"look! there go the soldiers," cried mazie, leaning out of the nursery window. "jamie, come quick and see the real soldiers."

her little brother left his toy warriors and ran to the window. "rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat!" went the drums as the troops swung forward in a long line, the gay flags flying in the breeze.

"why, there's harold gray's papa!" said mazie. "there he is, jamie, on that beautiful black horse."

the little boy clapped his hands. "hurray!" he shouted; "i wish my papa was a soldier."

"so do i," cried mazie; "wouldn't father look fine on a big horse?"

"i'm very glad he's not," said mother, coming into the nursery. "war is cruel, and many of those brave men may never come back."

just then in the crowd mazie saw little harold gray holding tightly to his mother's hand. the little boy's eyes were filled with tears as he watched his father ride away.

"oh, mother!" cried mazie and jamie together, catching hold of her hand, "i'm so glad father isn't a soldier. how we'd miss him if he didn't come home tonight."