"Yes, you are like him, Dick." Mrs. Percival spoke to his thoughts. The

boy looked up startled.

"Am I?" he asked. "I wish I might be. I wish I might be half so much of

a man."

"And I hope you will be more--no, not that. He was my all. I can hardly

wish you to be more, but I hope you will do more. At least you don't

have a drag on you from the beginning, as he had. Has Dick told you the

story, Ellery?" She turned with a gentle smile toward the other man.

"You see I can't help calling you Ellery. Dick's letters have made you

partly mine already. We are not strangers at all."

Norris flushed and impulsively laid his firm square hand over the

slender one that was stretched upon the chair arm nearest him.

"You don't know how glad I am to be yours, and to have you for mine," he

said. "I never knew my mother."

"You know then how Minnesota was a pioneer state, and how she sent a

fifth of her population to the war, and Dad among the first? You know

how the First Minnesota held the hill and turned the day at Gettysburg,

though few of them lived to tell of their own bravery? It makes the lump

come up in my throat even to remember it, just as it did when I first

heard the news and knew that my boy-lover was there."

There was silence a moment.

"Ah, Dick, you have a young body to match your heart," Mrs. Percival

went on, "but Dad, before he was twenty, carried a bullet in his side.

He had to conquer pain before he could spend strength on other things."

Dick rubbed his cheek with the mother's trembling hand.

"Yes," he said soberly, "it must have been harder to endure the

sufferings that clung to him and killed him at last than it would have

been to give everything in one swift sacrifice. Endurance,--that's a

word I don't know, do I, mother?"

"No, dear, that's the word you know least; but you'll have to learn it."

"Ellery, I guess that's where you have the advantage of me." Dick looked

up with a smile.

"If I have, it's been a dour lesson," Norris answered with a wry face.

"Well, if Dad gave his life to his country by dying, I mean to give mine

by living," Dick went on. "There must be things that need doing."

"More than there are men to do them," said his mother softly. "You have

his spirit and his genius. You have health, too. Don't put a bullet in

your young manhood."

"What do you mean, mother?"

"There are a thousand wounds besides those from a gun. I'm counting on

you to live his life as he would have liked to live it--to be his son,

Dick."




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