“Why not?”
The man laid down his work, slipped the belt from the pulley, and turned toward Bob.
“Because—” replied the boy, “because I wanted to get away.”
“Mean again to you, were they? Small, contemptible spirits! How tyranny in high places is always imitated by the mob!”
“Not so much that, father; but—there was news.”
“Oh, news. I see. Was the conscription-list in?”
“A special messenger brought it.”
“And did you see it? or hear it read?”
“Adam Johns read it out loud.”
And then there was silence between them. The man could not quite condescend to ask for the desired information; the boy could not quite bring himself to the point of volunteering it. So they stood there in the gathering darkness, speechless. Over their heads the great wheel creaked and whirred. And each knew, in his heart, that the other knew that Rhett Bannister’s name was on the list of drafted men.