"I see that we have a member of the school board with us," said Miss Clay, bowing to Doctor Morris. "We want to hear from him before we have our last song."
This was the opportunity the doctor was waiting for. He took a little package from his pocket. It was the captain's finished chain, from which hung a tiny anchor, beautifully carved and polished. "The nurse showed this to me a little while ago," he said, "and I asked her to let me bring it here for you to see."
The speech that followed was very much like the one he had made to Max in the sleigh--all afire with admiration for the man who, with crippled hand and with empty pockets, had turned his back on office, for love of country, for conscience' sake.
"But of all the noble lessons of this old man's life," he said, in conclusion, "none is more beautiful in spirit than this last act; this expression of gratitude to his faithful nurse. What is so commonplace, so soon forgotten as a bit of old broom-handle? But look at this." Again he held up the chain. "See the transforming power of a noble purpose! He has made of it an anchor, and fastened to her heart, with every link, the memory of his great gratitude.
"I don't want to preach," he went on, "but I must say that you young people, I fear, miss the spirit with which the nation should honour this day, if you do not see that the success of its celebration depends entirely on this same transforming power. A heartfelt gratitude to the heroes who won and kept our liberty can make beautiful the most commonplace act of commemoration."
Later, when the February afternoon was nearing twilight, there was a muffled sound of fife and drum on the hospital stairs. The many feet stepped lightly, but with a measured tramp, tramp as Miss Clay's school marched down the long corridor, four abreast.
The captain had been delirious at intervals all the afternoon. Now he opened his eyes with a puzzled expression, for the martial music made him forget his surroundings.
"It's just the young people from the school," explained the nurse, opening the door wider, that he might see the long rows of bright-faced boys and girls in the hall.
Max came in and took the old soldier's hand, stroking it affectionately while he talked. "They're going to sing 'Hail Columbia,' captain. You know how it goes: