"
"Is that all, Captain Drummond?"
"Not quite all."
"What else?"
"Well, Daisy, a soldier, even under a good General, is often
ordered to do hard things."
"What sort of things?"
"What do you think," said the Captain, lolling comfortably on
the green bank, "of camping out under the rain-clouds — with
no bed but stones or puddles of mud and wet leaves — and rain
pouring down all night, and hard work all day; and no better
accommodations for week in and week out?"
"But Captain Drummond!" said Daisy, horrified, "I thought
soldiers had tents?"
"So they do — in fine weather —" said the Captain. "But just
where the hardest work is to do, is where they can't carry
their tents."
"Couldn't that be prevented?"
"I'm afraid not."
"I should think they'd get sick?"
"_Think_ they would! Why, they do, Daisy, by hundreds and
hundreds. What then? A soldier's life isn't his own; and if he
has to give it up in a hospital instead of on the field, why
it's good for some other fellow."
So this it was, not to belong to oneself! Daisy looked on the
soldier before her who had run, or would run, such risks, very
tenderly; but nevertheless the child was thinking her own
thoughts all the while.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119