Then, when everything was done, doubts as to the wisdom of his contemplated course began to assail his mind. What would his father say? What would his mother do? What would his little sister think? The plan that had seemed so brilliant to him in the darkness of the night loomed shadowy and doubtful in the cold light of a dull October day. He began to wish that there were some one whom he could take into his confidence; to whom he could outline the project he had in mind, and from whom he could get good and seasonable advice. Well, there was some one. There was Seth Mills. He was old, to be sure; but he was absolutely honest, his judgment was still good, he had always been Bob’s father’s faithful friend, and his mother’s kindest neighbor. Besides, having no children of his own, the old man always had set great store by Bob, and the boy felt that, in any event, he would get sympathy and disinterested counsel. So he went to see Seth Mills. He walked down along the path by the spring-house, and across the meadow, and found his neighbor in the barn-yard milking his cows. “Uncle Seth,” he said, “I’ve come to tell you what I’m going to do, and see what you think of it.” The old man looked up but did not stop his milking. “Well, Robbie, what is it ye goin’ to do?” “I’m going to war.” The rich streams that had been piercing the boiling white foam in the milk-pail suddenly ceased. The man’s hands relaxed without falling, and he gazed at the boy as if trying to comprehend his meaning. “You--you goin’ to enlist?” “Yes. I’ve thought it all out. You know my father. You know what he thinks about the war and about the draft. You know he’s been drafted and won’t go, and says the soldiers can’t take him alive. Well, Sergeant Anderson said that, defying the draft that way, he’s classed as a deserter, and when he’s caught he’s liable to be shot. Now you know that isn’t a nice thing to happen to your father. So I’ve decided to do this. I’m going to Easton to see this provost-marshal and offer to take my father’s place as a drafted man, and go wherever they choose to send me, provided they’ll let him off. I think they will, don’t you?” For a moment the old man did not answer. He seemed to be trying fully to comprehend the situation. Then, suddenly, he took it in. Rising to his feet as quickly as his rheumatic legs would let him, kicking over his three-legged milking-stool in the operation, and barely saving his pail of milk from the same fate, he grasped Bob heartily by the hand. “Jest the thing!” he exclaimed, “jest the thing! Here I’ve been layin’ awake nights fur a week tryin’ to think up some way o’ savin’ Rhett Bannister’s neck, an’ here you’ve gone an’ struck it the first time, by cracky!” “You think the plan’s all right, do you, Uncle Seth?”