neral rarely got his syllables tangled. Things at times happened
to his legs, but he usually controlled his tongue.

"I am puf-feckly comfa'ble--go home, Derry."

"I can't leave you, Dad."

"I want to be left."

He had never been quite like this. There had been moods of rebellion,
but usually he had yielded himself to his son's guidance.

"Dad, be reasonable."

"I'd rather sit here and freeze--than go home with a--coward."

It was out at last. It struck Derry like a whiplash. He sprang to his
feet. "You don't mean that, Dad. You can't mean it."

"I do mean it."

"I am not a coward, and you know it."

"Then why don't you go and fight?"

Silence! The only sound the chuckle of living waters beneath the ice
of the little stream.

"Why don't you go and fight like other men?"

The emphasis was insulting. Derry had only one idea--to escape from
that taunting voice. "You'll be sorry for this, Dad," he flung out at
white heat, and scrambled up the bank.

When he reached the bridge, he paused. He couldn't leave that old man
down there to die of the cold--the wind was rising and rattled in the
bare trees.

But Derry's blood was boiling. He sat down on the parapet, thick
blackness all about him. Whatever had been his father's shortcomings,
they had always clung together--and now they were separated by words
which had cut like a knife. It was useless to tell himself that his
father was not responsible. Out of the heart the mouth had spoken.

And there were other people who felt as his father did--there had been
Drusilla's questions, the questions of others--there had been, too,
averted faces. He saw the little figure in the cloak of heavenly blue
as she had been the other night,--in her gray furs as she had been this
morning--; would her face, too, be turned from him?

Words formed themselves in his mind. He yearned to toss back at his
father the taunt that was on his lips. To fling it over the parapet,
to shout it to the world--!

He had never before felt the care of his father a sacrifice. There had
been humiliating moments, hard moments, but always he had been
sustained by a sense of the rightness of the thing that he was doing
and of its necessity.

Then, out of the darkness, came a shivering old voice, "Derry, are you
there?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Come down--and help me--"

The General, alone in the darkness, had suffered a reaction. He felt
chilled and depressed. He wanted warmth and