“I will walk with you, sir,” said the boy, when the sergeant turned in the direction of the park. “And I will walk wif you,” lisped Virgie to Eugene, attempting to take his hand.
“Not so,” he said decidedly; and he held both hands before him. “It might occur to you to seize these flowers which I am carrying, especially as they are for the emperor.”
The sergeant’s eyes wandered curiously from the tiny bunch of violets to the plain, almost threadbare, suit of clothes that the boy wore. Something told him that Eugene’s scanty savings were heroically devoted to perpetuating the memory of his beloved emperor.
“Are you going to lay those before John Boyle O’Reilly,” he asked.
Eugene bowed gravely.
“Speaking of monuments, there is one I admire,” said the sergeant, jerking a thumb over his shoulder; “and I often think it shows that a woman knows better how to dress a man than a man does.”
“You have reason,” said Eugene courteously; though he did not understand in the least what the sergeant meant, and the sergeant knew he did not.
“Look at it,” said the man to his young companion; and then they both turned around.
Against the blue sky rose alert and graceful the bronze figure of Leif Ericsson, the Norse discoverer of America. One hand he held to his forehead. He was peering forward, as if his eager eyes were anxious to discover the wonders of the new world.