rope frantically to tell the twisted news of a great battle.
This voice of the people rejoicing in the night had made him shiver
in a prolonged ecstasy of excitement. Later, he had gone down to
his mother's room and had spoken thus: "Ma, I'm going to enlist."

"Henry, don't you be a fool," his mother had replied. She had
then covered her face with the quilt. There was an end to the
matter for that night.

Nevertheless, the next morning he had gone to a town that was
near his mother's farm and had enlisted in a company that was
forming there. When he had returned home his mother was milking
the brindle cow. Four others stood waiting. "Ma, I've enlisted,"
he had said to her diffidently. There was a short silence.
"The Lord's will be done, Henry," she had finally replied,
and had then continued to milk the brindle cow.

When he had stood in the doorway with his soldier's clothes on
his back, and with the light of excitement and expectancy in his
eyes almost defeating the glow of regret for the home bonds, he had
seen two tears leaving their trails on his mother's scarred cheeks.

Still, she had disappointed him by saying nothing whatever about
returning with his shield or on it. He had privately primed
himself for a beautiful scene. He had prepared certain sentences
which he thought could be used with touching effect. But her
words destroyed his plans. She had doggedly peeled potatoes and
addressed him as follows: "You watch out, Henry, an' take good
care of yerself in this here fighting business--you watch, an'
take good care of yerself. Don't go a-thinkin' you can lick the