“You haven’t forgotten your ambition I see, Tom,” said his mother, as she vigorously plied her needle, taking advantage of the last hours of daylight.
“Forgotten it, Mother? Indeed I haven’t! I never shall. I intend to go to West Point, and become an army officer.”
Tom straightened himself up as he said this, as though he had heard the command:
“Attention!”
But the only sound that came to the ears of his mother and himself was the distant hum and roar of the little city, on the outskirts of which they lived.
Mrs. Taylor sighed. Tom was folding the bills into a neat little package, enclosing within the silver coins. It was a small sum, but it represented much to him and his widowed mother.
“I don’t like to think of you being a soldier, Tom,” said Mrs. Taylor, as she stopped to thread a needle.
“Well, I guess there isn’t very much danger,” Tom laughed. “There aren’t, at present, any vacancies from this congressional district so I understand, and the appointments at large have all been filled. And even if there was a chance for me to get in, I couldn’t do it I guess. It takes about a hundred dollars to start with, but, of course, after that Uncle Sam looks out for you. But I sure would like to go!”
Tom’s eyes sparkled, and again he half unconsciously straightened up, as stiff as the proverbial ramrod.
“I wish you could have your wish, Tom,” his mother said, softly; “but I can’t bear to think of war. It is so cruel!”