“There’s more than you wishes that, Mrs. Woolridge,” said the owner of the independent house, folding her arms and holding up her head with a certain assumption of dignity. “Them that has friends out there—them that has _sons_ out there, they be the folks as wish the war was well over; and they do do it, Mrs. Woolridge—I d’ ’low they do.” “An’ so they may,” retorted Mrs. Woolridge acidly. “I’m sure I can’t think what ever makes folks go to be soldiers! I wouldn’t have my son a soldier—no, not if he was to go down on his bended knees I wouldn’t agree.” “Well, I don’t go so far as that,” returned Mrs. Stuckhey. “It d’ seem a bit hard, I d’ ’low, to part wi’ ’em; but ’tis a fine thing for to serve Queen and country, and I d’ feel so to speak proud o’ my Joe. E-es, I mid say I am proud of him! It’s summat, after all, to think as he’s the only soldier in the place—the only soldier in Riverton.” “An’ a good job too,” retorted Mrs. Woolridge; “I’m glad there bain’t no more on ’em. If there wasn’t no soldiers there wouldn’t be no wars; and to my mind wars is wicked things—reg’lar flying in the face o’ Providence.” “Nay, now,” put in good-natured Mrs. Blanchard, “I’m sure everybody, high and low, the gentry and sich as we together, all d’ seem to think the world o’ the soldiers. And it be quite natural as you should feel a bit proud, Mrs. Stuckhey, my dear, seeing as your son is the only soldier as comes fro’ this here village. Why, we was a-prayin’ for the soldiers to-week, Mrs. Woolridge, so I can’t think as war can be anyways wicked.” “E-es, indeed,” agreed Susan Stuckhey, addressing herself pointedly to the last speaker, for she had been somewhat hurt by Mrs. Woolridge’s remarks. “I d’ ’low I could very near ha’ cried o’ Sunday, when the service was gi’ed out for the soldiers, seein’ as all the prayers in this place was a-goin’ up for my Joe. I went round to the rectory afterwards, and I did thank the Reverend. ‘’Tis very kind o’ ye, I’m sure, sir,’ says I, ‘to take so much trouble for my son.’ ‘What trouble, Susan?’ says he, looking a bit dazy like. ‘Why, the service, sir,’ says I. ‘All the long prayers, and the collect, and all—for our soldiers, you know. My Joe be the only soldier from Riverton.’ So now when he do meet me he do al’ays ax, ‘Any noos, Susan, from our only soldier?’ That reminds me, postman be late to-day, bain’t he? The mail do come in from abroad to-day, d’ye see, and I’m on the look-out for a letter.” Mrs. Blanchard and Mrs. Stuckhey craned their heads once more, peering anxiously up the road; but Mrs. Woolridge remained ostentatiously immovable. “I thought that was what fetched you out,” she remarked ungraciously. “I suppose you’ll ’low as postmen be o’ some use. It d’ seem to me as they d’ serve their country just so well as soldiers; and there’s others as serves their country too. I reckon as my son Robert d’ serve his country better nor any soldier. What ’ud the country do wi’out trains?”