“But it will be only for a few months. I might remain away as long if I returned to Ardmore for my junior year.”
“Ah, but that’s not like going away over to France where there is so much danger and trouble,” the little old woman objected.
“Don’t worry about me, dear,” urged Ruth, with great gentleness.
“We don’t know what may happen,” continued Aunt Alvirah. “A single month at my time o’ life is longer’n a year at your age, my pretty.”
“Oh, I am sure to come back,” Ruth cried.
“We’ll hope so. I shall pray for you, my pretty. But there’ll be fear eatin’ at our hearts every day that you are so far from us.”
Uncle Jabez likewise expressed himself as loath to have her go; yet his extreme patriotism inspired him to wish her Godspeed cheerfully.
“I vum! I’d like to be goin’ with you. Only with Old Betsey on my shoulder!” declared the miller. “You don’t want to take the old gun with you, do you, Niece Ruth?” he added, with twinkling eyes. “I’ve had her fixed. And she ought to be able to shoot a Hun or two yet.”
“I am not going to shoot Germans,” said Ruth, shaking her head. “I only hope to do what I can in saving our boys after the battles. I can’t even nurse them—poor dears! My all that I do seems so little.”
“Ha!” grunted Uncle Jabez. “I reckon you’ll do full and plenty. If you don’t it’ll be the first time in your life that you fall down on a job.”