In the night an idea came to him, suddenly, brilliantly—he wondered he had not thought of it before. To be sure, there were some details to be worked out, some difficulties to be overcome; but the plan was feasible, he knew that, and, if he could carry it into successful execution, his father would have the price lifted from his head, the honor of the family would be saved, and he himself would have the joy of serving his country.
So it was settled and he went to sleep. On the following morning he went up to Mount Hermon and drew from the bank half of his savings. The money was paid to him without question, as his father had long before made formal release of his legal right to it. It was money that he himself had earned, most of it in former years, by carrying the mail from the village post-office to Rick’s Corners, the next settlement to the east on the old North and South Turnpike road. But when his father’s pro-slavery and anti-war sentiments became pronounced, Bob lost his position as mail-carrier, and a boy whose father had been among the first to enlist as a soldier received the appointment.
As for his morning tasks at home that day, he did them with a vigor and spirit that surprised and pleased his father. In the afternoon he finished up little odds and ends of work that had been awaiting his leisure, and rearranged his small store of keepsakes, treasures, valuables, things that a boy of seventeen has accumulated and looks upon with sentiment. Some articles, outgrown by him or become useless, he destroyed. He appeared to be making ready for a long absence. But he did it all so quietly, with so little ostentation, that no suspicions were aroused on the part of any member of his family.
Then, when everything was done, doubts as to the wisdom of his contemplated course began to assail his mind. What would his father say? What would his mother do? What would his little sister think? The plan that had seemed so brilliant to him in the darkness of the night loomed shadowy and doubtful in the cold light of a dull October day. He began to wish that there were some one whom he could take into his confidence; to whom he could outline the project he had in mind, and from whom he could get good and seasonable advice. Well, there was some one. There was Seth Mills. He was old, to be sure; but he was absolutely honest, his judgment was still good, he had always been Bob’s father’s faithful friend, and his mother’s kindest neighbor. Besides, having no children of his own, the old man always had set great store by Bob, and the boy felt that, in any event, he would get sympathy and disinterested counsel. So he went to see Seth Mills. He walked down along the path by the spring-house, and across the meadow, and found his neighbor in the barn-yard milking his cows.
“Uncle Seth,” he said, “I’ve come to tell you what I’m going to do, and see what you think of it.”
The old man looked up but did not stop his milking.
“Well, Robbie, what is it ye goin’ to do?”
“I’m going to war.”
The rich streams that had been piercing the boiling white foam in the milk-pail suddenly ceased. The man’s hands relaxed without falling, and he gazed at the boy as if trying to comprehend his meaning.
“You—you goin’ to enlist?”