He brought out from his pocket a tiny object and set it on the step, so that the light from the open door shone on it.
"You gave it to me, Drusilla."
"Oh, my little tin soldier."
"And after all, he came to the wars—"
Very proudly the little soldier shouldered his musket.
He had indeed come to the wars, and the winds of France blew upon him, the stars of France were over his head, the soil of France was beneath his feet.
Trutter-a-trutt, trutter-a-trutt—blew all the bugles of France, and the little tin soldier was at last content!
Derry had, too, in his pocket a letter from Jean; he read to Drusilla the part that belonged to her.
"Tell Drusilla that there's a chair in our dream house for her. I often shut my eyes and see her in it, and I see Daddy and you, Derry, all home safe from the war and the world at peace—"
"Safe and at home and the world at peace—. Will the time ever come, Derry?"