now your father and George and Carter and Gordon--all of them in the
army. Now that Bev wants to go, I don't see how we can bear that.

Fair (quietly). I sometimes think of it, and then a great wave of
terror seems to pass over me and leave me frantic at the thought. I feel
as though I must tear things with my hands and scream, and go out too
with them and fight--just to be near them. And then I feel ashamed to
seem so weak. And then I think about the day they brought Phil's body
home, and how mother didn't shed a tear. She looked so strange and
white, as we walked down through the garden to the grave, I took her
hand; it was like marble! Then she looked down at Bev on one side and at
me close by her on the other, and softly smiled--smiled as she does when
she is very proud and pleased. She spoke just as we came close by the
grave. We three stood very near to Phil, and as they lifted him, she
spoke: "He was the first, and I have loved him best," and then she
smiled again, and softly drew away her hand and laid it for one moment
on the coffin, as though caressing it. Then bending close down by his
side, she spoke, as though to him: "Well done, my own soldier man! The
heavenly hosts are proud of your enlistment!" (A pause). You wonder then
that I'm ashamed to show my fear of losing Bev?

Char. Heroes like that are born--not made.

[Enter from the garden Mrs. S. and Col. S., and Bev who walks
between them. He is talking eagerly, as though afraid of
opposition. Col. S. looks troubled. Mrs. S. looks strangely
pale and quiet.


Bev. And, father, you see it's nearly finished now. Of course,