“Yes, sir.” The boy sat down and then opened his bundle disclosing a pair of well made crutches. “The girls told me what they wuz doing fer the sogers and I’ve been thinking ever since what I could do. I didn’t have no money ner nuffin’ ter give ’cepting these crutches. I thought mebbe they’d do some pore feller some good what ’ud have his leg cut off.”
“But where did you get them?” queried Mr. Vance.
“They wuz mine, sir. Bill, a sailor man I knows, he spliced on some pieces to make ’em longer, and there they are, sir.”
“My lad,” and Mr. Vance laid his hand softly on the boy’s head, “it is a great deal for you to give. You need them yourself.”
“I’ll get along all right,” said the boy eagerly. “’Deed I will, Mr. Vance. See, Bill he rigged me up a pair that’ll do me all right, an’ I’d like ter help some pore feller.”
Mr. Vance gazed pityingly at the rude substitutes which the boy held up, and then looked at the crutches so deftly lengthened. His voice was husky as he spoke:
“It is a great gift. More than you should give.”
“It ain’t nuthin’,” answered the lad. “I feel fer the feller that is born with two good legs an’ then loses one of them.”
Mr. Vance nodded understandingly. Mrs. Vance’s eyes were full to overflowing as she stroked the boy’s hair gently.
“We’ll write a little note and tie on the crutches,” she said. “Then whoever gets them will know who gave them.”