demanded the captain.

"Did Phin Babbitt tell you what was in that telegram he just got?
What did he say when he read it? Did he swear? I bet he did! If
that telegram wan't some surprise to old Babbitt, then--"

"Do you know what 'twas--what the telegram was?"

"Do I? You bet you I do! And I'm the only one in this town except
Phin and Jim Bailey that does know. I was in the telegraph office
when Jim took it over the wire. I see Jim was pretty excited.
'Well,' says he, 'if this won't be some jolt to old Phin!' he says.
'What will?' says I. 'Why,' says he--"

"What was it?" demanded Captain Sam. "You're dyin' to tell us, a
blind man could see that. Get it off your chest and save your
life. What was it?"

Mr. Bearse leaned forward and whispered. There was no real reason
why he should whisper, but doing so added a mysterious,
confidential tang, so to speak, to the value of his news.

"'Twas from Leander--from Phin's own boy, Leander Babbitt, 'twas.
'Twas from him, up in Boston and it went somethin' like this: 'Have
enlisted in the infantry. Made up my mind best thing to do. Will
not be back. Have written particulars.' That was it, or pretty
nigh it. Leander's enlisted. Never waited for no Exemption Board
nor nothin', but went up and enlisted on his own hook without
tellin' a soul he was goin' to. That's the way Bailey and me
figger it up. Say, ain't that some news? Godfreys, I must hustle
back to the post office and tell the gang afore anybody else gets
ahead of me. So long!"

He hurried away on his joyful errand. Captain Hunniwell closed the
window and turned to face his friend.

"Do you suppose that's true, Jed?" he asked. "Do you suppose it
CAN be true?"

Jed nodded. "Shouldn't be surprised," he said.

"Good gracious king! Do you mean the boy went off up to Boston on
his own hook, as that what's-his-name--Gab--says, and volunteered
and got himself enlisted into the army?"

"Shouldn't wonder, Sam."

"Well, my gracious king! Why--why--no wonder old Babbitt looked as
if the main topsail yard had fell on him. Tut, tut, tut! Well, I
declare! Now what do you suppose put him up to doin' that?"

Winslow sat down in his low chair again and picked up the wooden
sailor and the paint brush.

"Well, Sam," he said, slowly, "Leander's a pretty good boy."

"Yes, I suppose he is, but he's Phin Babbitt's son."

"I know, but don't it seem to you as if some sorts of fathers was
like birth