Publisher's Synopsis
He stood in the centre of a little crowd of village boys; his golden head was bare in the blazing sun, but the crop of curls seemed thick enough to protect him from its rays, and he was far too engrossed in his occupation to heed any discomfort from the heat. A slim delicate little lad, with a finely cut face, and blue eyes that by turns would sparkle with animation, and then settle into a dreamy wistfulness, with a deep far-away look in them. They were dancing and flashing with excitement now, and his whole frame was quivering with enthusiasm; with head thrown back, and tongue, hand, and foot all in motion, he seemed to have his audience completely spell-bound, and they listened with open eyes and mouths to his oration. With one hand he was fingering a large brass button, which figured conspicuously in the centre of his small waistcoat, and this button was the subject of his theme. 'My father he rushed forward-"Come on, men; we'll save the old colours!" And they shouted "Hurrah!" as they made after him. There were guns going, and shells flying, and swords flashing and hacking away, and the enemy poured on with fiery red faces and gnashing teeth! My father drew his sword-and no one could stand against him, no one! He cut and he slashed, and heads and arms and legs rolled off as quick as lightning, one after the other. He got up to the colours, and with a shout he plunged his sword right through the enemy's body that had stolen them! The enemy fell stone dead. My father seized the colours and looked round. He was alone! The other soldiers had been beaten back. But was he in a funk? No; he gave a loud "Hurrah!" picked up his sword, and fought his way back, the enemy hard after him. It was a race for life, and he ran backwards the whole way; he wasn't going to turn his back to the enemy. He pressed on, shouting "Hurrah!" till he got to his own side again, and then he reached his colonel.
