and injustice, if it has opened their
eyes to the dangers of a dreaming idealism which refuses to see evil
until evil has had its way, if it has made them swear to purge America
of the things which has made Germany the slimy crawling enemy of the
universe, if they have come back feeling that God is in His Heaven but
that things can't be right with the world until we come to think in
terms of personal as well as of national righteousness--if they have
come back thus illumined, then we can concede to them their great
adventure. But if they have come back to forget that democracy is on
trial, that we have talked of it to other nations and do not know it
ourselves, if they have come back to let injustice or ignorance
rule--then they had better have died on the fields of France----"

He stopped suddenly amid a startled silence. Not a sound from any of
them.

"I beg your pardon," he laughed a bit awkwardly, "I didn't mean to
preach a sermon."

"Don't spoil it, _please_," Aunt Claudia begged brokenly; "I wish more
men would speak out."

"May I say this, then, before I stop? The future of our country is in
the hands of the men who fought in France. On them must descend the
mantles of our great men, Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt--we must walk
with these spirits if we love America----"

"Do you wonder," Randy said, under his breath to Becky, "that his men
fought, and that they died for him?"

She found her little handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "He's
a--perfect--darling," she whispered, and could say no more.

Dalton was for the time eclipsed. He knew it and was not at ease. He was
glad when Mrs. Paine stood up. "I am sorry to tear myself away. But I
must. I can't be sure that Susie has made up the morning rolls. There's
a camp-meeting at Jessica, and she's lost the little mind that she
usually puts on her cooking."

Randy and the Major went with her in the low carriage, with Rosalind
making good time towards the home stable, and with Nellie Custis
following with flapping ears.

Dalton stayed on. The Judge urged him. "It's too lovely to go in," he
said; "what's your hurry?"

Aunt Claudia, who was inexpressibly weary, felt that her father was
exceeding the bounds of necessary hospitality. She felt, too, that the
length of Dalton's first call was inexcusable. But she did not go to
bed. As long as Becky was there, she should stay to chaperon her. With a
sense of martyrdom upon her, Mrs. Beaufort sat stiffly in her ch