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