"Mother, Basil there wants to go to war. He says if he had a son who
belonged to a military organization in time of peace and refused to go
with it in time of war, that he'd rather see him dead."

The mother's lip quivered when she answered, but so imperceptibly that
only the older son saw it.

"That is what his father would have said," she said, quietly, and
Crittenden knew she had already fought out the battle with
herself--alone. For a moment the boy was stunned with his good
fortune--"it was too easy"--and with a whoop he sprang from his place
and caught his mother around the neck, while Uncle Ben, the black
butler, shook his head and hurried into the kitchen for corn-bread and
to tell the news.

"Oh, I tell you it's great fun to _have_ to go to war! Mother," added
the boy, with quick mischief, "Clay wants to go, too."

Crittenden braced himself and looked up with one quick glance sidewise
at his mother's face. It had not changed a line.

"I heard all you said in the hallway. If a son of mine thinks it his
duty to go, I shall never say one word to dissuade him--if he thinks it
is his duty," she added, so solemnly that silence fell upon the three,
and with a smothered, "Good Lawd," at the door, Ben hurried again into
the kitchen.

"Both them boys was a-goin' off to git killed an' ole Miss Rachel not
sayin' one wud to keep 'em back--not a wud."