Bildungsromans; Feminist fiction; Women -- Employment -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
“Never till we have beaten!” cried David, throwing down the paper and
walking about the room with his head up like a war-horse who smells
powder. “It is terrible and yet glorious. I thank heaven I live to see
this great wrong righted, and only wish I could do my share like a
man.”
“That is natural; but there are plenty of men who have fewer ties than
you, who can fight better, and whose places are easier to fill than
yours if they die,” said Christie, hastily.
“But the men who have most to lose fight best they say; and to my
thinking a soldier needs a principle as well as a weapon, if he is to
do real service.”
“As the only son of a widow, you can’t be drafted: that’s one comfort,”
said Letty, who could not bear to give up the brother lost to her for
so many years.
“I should not wait for that, and I know mother would give her widow’s
mite if she saw that it was needed.”
“Yes, Davy.” The soft, old voice answered steadily; but the feeble hand
closed instinctively on the arm of this only son, who was so dear to
her. David held it close in both of his, saying gratefully: “Thank you,
mother;” then, fixing his eyes on the younger yet not dearer women, he
added with a ring in his voice that made their hearts answer with a
prompt “Ay, ay!” in spite of love or fear:
“Now listen, you dear souls, and understand that, if I do this thing, I
shall not do it hastily, nor without counting well the cost. My first
and most natural impulse was to go in the beginning; but I stayed for
your sakes. I saw I was not really needed: I thought the war would soon
be over, and those who went then could do the work. You see how
mistaken we were, and God only knows when the end will come. The
boys—bless their brave hearts!—have done nobly, but older men are
needed now. We cannot sacrifice all the gallant lads; and we who have
more to lose than they must take our turn and try to do as well. You
own this; I see it in your faces: then don’t hold me back when the time
comes for me to go. I must do my part, however small it is, or I shall
never feel as if I deserved the love you give me. You will let me go, I
am sure, and not regret that I did what seemed to me a solemn duty,
leaving the consequences to the Lord!”
“Yes, David,” sister and sweetheart answered, bravely forgetting in the
fervor of the moment what heavy consequences God might see fit to send.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account