"You mean—?"
"I mean that Penfield was to enlist, has doubtless now already enlisted, with the Canadian troops which, after a period of drilling at home, will enter the war on the firing line in northern France."
"Well, for goodness sake!" It was all that Aunt Millicent could say, and when she had said that she practically collapsed.
"Yes," he rejoined, "he felt as did I, that the time had come for American citizens, both old and young, with red blood in their veins, to spill that blood, if necessary, in fighting for the liberty of the world. Patriotism, duty, the spirit of his ancestors, called him, and he has gone."
Colonel Butler was radiant. His eyes were aglow with enthusiasm. His own recommendations for national conduct had gone unheeded indeed, and his own offer of military service had been civilly declined; but these facts were of small moment compared with the proud knowledge that a young scion of his race was about to carry the family traditions and prestige into the battle front of the greatest war for liberty that the world had ever known.
In Pen's second letter home from Canada he told of the arrival and enlistment of Aleck Sands, and of the complete blotting out of the old feud that had existed between them. Later on he wrote them, in many letters, all about his barrack life, and of how contented and happy he was, and how eagerly he was looking forward to the day when he and his comrades should cross the water to those countries where the great war was a reality. The letter that he wrote the day before he sailed was filled with the brightness of enthusiasm and the joy of anticipation. And while the long period of drill on English soil became somewhat irksome to him, as one reading between the lines could readily discover, he made no direct complaint. It was simply a part of the game. But it was when he had reached the front, and his letters breathed the sternness of the conflict and echoed the thunder of the guns, that he was at his best in writing. Mere salutations some of them were, written from the trenches by the light of a dug-out candle, but they pulsated with patriotism and heroism and a determination to live up to the best traditions of a soldier's career.
Colonel Butler devoured every scrap of news that came from the front in the half dozen papers that he read daily. He kept in close touch with the international situation, he fumed constantly at the inactivity of his own government in view of her state of unpreparedness for a war into which she must sooner or later be inevitably plunged. He lost all patience with what he considered the timidity of the President, and what he called the stupidity of congress. Was not the youngest and the reddest and the best of the Butler blood at the fighting line, ready at any moment to be spilled to the death on the altar of the world's liberty? Why then should the government of the United States sit supinely by and see the finest young manhood of her own and other lands fighting and perishing in the cause of humanity when, by voicing the conscience of her people, and declaring and making war on the Central Powers, she could most effectually aid in bringing to a speedy and victorious end this monstrous example of modern barbarism? Why, indeed!
One day Colonel Butler suggested to his daughter that she go up to Lowbridge and again inquire whether Pen's mother had any needs of any kind that he could possibly supply.
"And," he added, "I wish you to invite her to Bannerhall for a visit of indefinite duration. In these trying and critical times my daughter-in-law's place is in the ancestral home of her deceased husband."
Aunt Millicent, delighted with the purport of her mission, went up to Lowbridge and extended the invitation, and, with all the eloquence at her command, urged its acceptance. But Sarah Butler was unyielding and would not come. She had been wounded too deeply in years gone by.