"Lydia," said Billy, "I'm going to quit. You know I've worked with
Charlie Jackson right along."
"Quit? But Billy, why I—I didn't think you minded Kent and Margery that much!"
"I don't mind them at all. But, Lydia, I found yesterday my father got one hundred and twenty acres from a ten-year-old full-blood boy for five dollars and a bicycle. Last week Charlie unearthed a full-blood squaw from whom your father had gotten two hundred and forty acres for an old sewing machine and twenty-five dollars. I've done so much for the Indians and Charlie is so fond of you that he'll shut these Indians up, but I can't go on, after that, of course."
Lydia was motionless. Over the house top, the great branches of the pine were turned to flames. The long drawn notes of a locust sounded above the steady drone of the crickets. Lydia had a curiously old feeling.
"I can't go on, Lydia," Billy repeated. "My fine old father and dear old Amos! I can't."
"Yes, you'll go on, Billy," Lydia's voice was very low. "After I faced what would come to John Levine through this, I can face anything."
Billy gave a little groan and bowed his head on Lydia's knee. Suddenly she felt years older than Billy. She smoothed his tumbled blond hair.
"Go on, Billy. Our ancestors left England for conscience' sake. And our grandfathers both laid down their lives for the Union."
Lydia ended with a little gulp of embarrassment. Billy caught her hand and sat up, looking eagerly through the gloaming at her face.
"I told you all the battles of the world were fought for a woman," he said. "Dear, I'll go on, though it'll break mother's heart."