Mrs. Morel sat down in her rocking-chair.
"Well, now," she cried, "let him stop!"
"Yes," said Paul, "let him stop."
There was silence. The mother sat with her hands folded in her apron, her face set, thinking.
"If I'm not sick!" she cried suddenly. "Sick!"
"Now," said Paul, beginning to frown, "you're not going to worry your soul out about this, do you hear?"
"I suppose I'm to take it as a blessing," she flashed, turning on her son.
"You're not going to mount it up to a tragedy, so there," he retorted.
"The fool!—the young fool!" she cried.
"He'll look well in uniform," said Paul irritatingly.