In the gray October twilight the boy stood erect, with flushed face and flashing eyes. The spirit of the time had entered his soul as it entered the souls of thousands of other boys in those soul-stirring days, and, like them, he was ready. Consequences were of no moment. His country was calling, his response rang fervent and true.
So Seth Mills spoke no more discouraging words. But he put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and looked up into his eyes, for the boy was the taller of the two.
“You’re right,” he said, “and I’m wrong. I hadn’t thought it was in ye. Go on. I’ll stand back o’ ye. God bless ye, I’m proud o’ ye!”
Tears came into the old man’s eyes as he spoke, and coursed down the furrows in his cheeks, and his own patriotic heart was roused to a new pitch of loyalty.
When, at last, the final arrangement with his old friend had been made, and the little details of his departure were settled, and the good-bys and hand-shaking were at an end, and Bob turned back into the meadow-path toward home, it was almost dark.
His father sat at the supper-table that evening with apparent unconcern. He knew that there were no provost-guards in the neighborhood, no one with authority to arrest or imprison him. For while it was true that, in a sense, he was isolated in the midst of an intensely patriotic community, he was, nevertheless, in more or less constant communication with friends and sympathizers who kept him well informed as to the dangers which surrounded or approached him. On this night he knew, for instance, that Sergeant Anderson, with his little squad of soldiers, had returned to Easton, and that no other detail of troops had as yet come into the county. He knew also that means would be found to warn him of the approach of an enemy long before that enemy could reach him. So he ate his supper with his family in peace, and sat quietly at his table reading his paper without apprehension of danger when Bob started to go upstairs to bed.
“Good-by, father!” said the boy, standing at the stair-door with his lamp in his hand.
“Good-by,” repeated his father, “what do you mean by that?”
“Did I say good-by? I meant to say good-night. But you know I never go to bed at night any more, father, without thinking that something may happen before morning to separate us—forever.”