her down to her room. The maids were gathered there--Nurse utterly
useless in her grief. It came to Derry, as he bent over Margaret, that
he had always thought of Nurse as a heartless automaton, playing Chorus
to Teddy, yet here she was, a weeping woman with the rest of them.

He sent all of the servants away, except Nurse, and then Margaret told
him, "He was in one of the French towns which the Germans had vacated,
and he happened to pick up a toy--that some little child might have
dropped---and there was an explosive hidden in it--and that child's toy
killed him, Derry, killed him--"

"My God, Margaret--"

"They had put it there that it might kill a--child!"

"Derry, the children mustn't know how it happened. They mustn't think
of him as--hurt. They know that something is the matter. Can you tell
them, Derry? So that they will think of him as fine and splendid, and
going up to Heaven because God loves brave men--?"

It was a hard task that she had set him, and when at last he left her,
he went slowly up the stairs.

The children had strung the Midnight Camels across the room, the
purple, patient creatures that Jean had made.

"The round rug is an oasis," Teddy explained, "and the jonquil is a
palm--and we are going to save the dates and figs from our lunch."

"I want my lunch," Margaret-Mary complained.