ntin' Issy." And Albert's reply was
invariably, "Why, of course, Grandfather."

He had dreaded his grandmother's reception of the news of his intended
enlistment. Olive worshiped her daughter's boy and, although an ardent
patriot, was by no means as fiercely belligerent as her husband. She
prayed each night for the defeat of the Hun, whereas Captain Lote was
for licking him first and praying afterwards. Albert feared a scene; he
feared that she might be prostrated when she learned that he was to
go to war. But she bore it wonderfully well, and as for the dreaded
"scene," there was none.

"Zelotes says he thinks it's the right thing for you to do, Albert," she
said, "so I suppose I ought to think so, too. But, oh, my dear, DO you
really feel that you must? I--it don't seem as I could bear to . . . but
there, I mustn't talk so. It ain't a mite harder for me than it is for
thousands of women all over this world. . . . And perhaps the government
folks won't take you, anyway. Rachel said she read in the Item about
some young man over in Bayport who was rejected because he had fat feet.
She meant flat feet, I suppose, poor thing. Oh, dear me, I'm laughin',
and it seems wicked to laugh a time like this. And when I think of you
goin', Albert, I--I . . . but there, I promised Zelotes I wouldn't.
. . . And they MAY not take you. . . . But oh, of course they will, of
course they will! . . . I'm goin' to make you a chicken pie for dinner
to-day; I know how you like it. . . . If only they MIGHT reject you!
. . . But there, I said I wouldn't and I won't."

Rachel Ellis's opinion on the subject and her way of expressing that
opinion were distinctly her own. Albert arose early in the morning
following the announcement of his decision to enter the service. He had
not slept well; his mind was too busy with problems and speculations
to resign itself to sleep. He had tossed about until dawn and had then
risen and sat down at the table in his bedroom to write Madeline of
the step he had determined to take. He had not written her while he was
considering that step. He felt, somehow, that he alone with no pressure
from without should make the decision. Now that it was made, and
irrevocably made, she must of course be told. Telling her, however, was
not an easy task. He was sure she would agree that he had done the right
thing, the only thing, but--

"It is going to be very hard for you, dear," he wrote, heedless of
the fact that Mrs. Fosd