EA, Mother," Father said, and when I blinked at him, he tried to raise me on the pillow; but I snuggled down again in the bed.
"Don't" I muttered drowsily.
So he went and sat in the arm-chair, a fine, strong figure in striped pyjamas, and sipped at his cup and read the paper. I was falling off to sleep again with a comfortable feeling that he was there—I was always glad to find him in the morning—when he exclaimed suddenly
"Mother," he cried, "war is declared!"
I sat up then, wide awake in a second; but he did not bring my tea, and I sulked at his neglect like a spoilt child. He had kept me absurdly young for five-and-forty. Presently I noticed that he was not reading, but staring at the same place in the newspaper. I crept out of bed and peeped over his shoulder at the staring headline—
I caught a few disjointed phrases of the article before my eyes blurred: Immediate necessity—large army—every young man between the ages of eighteen and thirty—join the Colours at once.
I knew then what Father was thinking bout. Our Willie was just twenty. He was all the child we had. I could hardly think of him as a man yet. It seemed such a little while since he trotted beside me, holding my hand; now he was as tall as his his father, though he would never be nearly so powerful. And they wanted him for a soldier.
It did not occur to me that he could hold back, and I had no idea of trying to hold him, until I had sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes watching my husband. John's hair looked very grey in the morning light, and the bald place was getting bigger and bigger. His shoulders stooped a little. It was from bending over his desk. They would have bent more, but I often slapped them and cried, "Stand up!" He said that I kept him young. He was young for his age, thanks to me—and to Willie. They were such pals, and did men's things together. If the boy went, John would drop the sports and exercise that kept him young, I feared; and what a man drops when he is nearly sixty he never picks up again. The boy should not go if I could stop him, I decided—if I could stop him, and make John think that I did it for the boy's own sake, or for mine. He would not allow it if he thought that he was the cause, even indirectly, of Willie evading the call. I must try to be tactful; and I was not accustomed to use tact with him, only to tell him everything and to be fond of him. Well, I must try tact now.
"I suppose," I said at last, "we shall have a bigger Army?"
Father turned at the sound of my voice, jumped up and brought my tea, put a fur mat for my feet, laid my dressing-gown over my shoulders, although it was quite a hot morning. I often see, from people's looks, that they think I let him wait on me too much; but he wouldn't believe that he was still a young man if he didn't wait on his lady. I took up my place in the battle of life when I married him—to fight time for John.
I kissed him "Good morning" while he was tying the sleeves of the gown round my neck.
"Silly old coddle!" I remonstrated. "It is as warm as toast. Will they raise a very big Army?"
"Gradually," he told me, "gradually. They won't want everybody at once, Mother—not quite at once."
He guessed, of course, that I was thinking of Willie, and wanted to prepare me gradually.
"They can't take everybody," I told him. "They must leave some at home to do the business of the country, mustn't they?"
"Yes," he agreed. "Yes. Of course, we older men must do what we can to set free those who are of fighting age. They will all be needed as time goes on, I am afraid."
"If they are suited for fighting," I said. "Some aren't, and some are wanted at home more than others. They should take boys from large families before they take only sons."
"Quite so," he said soothingly—I know when he is trying to soothe me, but he thinks I don't see through him—"quite so. That would be a natural distinction; but, of course, the circumstances are exceptional. Our Army is very small, and they need a great many. It isn't a question of taking, but of volunteering. If a young man feels the call—I expect they'll all catch the war fever"
"You must not let Willie catch it," I interrupted—"not yet, I mean. There are many who ought to go before him. He isn't cut out for fighting, you know he isn't. He was always such a quiet, peaceful boy. He'll be far more use to his country working at home to support the Army. You must tell him so, if he speaks to you about it; and that he is mother's only son! He ought to consider that."
John drew a deep breath.
"Yes," he agreed slowly, "if his mother wishes him to. I know how you feel about it, dear, and certainly I should consider you."