The mother read the paper in silence and sadness, for the thought of
having her noble boy exposed to the perils of the camp and the march, the
skirmish and the battle, was terrible, and nothing but the most exalted
patriotism could induce a mother to give a son to his country.

"I don't want to sign this paper, Thomas," said she, when she had finished
reading it.

"Have you forgot what you said the other night, mother?"

"No, I haven't forgot it, and I feel now just as I did then. If there is
any real need of your going, I am willing you should go."

"Need? Of course there is need of soldiers. The President wasn't joking
when he called for seventy-five thousand men."

"But there are enough to go without you."

"That's just what everybody might say, and then there wouldn't be anybody
to go."

"But you are young, and not very strong."

"I'm old enough, and strong enough. When I can get a day to myself, I
don't think it's any great hardship to carry father's heavy fowling-piece
from sunrise to sunset; and I guess I can stand it to carry a musket as
long as any of them."

"You are only a boy."