“Sound as a dollar, my boy, sound as a dollar. They’ll take ye an’ glad to git ye. To be sure, you’re a leetle mite under age, but that won’t make no difference; you’re big an’ strong, an’ you can carry a gun an’ fight with the best of ’em.” “But, will they let father off?” “Well, now I sh’d think they would. They don’t want no copperheads in the army, nor no deserters, nor--why, I sh’d think they’d be tickled to death to swap him for you, an’ call good riddance to him. That’s what I say.” “It looks that way to me, too, Uncle Seth, and I do want to help father and save him if I can.” “Yes, an’ they’s another thing about it, Robbie. S’posin’ ye git to go down there. S’posin’ ye git to be one of Uncle Sam’s soldiers a-fightin’ in the army. You think your father’s goin’ to set down to hum contented, an’ let his boy do the soldierin’? No, sir-ee! that ain’t him. You mark my words. In less’n ten days he’ll be down there a-tryin’ to git to take your place stid o’ your takin’ his’n. That’s what I say. Now, you mark my words!” But Bob did not quite believe that. The most that he hoped to do was to relieve his father from the effect of the draft and the result of his disobedience to it. More than that, of course, it would give him the opportunity that he had longed for and waited for, to fight for his country and his country’s flag. So they talked it over, the boy and the old man, and every moment they grew more enthusiastic over the project and what it was likely to accomplish. “When ye goin’, Robbie?” “Why, I thought--I thought I’d go to-morrow morning, Uncle Seth. You see I can’t very well let them know I’m going. That would spoil it all. So I thought I’d get up early to-morrow morning and slip away before anybody was up, and catch the early train at Carbon Creek. You don’t think I ought to tell them before I go, do you?” “No, I s’pose not. But what’ll your ma think when she finds you ain’t to home? What’ll your pa say?” “That’s the only thing about it that worries me, Uncle Seth. When I’m once in the army, and they know where I am and what to expect, it won’t be so bad. But how to ease their minds before they find out, I don’t know. I’ve thought over it a good deal, but I can’t quite make out how I’m going to do it. I might leave a letter, but then they’d know where I was going and likely stop me before I got there. I might--say, I’ll tell you what; I just happen to think of it. Suppose you kind o’ happen along there some time to-morrow forenoon, and say to them that you know where I am and where I’m going, and that it’s all right; and if I don’t come back in a day or two I’ll write and tell them all about it. That’ll do, won’t it?” “Certain! I’ll put their minds to rest. Jest leave that to me. They’ll know’t when I tell ’em ye’re all right, ye air all right.” Then, for a minute, the old man stood silent, chewing contemplatively on a straw.