“Oh, why am I not a man?”
“Would you go yourself, girl?”
“Wouldn’t I just,” says Mona, throwing up her head.
The corn is cut and stooked; nothing remains but to stack it. Robbie has gone into town for the evening. Mona and her father are indoors. The old man is looking grave. He remembers the Crimean war and its consequences.
“Robbie is getting restless,” he says.
“What wonder?” says Mona.
Suddenly, like a whirlwind, Robbie dashes into the house.
“I’ve joined up, dad! I’ve joined up, Mona!”
Mona flings her arms about his neck and kisses him. The old man says little, and after a while he goes up to bed.