No
matter if the very odour that stank in my nostrils called loud for
vengeance. I thought of German prisoners I had seen, German wounded
responding so readily to kindness and a smile. I saw them driven
across that open space, at the behest of frantic officers who were
obeying a guiding ambition from behind. I saw them herded like cattle,
young men and boys and the fathers of families, in that cruel rabbit
trap and shot by men who, in their turn, were protecting their country
and their homes.
I have in my employ a German gardener. He has been a member of the
household for years. He has raised, or helped to raise, the children,
has planted the trees, and helped them, like the children, through
their early weakness. All day long he works in the garden among his
flowers. He coaxes and pets them, feeds them, moves them about in the
sun. When guests arrive, it is Wilhelm's genial smile that greets
them. When the small calamities of a household occur, it is Wilhelm's
philosophy that shows us how to meet them.
Wilhelm was a sergeant in the German Army for five years. Now he is an
American citizen, owning his own home, rearing his children to a
liberty his own childhood never knew.
But, save for the accident of emigration, Wilhelm would to-day be in
the German Army. He is not young, but he is not old.
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