it tore his heart. You see,
there were the Jungle Books, which he knew the soldiers would like, and
"Treasure Island," and "The Swiss Family Robinson," and "Huckleberry
Finn." He brought his fairy books, too, and laid them on the altar of
patriotism, and "Toby Tyler," which had been his father's, and "Under
the Lilacs," which he adored because of little brown-faced Ben and his
dog, Sancho.

He was rapturously content when his mother decided that the fairy books
and Toby and brown-faced Ben might still be his companions. "You see
the soldiers are men, dear, and they probably read these when they were
little boys."

"But won't I wead them when I grow up, Mother?"

"You may want to read older books."

But Teddy was secretly resolved that age should not wither nor custom
stale the charms of the beloved volumes. And that he should love them
to the end. His mother thought that he might grow tired of them some
day and told him so.

"I can wead them to my little boys," he said, hopefully, "and to their
little boys after that," and having thus established a long line of
prospective worshippers of his own special gods, he turned to other
things.

General Drake, growing gradually better, went now and then in his warm
closed car for a ride through the Park. Usually Jean was with him, or
Bronson, and now and then Nurse with the children.

It was one morning when the children were with him that he said to
Nurse: "Take them into the Lion House for a half hour, I'll drive
around and come back for you."

Nurse demurred. "You are sure that you won't mind being left, sir?"

"Why not?" sharply. "I am perfectly able to take care of myself."

He watched them go in, then he gave orders to drive at once to the
Connecticut Avenue entrance.

A woman stood by the gate, a tall woman in a long blue cloak and a
close blue bonnet. In the clear cold, her coloring showed vivid pink
and white. The General spoke through the tube; the chauffeur descended
and opened the door.

"If you will get in," the General said to the woman, "you can tell me
what you have to say--"

"Perhaps I should not have asked it," Hilda said, hesitating, "but I
had seen you riding in the Park, and I thought of this way--I couldn't
of course, come to the house."

"No." He had sunk down among his robes. "No."

"I felt that perhaps you had been led to--misunderstand." She came
directly to the point. "I wanted to know--what I had done--what had
mad