long seam across my check to show that I had been with him that bloody day at Chrysler's. We move slowly over a green field to the edge of the forest. There, in the cool shadow, are ladies in white, and long tables set for a feast. My dear wife, loved of all and more beautiful than ever, comes to meet us.
"Sweetheart," she whispers, "I was never so proud to be your wife."
"And an American," I suggest, kissing her.
"And an American," she answers.
A bugle sounds; the cavalcade is coming.
"The President!" they cry, and we all begin cheering.
He leads the escort on a black horse, a fine figure in military coat and white trousers, his cocked hat in hand, a smile lighting his face. The count receives him and speaks our welcome. President Monroe looks down the war-scarred line a moment. His eyes fill with tears, and then he speaks to us.
"Sons of the woodsmen," says he, concluding his remarks, "you shall live in the history of a greater land than that we now behold or dream of, and in the gratitude of generations
