do?"

"Yes; the Legion is going."

"Only the members who volunteer--nobody has to go."

"Don't they?" said the lad, indignantly. "Well, if I had a son who
belonged to a military organization in time of peace"--the lad spoke
glibly--"and refused to go with it to war--well, I'd rather see him dead
first."

"Who said that?" asked the other, and the lad coloured.

"Why, Judge Page said it; that's who. And you just ought to hear Miss
Judith!"

Again the other walked to the door and back again. Then he took the
scabbard and drew the blade to its point as easily as though it had been
oiled, thrust it back, and hung it with the cap in its place on the
wall.

"Perhaps neither of us will need it," he said. "We'll both be
privates--that is, if I go--and I tell you what we'll do. We'll let the
better man win the sword, and the better man shall have it after the
war. What do you say?"

"Say?" cried the boy, and he gave the other a hug and both started for
the porch. As they passed the door of his mother's room, the lad put one
finger on his lips; but the mother had heard and, inside, a woman in
black, who had been standing before a mirror with her hands to her
throat, let them fall suddenly until they were clasped for an instant
across her breast. But she gave no sign that she had heard, at breakfast
an hour later, even when the boy cleared his throat, and after many
futile efforts to bring the matter up, signalled across the table to his
brother for help.

"Mother, Basil there wants to go to war. He says if he had a son who
belonged to a military organization in time of peace and refused to go
with it in time of war, that he'd rather see him dead."

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