After breakfast the boy hurried out and, as Crittenden rose, the
mother, who pretended to be arranging silver at the old sideboard, spoke
with her back to him.

"Think it over, son. I can't see that you should go, but if you think
you ought, I shall have nothing to say. Have you made up your mind?"

Crittenden hesitated.

"Not quite."

"Think it over very carefully, then--please--for my sake." Her voice
trembled, and, with a pang, Crittenden thought of the suffering she had
known from one war. Basil's way was clear, and he could never ask the
boy to give up to him because he was the elder. Was it fair to his brave
mother for him to go, too--was it right?

"Yes mother," he said, soberly.




III


The Legion came next morning and pitched camp in a woodland of oak and
sugar trees, where was to be voiced a patriotic welcome by a great
editor, a great orator, and young Crittenden.