I say war is
iniquitous, and the issues, North or South, are not worth it. Peter, I
had hoped you were too young. Why did you?"

"I couldn't help it, Mrs. Ballard. The call for fifty thousand more
came, and father gave his consent; and, anyway, they are taking a
younger set now than at first."

"Yes, and soon they'll take an older set, and then they'll take the
small and frail and near-sighted ones, and then--" She stopped
suddenly, with a contrite glance at her husband's face. He hated to be
small and frail and near-sighted. She stepped round to his side and
put her hand in his. "I'm thankful you are, Bertrand," she said
quietly. "You'll stay to tea with us, won't you, Peter? We'll have it
out of doors."

"Yes, I'll stay--thank you. It may be the last time, and mother--I
came to see if you'd go up home and see mother, Mrs. Ballard. I kind
of thought you'd think as father and Mr. Ballard do about it, and I
thought you might be able to help mother to see it that way, too. You
see, mother--she--I always thought you were kind of strong and would
see things sort of--well--big, you know, more--as we men do." He held
his head high and looked off as he spoke.

She exchanged a half-smiling glance with her husband, and their hands
clasped tighter. "Maybe, though--if you feel this way--you can't help
mother--but what shall I do?" The big boy looked wistfully down at
her.

"I may not be able to help her to see things you want, Peter Junior.
Maybe she would be happier in seeing things her own way; but I can
sympathize with her. Perhaps I can help her to hope for the best, and
anyway--we can--just talk it over."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ballard, thank you. I don't care how she sees it,
if--if--she'll only be happier--and--give her consent. I can't bear to
go away without that; but if she won't give it, I must go anyway,--you
know."

"Yes," she said, smiling, "I suppose we women have to be forced
sometimes, or we never would allow some things to be done. You
enlisted first and then went to her for her consent? Yes, you are a
man, Peter Junior. But I tell you, if you were my son, I would never
give my consent--nor have it forced from me--still--I would love you
better for doing this."

"My love, your inconsistency is my joy," said her husband, as she
passed into the house and left them together.

The sun still shone hotly down, but the shadows were growing longer,
and Betty left baby asleep under the Harvest apple tree where sh