He stopped short.
“Who fight, father? You are not going to fight.”
“I don’t know yet, my boy; but if I do, it will be for those I believe to be in the right. What I believe to be right, you, too, must believe in, and follow.”
“Of course, father,” said the boy, quietly.
“No matter what is said against me, or how you may be influenced. I know about these matters better than you do, and I shall ask you to trust to me.”
Fred smiled, as if his father’s words amused him, for it seemed absurd that he should have any opinion against his own father.
“Why, of course, I shall do as you tell me,” he said, taking hold of his father’s arm, and they walked together into the house, where Mistress Forrester, looking pale and large-eyed, was awaiting her husband’s return.
She did not speak, but looked up in his eyes with so eager and inquiring an air that he bent down and kissed her forehead.
“Yes,” he said.
“Oh, husband!”