“It was not your fault at all!” said the Soldier. “It could not be helped. It is the fortune of war, as we men of the army say. My sword is broken, that is true, but it is much better to bear that than to put up with a broken arm or leg. Perhaps I can be mended.”
He picked up the sword which had been broken off from his tin side where it had been soldered, or fastened. He tried to make it stick on, but it was of no use.
“Never mind, Captain,” said the Corporal from the floor where he lay in a heap with the other soldiers, “we think just as much of you as before. You are still our commander, sword or no sword!”
“I am glad to have you say that,” returned the Bold Tin Soldier. “Dear me, what a day it has been!”
He was still holding the broken sword in his hand when the door opened again and some one came rushing in. The Soldier had to drop back on the carpet, letting his broken sword fall where it would, and neither the Horse nor the other toys could speak again for a time.
And then a voice said:
“Oh, look at my nice Soldiers on the floor!”
“And the Captain’s sword is broken!” said another voice. “Oh, who do you suppose did it?”
It was Dick and Arnold who had come into the room.
“What is the matter?” asked Dick’s mother, coming up to the playroom just then. “Has anything happened?”