He had been sent to London,
where a specialist with infinite care linked the nerves together. Daily
the wounded boy willed strength into the broken member, till at last he
found he could move the little finger. It was his hope to bring action
back to the entire hand, finger by finger.
"You can't do anything--you can't even write," they said to him. So he
met that, by schooling his left hand to write.
"Your fighting days are over," they said. He went to a shooting gallery,
and with his left arm learned how to hold a rifle and aim it. Through
the four months of his convalescence he practised to be worthy of the
front line. The military authorities could not put up an objection that
he did not meet. So he won his way back to the Yser trenches. And there
he had received his second hurt and this time the enemy wounded him
thoroughly. And now he was sitting on the sands wondering what the
future held for him.
Spirit like that does not deserve to be broken by despair. Apparatus has
been devised to supply the missing section of the arm, and such a trade
as toy-making offers a livelihood. It is carried on with a sense of fun
even in the absence of all previous education. One-armed men are largely
employed in it. Let us enter the training shop at Lyon, and watch the
work. The wood is being shot out from the sawing-machine in thin strips
and planed on both sides.
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