The hour had come that Joshua Peniman and his sons had so long prayed might be spared them.
On the morning of June tenth Joe came and stood before him in the living-room of the little soddy.
Neither had slept. Joe's face was pale and his lips close set as he stood looking at his father.
"I enlisted last night, Father." He spoke in a hoarse, shaken voice, and his lips moved stiffly as if he could with difficulty frame the words.
Joshua Peniman started. He knew that it must come, yet the dart passed no less cruelly through his heart because it had been anticipated.
"Already?"
He looked grey and worn. Lines that had not been there a few months before had written themselves in his forehead and creased his cheeks. As the lad looked at him his heart rose up and choked him.
"Oh, Father," he cried, "I had to do it! It breaks my heart to go against your will. But I had no choice. I must go. Why, think what a skulker I would be if after all I have done and said I were to—to stay at home!"
"You were already under orders," Joshua Peniman said slowly. "You are a member of the Quaker Church. By your covenant with that body you have forsworn war. Your church and your God forbid you to fight. God Himself has commanded that 'Thou shalt not kill.'"
"Oh, but, Father, that means a different kind of killing. War is not murder!"