d Cap'n Sam Hunniwell had their string of rows.
Since then and since I enlisted he has been worse than ever. The
things he says against the government and against the country make
ME want to lick him--and I'm his own son. I am really scared for
fear he'll get himself jailed for being a traitor or something of
that sort."

Mr. Winslow asked if Phineas' feeling against Captain Hunniwell had
softened at all. Leander's reply was a vigorous negative.

"Not a bit," he declared. "He hates the cap'n worse than ever, if
that's possible, and he'll do him some bad turn some day, if he
can, I'm afraid. You must think it's queer my speaking this way of
my own father," he added. "Well, I don't to any one else. Somehow
a fellow always feels as if he could say just what he thinks to
you, Jed Winslow. I feel that way, anyhow."

He and Jed shook hands at the door in the early November twilight.
Leander was to eat his Thanksgiving dinner at home and then leave
for camp on the afternoon train.

"Well, good-by," he said.

Jed seemed loath to relinquish the handclasp.

"Oh, don't say good-by; it's just 'See you later,'" he replied.

Leander smiled. "Of course. Well, then, see you later, Jed.
We'll write once in a while; eh?"

Jed promised. The young fellow strode off into the dusk. Somehow,
with his square shoulders and his tanned, resolute country face, he
seemed to typify Young America setting cheerfully forth to face--
anything--that Honor and Decency may still be more than empty words
in this world of ours.

CHAPTER XIV

The Hunniwell Thanksgiving dinner was an entire success. Even
Captain Sam himself was forced to admit it, although he professed
to do so with reluctance.

"Yes," he said, with an elaborate wink in the direction of his
guests, "it's a pretty good dinner, considerin' everything. Of
course 'tain't what a feller used to get down at Sam Coy's eatin'-
house on Atlantic Avenue, but it's pretty good--as I say, when
everything's considered."

His daughter was highly indignant. "Do you mean to say that this
dinner isn't as good as those you used to get at that Boston
restaurant, Pa?" she demanded. "Don't you dare say such a thing."

Her father tugged at his beard and looked tremendously solemn.

"Well," he observed, "as a boy I was brought up to always speak the
truth and I've tried to live up to my early trainin'. Speakin' as
a truthful man, then, I'm obliged to say that this dinner ain't