would prove worth something. Your father and mother, John, believed in
God--they believed in a God, not a Moloch; your father's faith has
been justified. The death he died was worth millions to the cause of
liberty. It stirred the whole North, as the miserable little fifty
thousand dollars that Abijah Barclay offered never could have done.
But your mother's sacrifice must find its justification in you. And
she, not your father, made the final decision to give up everything
for human freedom. She has endured poverty, Johnnie--" the man's
voice was growing tense, and his eyes were ablaze; "you know how she
worked, and if you fail her, if you do not live a consecrated life,
John, your mother's life has failed. I don't mean a pious life; God
knows I hate sanctimony. But I mean a life consecrated to some
practical service, to an ideal--to some actual service to your
fellows--not money service, but personal service. Do you understand?"
Ward leaned forward and looked into the boy's face. He took hold of
John's arm as he pleaded, "Johnnie--boy--Johnnie, do you
understand?"

The boy answered, "Yes, General--I think I get your meaning." He
picked up his bridle, and Ward relaxed his hold on the boy's arm. The
man's hand dropped and he sighed, for he saw only a boy's face, and
heard a boy's politeness in the voice that went on, "Thank you,
General, give my love to Miss Lucy." And the youth rode on up the
hill.

In a few minutes the boys were riding down the steep clay bank that
led to the new iron bridge across the ford of the Sycamore, and for
half an hour they rode chattering through the wood before they came
into the valley and soon were Climbing the bluff which they had seen
the night before from the Culpepper home. On the brow of the bluff Bob