were."

Hand in hand they walked along, the boy exulting in his restored pride
in his mother and in her courage. But a new feeling soon stirred within
him. He remembered with a pain intolerable that he had allowed the word
of so despicable a creature as Mop Cheatley to shake his faith in his
mother's courage. Indignation at the wretched creature who had maligned
her, but chiefly a passionate self-contempt that he had allowed himself
to doubt her, raged tumultuously in his heart and drove him in a silent
fury through the dark until they reached their own gate. Then as his
mother's hand reached toward the latch, the boy abruptly caught her arm
in a fierce grip.

"Mother," he burst forth in a passionate declaration of faith, "you're
not a coward."

"A coward?" replied his mother, astonished.

The boy's arms went around her, his head pressed into her bosom. In a
voice broken with passionate sobs he poured forth his tale of shame and
self-contempt.

"He said you were a Quaker, that the Quakers were cowards, and would
never fight, and that you were a coward, and that you would never fight.
But you would, mother, wouldn't you? And you're not a real Quaker, are
you, mother?"

"A Quaker," said his mother. "Yes, dear, I belong to the Friends, as we
call them."