And as he told the story, speaking
with quiet repression, but seeing it all and living
it all just as vividly as if it had occurred but
yesterday, ``That sword has meant so much to me,''
he murmured; and then he began the tale:
``A boy up there in the Berkshires, a neighbor's
son, was John Ring; I call him a boy, for we all
called him a boy, and we looked upon him as a
boy, for he was under-sized and under-developed--
so much so that he could not enlist.
``But for some reason he was devoted to me,
and he not only wanted to enlist, but he also
wanted to be in the artillery company of which I
was captain; and I could only take him along as
my servant. I didn't want a servant, but it was
the only way to take poor little Johnnie Ring.
``Johnnie was deeply religious, and would read
the Bible every evening before turning in. In
those days I was an atheist, or at least thought I
was, and I used to laugh at Ring, and after a while
he took to reading the Bible outside the tent on
account of my laughing at him! But he did not
stop reading it, and his faithfulness to me remained
unchanged.
``The scabbard of the sword was too glittering
for the regulations''--the ghost of a smile hovered
on Conwell's lips--``and I could not wear it, and
could only wear a plain one for service and keep
this hanging in my tent on the tent-pole.
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