nable.

At last, however, he had made firm rebellion against this yellow light
thrown upon the color of his ambitions. The newspapers, the gossip of
the village, his own picturings had aroused him to an uncheckable
degree. They were in truth fighting finely down there. Almost every
day the newspapers printed accounts of a decisive victory.

One night, as he lay in bed, the winds had carried to him the
clangoring of the church bell as some enthusiast jerked the rope
frantically to tell the twisted news of a great battle. This voice of
the people rejoicing in the night had made him shiver in a prolonged
ecstasy of excitement. Later, he had gone down to his mother's room
and had spoken thus: "Ma, I'm going to enlist."

"Henry, don't you be a fool," his mother had replied. She had then
covered her face with the quilt. There was an end to the matter for
that night.

Nevertheless, the next morning he had gone to a town that was near his
mother's farm and had enlisted in a company that was forming there.
When he had returned home his mother was milking the brindle cow. Four
others stood waiting. "Ma, I've enlisted," he had said to her
diffidently. There was a short silence. "The Lord's will be done,
Henry," she had finally replied, and had then continued to milk the
brindle cow.

When he had stood in the doorway with his soldier's clothes on his
back, and with the light of excitement and expectancy in his eyes
almost defeating the glow of regret for the home bonds, he had seen two
tears leaving their trails on his mother's scarred cheeks.

Still, she had disappointed him by saying nothing whatever about
returning with his shield or on it. He had privately primed himself
for a beautiful scene. He had prepared certain sentences which he
thought could be used with touching effect. But her words destroyed
his plans. She had doggedly peeled potatoes and addressed him as
follows: "You watch out, Henry, an' take good care of yerself in this
here fighting business--you watch out, an' take good care of yerself.
Don't go a-thinkin' you can lick the hull rebel army at the start,
because yeh can't. Yer jest one little feller amongst a hull lot of
others, and yeh've got to keep quiet an' do what they tell yeh. I know
how you are, Henry.

"I've knet yeh eight pair of socks, Henry, and I've put in all yer best
shirts, because I want my boy to be jest as warm and comf'able as
anybody in the army. Whenever they get h