“Well,” the other sighed, “I reckon I oughtn’t to tempt you away from your duty, with our men givin’ their lives over there. Ain’t it awful about that Mrs. Webster’s boy!”
“Awful,” Julie assented.
“It’s the third one of our Stag County young men to go. That boy from Whifen that was killed early in the war, an’ that young feller that was in the Marines, and now Mrs. Webster’s son. They said when they got the word his mother just fell right over on the floor, an’ was dead for five hours. He was her only boy, and the baby child; an’ now him dead ’way off there—one of our men dead over in France—ain’t it awful?”
“Yes, awful,” Julie repeated, hurrying nervously on with her knitting.
“Well—and did you hear about the Chapin boy?” Aunt Sadie continued.
“No. What about him? What Chapin boy?” Julie asked, startled.
“Why, you know those Chapins that live out on the Easter Road, ’bout five miles from town? It’s a little log-house, sits back from the road in a right pretty yard.”
“Oh, yes, I know. What about the boy?” Julie questioned.
“Well, they had to send him back from camp. They couldn’t do one thing with him. He just cried all the time.”
“Cried all the time?”