and then, Bertie seized with a sudden spasm of timidity, ran away to
find his mother.
The soldier's name was John Lewis; he turned away and rejoined his
companions, but the words of the fair-faced, soft-voiced child still
sounded in his ear. He was _not_ fighting for the right; he was
perfectly well aware that he had enlisted upon the side of the leader
who is bound to oppose the right under all circumstances.
[Illustration: HELEN TOOK THE DUCK IN HER ARMS.]
He knew that the banner under which he was marching had sin written all
over it. It was Satan's banner, and he was doing work for that leader
that was telling upon his own life. It already, young as he was, began
to show in his face, in his unsteady step and foul breath. He knew
that so surely was he bound to the service of that master, that if he
could have found a glass of liquor upon the grounds he would not have
stopped to drink at the fountain, and would not have given Bertie the
opportunity for his childish questioning.
Some way, the voice would not be stilled. "Fighting for the right!" If
not, why not? Because I am a fool; he did not say this aloud, but in
his own heart he knew it was true. And there came to him the memory
of a quiet country village, of a little sitting-room, a round stand,
a Bible, a chair where he knew that mother often knelt and prayed for
him, asking that he might be led to enlist under that other banner,
even the banner of Jesus Christ.
"What is going on under that big tent?" asked one of his comrades.
"They are having some sort of a religious meeting, I reckon," replied
another.
"We may as well stroll over that way and look in for a while. It will
do no harm to mix in a little religion, I suppose."
And so the three "looked in" upon a religious service held in the great
tabernacle. Strangely enough the speaker who occupied the platform
uttered words which exactly matched John Lewis' mood. The others
thought them commonplace enough, but to John Lewis' newly-awakened
consciousness they seemed simply wonderful.
"That man is fighting for the right," he said to himself; "now if _I_
were! What if I _should_ turn right about and resign my commission in
Satan's army and enlist in the army of the Lord? What if I should now?
Wouldn't the boys stare?" and he chuckled inwardly over the thought of
their amazement at such a move on his part. "And what would mother say?
I don't know but she would die of joy. That would be a pity, but, after
all, it might be better than to die of grief, and I reckon she'll do
that if I keep on fighting under the old leader. I believe I will make
a swap."
"Next summer" had come. Again John Lewis joined his comrades on an
excursion to the Islands; again he drank from the fountain, and as he
turned away he said to a friend:
"It was right here that the little fellow asked me that question. I
would like to see him again and tell him I am fighting for the right
now."
But Bertie was not to know of the result of his interest in the
stranger. He has never seen his soldier friend since that day of his
first missionary effort, but we hope that both are still fighting for
the right.