“I will go with you, Mr. Bradbury,” he said. “I think I would a good deal rather go with you than in the stage.” He climbed into the wagon and they started on, the old soldier driving with one hand with great ease and facility. “I might as well be plain with you, Bob,” he said. “I don’t think much of your father, but I’ve got nothing against you. In fact, if what they tell me about your loyalty is true, you deserve a good deal of credit, and I wouldn’t be the last one to give it to you.” “Thank you, Mr. Bradbury! My father and I don’t quite agree about the war, and about--the draft, but I don’t want to set up my judgment as better than his, and I don’t want to criticise him, and I’d rather not hear anybody else do it.” “That’s all right, my boy. I’m afraid his obstinacy is going to cost him his neck, but I don’t know as I’ve got any call to try to set his son against him. Let’s change the subject. Going up to the station, are you?” “Yes.” “Going to take the train?” “Yes, I expect to.” After that for a few minutes there was silence. Bradbury looked Bob over carefully to see if perchance there might be something about his dress or appearance to indicate his errand. But there was nothing. Finally his curiosity prevailed, and he said:-- “I don’t want to be inquisitive, but may I ask where you are going?” “I want to go to Easton, Mr. Bradbury.” There was another pause, followed by another question. “I suppose it’s none o’ my business, but can I inquire if Rhett Bannister has decided to give himself up?” “I think not, Mr. Bradbury. He don’t change his mind very easily after he’s once made it up.” The veteran was puzzled. What was Bob Bannister going to Easton for? His visit there must in some way be connected with the provost-marshal’s office and the draft. He could have no other errand. Then, suddenly, a light broke in upon Henry Bradbury’s mind. He reined his horse up sharply and turned to face the boy. “Look here, Bob Bannister! are you going to enlist?” Bob hardly knew how to reply. He considered the question for a moment before he answered it. “Well,” he said finally, “I thought one of us ought to go to the war, Mr. Bradbury.” The man dropped his reins and grasped Bob’s hand. “You’re all right!” he exclaimed. “I wish Abe Lincoln had a hundred thousand more just like you. Richmond would be ours in thirty days.” “But, Mr. Bradbury, nobody knows what I’m going to do, and I wish you wouldn’t tell. Maybe I’ll not be able to do it, anyway.” “Mum’s the word. Don’t your folks know?” “No. I couldn’t have gone if they knew.” “Certainly not. Well, my boy, Henry Bradbury says God bless you! Do you hear? God bless you!”