“This communication,” continued the captain, “was delivered to the general commanding, by him endorsed and delivered to the division commander, then to the commander of our brigade, to the colonel of the regiment, and in due course has reached me. It has been endorsed as follows by all the officers through whose hands it has passed: ‘If not prejudicial to the service, let the President’s wish be carried out.’ There is therefore nothing left for me to do except to give the order for your discharge, and the mustering in of your father to take your place. Permit me to add, however, that we shall regret to lose you. During your brief term of service you have been a good soldier, a credit to the company and the army.” In the silence that followed, the captain half rose from the table as if to close the interview. Then Bob found his voice. “But, Captain Howarth,” he said, “I don’t want to be discharged. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay. I am old enough. I can march. I can do picket-duty. I can fight. But I can’t go back home now, it’s simply impossible.” The captain dropped back into his seat, incredulous. Among the men standing against the tent-wall there was a buzz of approving voices. Rhett Bannister put his arm about the boy’s shoulders affectionately. “You’re right, my son,” he said. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked it. I didn’t think. I didn’t realize; but--you’re right.” Then Lieutenant Forsythe stepped forward. “Permit me,” he said, “to make a suggestion. I talked much with this man on my way down here. I believe he will make a good and earnest soldier. The son has already proved his ability and patriotism. Why not keep them both? I am sure it will not militate against the spirit of the President’s order.” “Right you are!” exclaimed Sergeant Anderson, stepping out from the shadow where he had stood dreading lest he should lose his protégé, of whom he had grown wondrously fond. “Good!” said the other men. “Let it be done,” responded the captain. And it was done.