Watts looked imploringly at the recruiting officer and blubbered in wrath: "Yes, damn you--yea; that's right.

Of course; you won't let me die for my bleedin' country because I ain't nine feet tall." And the little man turned away trying to choke his tears and raging at his failure.

And because the recruiting officer was considerable of a man, Watts McHurdie's name was written in the muster roll, and he went out.
Many days must have passed between the time when the men were mustered in and the day they went away to the war.

But to the man who saw those times through the memory of the boy in blue jeans forever playing bugle-calls upon his fife, it was all one day.

For that crowd dissolved, and another picture appeared upon the sensitized plate of his memory.