my nerve away, and yet it's the best news I ever heard in my life.
You know, sir, it was some words of mine--and God knows I never meant to
harm Lawrence--that made him strike me, and then he got scared and----"

"I know all about it," replied Broussard, sitting down on the bench by
the Sergeant. "Of course, you felt pretty bad about it. Any man would."

Something between a sob and a groan burst from the Sergeant.

"I've worn chevrons for twenty-seven years, sir," he said. "I was made a
sergeant when I was twenty-five. I've handled all sorts of men and
licked 'em into shape and I ain't got it on my conscience as I ever tried
to make a man's lot any harder, or to discourage him, and I never spoke
an insultin' word to a soldier in my life, and I hope I'll be called to
report to the Great Commander before I do. But I said something
chaffin'-like to that poor devil and he struck me, and I didn't hit him
back--I didn't hit him back, thank God, nor threaten to report him. But
I had to tell the truth to the Colonel and take part of the blame on
myself."

"That's right," answered Broussard with deep feeling. The Sergeant
little knew how great a stake Broussard had in the business.

"And the chaplain, he seen something was wrong with me and so did Missis
McGillicuddy--she's a soldier, sir, is Missis McGillicuddy. I made a
clean breast of it to the chaplain and he helped me a lot. I've been
goin' to church on Sundays ever since I was married--to tell you the
truth, sir, Missis McGillicuddy marched me off every Sunday without
askin' me if it was agreeable, any more than she'd ask Ignatius or
Aloysius. But since my trouble, I've gone of my own will, and I've
headed the prayin' squad, I can tell you, Mr. Broussard."

"And you took good care of the boy, you and Mrs. McGillicuddy," said
Broussard, who had learned of it from the letter written by Anita at Mrs.
Lawrence's request. The Sergeant took off his cap for a moment, baring
his grey head to the biting cold.

"The best we could, so help me God. There wasn't nothin' me and Missis
McGillicuddy could do for the kid as we didn't do. The chaplain told us
we done too much, we was over-indulgent to the boy. But we taught him to
do right, although we give him better food and better clothes than any of
our own eight children ever had, and now----"

The Sergeant stood in silence for a moment, his cap once more in his
hand, his head bowed. Broussard knew he was giving