, the name and whereabouts of every regiment, the result of every single engagement big or little.