But there was his mother, his mother, whose eyes had grown larger and more wistful of late as every day had brought nearer and nearer the conflict that was about to claim her only son. He was all that she had, her one strong support and sure refuge and loving comrade. What would she do, alone and anguished in this quiet home while he was battling at the front in a rain of shells, of poison gas, of liquid fire? But he must not sadden her by carrying into the house this shadow of coming events that for the moment had flung itself over him, and he assumed a gaiety that he did not feel as he ran lightly up the steps where she, as usual, stood waiting for him in the open door. She on her part had hidden her heartache beneath a mask of vivacity. It was a loving deception where each knew that the other was trying to deceive and failing in the attempt. "Well," she asked, cheerily, as they sat down to the tasteful meal she had prepared for him, "what is the news in the city to-day? It seems to me that I have heard nothing but band music all morning." "I guess the band didn't leave anything out," said Frank with a smile. "They played through the whole list of national airs from the "Star Spangled Banner" to "Dixie." "But I heard something else too," went on his mother. "What was it the newsboys were crying through the streets?" "Oh it was an extra of some kind," said Frank, evasively. "But of what kind?" asked his mother with a gentle persistence. "Why, it was about the President's speech," said Frank, reluctantly. "He's expected to address the Senate this afternoon, and everybody is eager to know what he will have to say." "I can guess what it will be," said his mother, sadly. "Yes," agreed Frank, "There's no use blinking the facts, little Mother. He's going to declare that the United States is at war with Germany. And high time, too!" he burst out, his pent-up convictions finding voice. "We've been patient, Mother, till patience becomes a fault. We've waited and hoped and written and argued, and all the while Germany has been growing more vile and brutal. Any further patience would be cowardice. And that's one thing that, with all its faults, our country has never been guilty of. It's up to us now, Mother, every one of us," and he emphasized the words, "to show that we're worthy to be called Americans." "Yes," faltered his mother, "I suppose it is--in my heart I know it is. But oh, my boy! my boy! how can I let you go?" "It's duty, Mother," said Frank, gently. "It isn't a question of choice. I must go. My country needs me, and I know my mother well enough to be sure she would be the last one in the world to hold me back." Before his mother could reply there was a commotion in the street outside. They looked at each other inquiringly and then rose from the table and hurried to the window.