“Because he was a brave soldier, Clarissa,” explained Marta in simpler terms.  “Because he was ready to die for his country.”

“And for your mother!” put in Stransky, seizing Clarissa in his great hands and lifting her lightly to the level of his face.  “Oh, I’ve got stories,” he said to her, “a soldier-man’s stories, to tell you, young lady, one of these days—­and such stories!”

He crossed his eyes over his big nose in a fashion that made Clarissa clap her hands and burst into a peal of laughter.

“You’re an awfully funny man!” she declared as Stransky set her down.

“So your mother thinks,” said Stransky, blinking at Minna, who had indulged in a smile which his remark promptly ironed out.

This irrepressible soldier, given so much as an inch, would be demanding a province.  But erasing a smile is not destroying the fact of it.  Stransky took heart for the charge on seeing a breach in the enemy’s lines.

“Yes, I was fighting for you!” he burst out to Minna.  “When the other fellows were reading letters from their sweethearts I was imagining letters from you.  I even wrote out some and posted them from one pocket to another, in place of the regular mails.”

“What did you say in those letters?” asked Marta.

“Why, you’re big and awkward and cross-eyed, Stransky, but you’ve a way with you, and maybe—­”

“Humph!” sniffed Minna.

“I kept seeing the way you looked when you belted me one in the face,” he went on unabashed to Minna, “and knocked any anarchism out of me that was left after the shell burst.  I kept seeing your face in my last glimpse when the Grays made me run for it from your kitchen door before I had half a chance for the oration crying for voice.  You were in my dreams!  You were in battle with me!”

“This sounds like a disordered mind,” observed Minna.  “I’ve heard men talk that way before.”

“Oh, I have talked that way to other women myself!” said Stransky.

“Yes,” said Minna bitterly.  His candor was rather unexpected.

“I have talked to others in passing on the high road,” he continued.  “But never after a woman had struck me in the face.  That blow sank deep—­deep—­deep as what Lanstron said when I revolted on the march.  I say it to you with this”—­he touched the cross—­“on my breast.  And I’m not going to give you up.  It’s a big world.  There’s room in it for a place for you after the war is over and I’m going to make the place.  Yes, I’ve found myself.  I’ve found how to lead men.  My home isn’t to be in the hedgerows any more.  It’s to be where you are.  You and I, whom society gave a kick, will make society give us a place!” He was eloquent in his strength; eloquent in the fire of resolution blazing from his eyes.  “And I’ll be back again,” he concluded.  “You can’t shake me.  I’ll camp on your door-step.  But now I’ve got to look after my company.  Good-by till I’m back—­back to stay!  Good-by, little daughter!” he added with a wave of his hand to Clarissa as he turned to go.  “Maybe we shall have our own automobile some day.  It’s no stranger than what’s been happening to me since the war began.”