our grandfather was set on your father going into business." John
looked up the hill toward the Hendricks home, and Ward saw it, and
mistook the glance for one of impatience. "Johnnie," said the man, his
fine thin, features glowing with earnestness, "Johnnie--I wish I
could get to your heart, boy. I want to make you hear what I have to
say with your soul and not with your ears, and I know youth is so
deaf. Your grandfather was angry when your father entered the ministry
and came out here. He thought it was folly. The old man offered to
give fifty thousand dollars to the Kansas-Nebraska cause, and that
would have sent a good many men out here. But your father said no. He
said money wouldn't win this cause. He said personal sacrifice was all
that would win it. He said men must give up themselves, not their
money, to make this cause win--and so he came; and there was a
terrible quarrel, and that is why your mother has stayed. She had
faith in God, too--faith that her life some way in His Providence
would prove worth something. Your father and mother, John, believed in
God--they believed in a God, not a Moloch; your father's faith has
been justified. The death he died was worth millions to the cause of
liberty. It stirred the whole North, as the miserable little fifty
thousand dollars that Abijah Barclay offered never could have done.
But your mother's sacrifice must find its justification in you. And
she, not your father, made the final decision to give up everything
for human freedom. She has endured poverty, Johnnie--" the man's
voice was growing tense, and his eyes were ablaze; "you know how she
worked, and if you fail her, if you do not live a consecrated life,
John, your mother's life has failed. I don't mean a pious life; God
knows I hate sanctimony. But I mean a life consecrated to some
practical service, to an ideal--to some actual service to your
fellows--not money service, but personal service. Do you understand?"
Ward leaned forward and looked into the boy's face. He took hold of
John's arm as he pleaded, "Johnnie--boy--Johnnie, do you
understand?"

The boy answered, "Yes, General--I think I get your meaning." He
picked up his bridle, and Ward relaxed his hold on the boy's arm. The
man's hand dropped and he sighed, for he saw only a boy's face, and
heard a boy's politeness in the voice that went on, "Thank you,
General, give my love to Miss Lucy." And the youth rode on up the
hill.

In a few minutes the boys