Produced by Joel Erickson, Michael Ciesielski, Mary Meehan and the
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By AMY LE FEUVRE
Author of 'Probable Sons,' 'Eric's Good News,' etc.
1896
An Antagonist
He stood in the centre of a little crowd of village boys; his golden headwas bare in the blazing sun, but the crop of curls seemed thick enough toprotect him from its rays, and he was far too engrossed in his occupationto heed any discomfort from the heat.
A slim delicate little lad, with a finely cut face, and blue eyes that byturns would sparkle with animation, and then settle into a dreamywistfulness, with a deep far-away look in them. They were dancing andflashing with excitement now, and his whole frame was quivering withenthusiasm; with head thrown back, and tongue, hand, and foot all inmotion, he seemed to have his audience completely spell-bound, and theylistened with open eyes and mouths to his oration.
With one hand he was fingering a large brass button, which figuredconspicuously in the centre of his small waistcoat, and this button wasthe 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 enemypoured on with fiery red faces and gnashing teeth! My father drew hissword—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 afterthe other. He got up to the colours, and with a shout he plunged hissword right through the enemy's body that had stolen them! The enemy fellstone 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; hegave a loud "Hurrah!" picked up his sword, and fought his way back, theenemy hard after him. It was a race for life, and he ran backwards thewhole 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 reachedhis colonel.
'"Captain dead, sir I've got the colours!" He saluted as he said it, andthen dropped dead himself at the colonel's feet, the blood gushing outof his heart, and over his clothes, and over this button!'
The little orator paused as he sank his voice to a tragic whisper,then raising it again, he added triumphantly, 'And thirty bullets andsix swords had gone through my father's body! That was something likea soldier!'
'Oh, I say!' murmured a small sceptic from the crowd, 'it was twentybullets last time; make it fifty, Teddy!'
'And that's the story of my button,' pursued the boy, ignoring with scornthis last remark.
'And did your father have only one button to his coat?'
The voice was a strange one, and the boys turned round to meet thecurious gaze of a sturdy little damsel, who had, unnoticed, joined thegroup. She was not dressed as an ordinary village child, but in a littlerough serge sailor suit, with a large hat to match, set well back on aquantity of loose dark hair. A rosy-cheeked square-set little figure shewas, and her brown eyes, fringed with long black lashes, looked straightat Teddy with something of defiance and scorn in their glance.
Though at first a little