Crittenden

The mother's lip quivered when she answered, but so imperceptibly that

only the older son saw it.

"That is what his father would have said," she said, quietly, and

Crittenden knew she had already fought out the battle with

herself--alone. For a moment the boy was stunned with his good

fortune--"it was too easy"--and with a whoop he sprang from his place

and caught his mother around the neck, while Uncle Ben, the black

butler, shook his head and hurried into the kitchen for corn-bread and

to tell the news.

"Oh, I tell you it's great fun to have to go to war! Mother," added

the boy, with quick mischief, "Clay wants to go, too."

Crittenden braced himself and looked up with one quick glance sidewise

at his mother's face. It had not changed a line.

"I heard all you said in the hallway. If a son of mine thinks it his

duty to go, I shall never say one word to dissuade him--if he thinks it

is his duty," she added, so solemnly that silence fell upon the three,

and with a smothered, "Good Lawd," at the door, Ben hurried again into

the kitchen.

"Both them boys was a-goin' off to git killed an' ole Miss Rachel not

sayin' one wud to keep 'em back--not a wud."

After breakfast the boy hurried out and, as Crittenden rose, the

mother, who pretended to be arranging silver at the old sideboard, spoke

with her back to him.

"Think it over, son. I can't see that you should go, but if you think

you ought, I shall have nothing to say. Have you made up your mind?"

Crittenden hesitated.

"Not quite."

"Think it over very carefully, then--please--for my sake." Her voice

trembled, and, with a pang, Crittenden thought of the suffering she had

known from one war. Basil's way was clear, and he could never ask the

boy to give up to him because he was the elder. Was it fair to his brave

mother for him to go, too--was it right?

"Yes mother," he said, soberly.