"Uncle Robert," Kathie said, as they were riding homeward, "could a drafted man offer a substitute just the same?"
"Why, yes, to be sure."
He uttered the words in such a light-hearted manner that she felt quite relieved, but lacked courage to pursue the subject further. A little quiver would keep rising from her heart to her throat, interfering with the steadiness of her voice.
By Monday night seventy men were still needed to complete the quota. That gave Brookside about forty.
Kathie wondered how they could all go on with their usual routine. Aunt Ruth, even, sat by the window and sang "Bonnie Doon," as she sewed upon Rob's outfit. His uncle had decided upon a school about sixty miles distant, a flourishing collegiate institution, in a healthy locality,—a quaint, quiet, old-fashioned town, with a river where the boys could have boating and swimming.
"It is so far!" Mrs. Alston had said at first.
"Not too far, though. Of course we do not expect him to come home every few weeks. That always unsettles a boy."
So she made no further demur. The principal, Dr. Goldthwaite, was a truly religious man, and the place was held in high esteem. Perhaps this took their thoughts a little from the subject that was so absorbing to Kathie.
Rob went over to the hall and hung about all the morning. He did find a good deal of amusement in it. The crowd was disposed to be rather jolly, and several of the men took their luck with great good-humor. It was as his uncle had said. While they would not willingly leave their homes and families, still, if the country had need of them in her imminent peril, they would go. Others, sure of a substitute, took the news with unconcern. Only a few exhibited any anger, or declared loudly what they would and what they would not do.