“The country needs him more even than we do,” he said to himself. “It will be a hard trial to have him go, but it is our duty.”
“Will my little Charlie miss me when I am gone?” asked Mr. Frost of the chubby-faced boy who sat with great, round eyes peering into the fire, as if he were deeply engaged in thought.
“Won't you take me with you, papa?” asked Charlie.
“What could you do if you were out there, my little boy?” asked the father, smiling.
“I'd shoot great big rebel with my gun,” said Charlie, waxing valiant.
“Your gun's only a wooden one,” said Maggie, with an air of superior knowledge. “You couldn't kill a rebel with that.”
“I'd kill 'em some,” persisted Charlie earnestly, evidently believing that a wooden gun differed from others not in kind, but in degree.
“But suppose the rebels should fire at you,” said Frank, amused. “What would you do then, Charlie?”
Charlie looked into the fire thoughtfully for a moment, as if this contingency had not presented itself to his mind until now. Suddenly his face brightened up, and he answered. “I'd run away just as fast as I could.”
All laughed at this, and Frank said: “But that wouldn't be acting like a brave soldier, Charlie. You ought to stay and make the enemy run.”