“No, Red; no, Miss Miranda, thank you,� replied Mr. Mallett. “I can’t set down. I’ve got to go straight home. I promised my old woman I would.� But he tarried to share his news with them. “You’ve been talking ’bout the war, I reckon. Fayett heard to-day at Redville the Congress has voted for it. And—what do you think?—he’s going to give up agricultural school and be a soldier.�
“Fayett a soldier!� exclaimed Dick, looking at his neighbor with amazement and a sort of awe.
The elders, too, were exclaiming and questioning, looking at the boy whom they had known all his life as if he had suddenly become a stranger. That a Village boy was going as a soldier did not bring home to them the fact that the World War had become an American war; it merely seemed to carry him away from them, making him a part of that mighty overseas conflict.
“Is Fayett really going?� asked Miss Fanny Morrison.
“Well, he wants to, and my old woman and me’ve been talking it over and we’ve done both give our consent; so I reckon it’s settled,� was the answer.
“How could his mother agree?� As Mrs. Osborne asked the question, her hold tightened on the man child drowsing at her knee.
“He told us he felt he ought to go, and she says she wouldn’t stand in the way of anything he thought he ought to do,� Mr. Mallett said quietly. “And if his mother can give him up, I’ve got no right to hold him back.�
“But, Fayett,—� Mr. Blair turned to the boy—“I don’t understand your wanting to go. You were always such a peaceable fellow.�
“Yes, sir,� said the lad, as if that were a reason for him to fight in this war. “And now that the United States is in it, it seems like I must go. Of free will. Not waiting to be sent.�
He spoke as an American, but those listening remembered that he was the great-great-grandson of a Frenchman.