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He said he was
sick of wearing the seat of a stool out, and, like the idiot you know I
am, I came away with him.
"'I have taken the King's shilling, but perhaps if you came for me they
would let me go back with you. I was a fool when I did it. I don't want
to be in the army. My dear mother, I am nothing but a trouble to you.
But if you get me out of this, I promise I will have more sense and
consideration. . . .'"
Mrs. Morel sat down in her rocking-chair.
"Well, NOW," she cried, "let him stop!"
"Yes," said Paul, "let him stop."
There was silence. The mother sat with her hands folded in her apron,
her face set, thinking.
"If I'm not SICK!" she cried suddenly. "Sick!"
"Now," said Paul, beginning to frown, "you're not going to worry your
soul out about this, do you hear."
"I suppose I'm to take it as a blessing," she flashed, turning on her
son.
"You're not going to mount it up to a tragedy, so there," he retorted.
"The FOOL!--the young fool!" she cried.
"He'll look well in uniform," said Paul irritatingly.


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