“No, I won’t,” rejoined Jack. “I’d just like to walk over to Valley Forge and see the soldiers enjoy turkey. Won’t they have a feast! I shouldn’t wonder if they’d eat one raw.”
“O, Jack!”
“Soldiers do eat dreadful things sometimes,” he assured her with a lofty air. And then they went into the house, and the door was shut.
The next year there was not a soldier left above the sod at Valley Forge.
Now the soldiers are gone, the camp is not, the little girl has passed away, the apple-tree is dead, and only the hills at Valley Forge are left to tell the story, bitter with suffering, eloquent with praise, of the men who had a hundred years ago toiled for Freedom there, and are gone home to God.
HOW TWO LITTLE STOCKINGS SAVED FORT SAFETY.
“A story, children; so soon after Christmas, too! Let me think, what shall it be?”
“O yes, mamma,” uttered three children in chorus.