‘Well,’ answered Lucius, growing very red again, and stirring a coil of ropes with his foot, ‘you know what father said when I told him I wanted to join; and then _he_ said—the General, I mean—“a soldier’s first duty is obedience.” And, oh! Grizzly,’ he cried, flinging himself face downwards upon the blue heap, ‘I’d just love to go now; for since he spoke to me, I’d follow him through fire and water all the world over. But I mustn’t—I mustn’t.’ Ephraim stood twining his long brown fingers together, the picture of distress at sight of Luce’s grief. A blue vein which ran perpendicularly in the centre of his forehead, swelled out, a rugged bar, against which the waves of red which chased one another over his face broke and receded. His eyes were troubled, and swept rapidly up and down and round and round as if seeking inspiration, while so firmly were his lips compressed that the line of parting could barely be distinguished. ‘Don’t ye take on so, Luce. I can’t abear it,’ he muttered huskily, at last. Then, as if with the breaking of his silence the idea of which he had been in pursuit had been captured, he emitted a sudden cackle of satisfaction, and flinging himself down beside Lucius, drew the boy to him and hugged him like a grizzly indeed. ‘Cheer up, Luce!’ he cried. ‘I done got the way. By time! what an or’nery fool I must hev been not ter remember thet.’ ‘Remember what?’ asked Lucius, willing but unable to see a ray of comfort. ‘What I been doin’ ter let thet notion past me?’ inquired Ephraim cheerfully of himself. ‘I declar’ I had her all along; on’y when ye up ’n said ye wouldn’t come, I ’low I let her slip fer a minnit.’ ‘I wish you’d explain,’ said Lucius fretfully. ‘Comin’, Luce, comin’. Don’t ye go fer ter knock thet idee out er my head agen with yer talk. Why, I war workin’ along the very same lines myself when we began ter talk, if ye recollect. Now, see hyar. This is the way I put it up. Your par, he says ye’re not ter go fightin’—and I swow it’s the last thing _I_ want ter do—Old Stonewall he ’lows ye orter do ez yer par says, and ye ’low ye orter agree with both of ’em. Ain’t thet so?’ ‘That’s so,’ admitted Lucius forlornly. ‘Ezacly! Waal now, Luce, I’ll give ye the whole idee in a par’ble. Ye know thet black bull way down ter Holmes’s place?’ Lucius nodded. ‘Waal then, we’ll suppose yer par sez ter ye: “Luce,” sez he, “that bull er Holmes’s is powerful servigerous. I’ll not hev ye goin inter the field ter take him by the tail!”’ ‘Well?’ laughed Lucius, as Ephraim paused to wrestle with his idea. ‘Waal, ye ’low ye’ll do ez yer par sez; but all the same ye hev an outrageous hankerin’ ter see thet bull er Holmes’s. Now, what d’ ye reckon ye’d do?’ ‘Why, sit on the fence and look at him,’ answered Lucius. ‘Ezacly!’ cried Ephraim joyously. ‘Thet’s what I ’lowed ye’d do. And think no harm of it?’ he finished anxiously.