“You’ve heard the news, of course?” said Mr. Faringfield to us as we entered, curiously searching Philip’s face while he spoke.

“Yes, sir; we were the first in the town to hear it, I think,” replied Phil.

“Tis a miracle if we do not have war,” said Mr. Faringfield.

“I pray not,” says my mother, who was a little less terrified than Mrs. Faringfield.  “And I won’t believe we shall, till I see it at our doors.”

“Oh, don’t speak of it!” cried Mrs. Faringfield, with a shudder.

“Why, ladies,” says Philip, “’tis best to think of it as if ’twere surely coming, and so accustom the mind to endure its horrors.  I shall teach my wife to do so.”  And he looked playfully over at Margaret.

“Why, what is it to me?” said Margaret.  “Tis not like to come before we sail, and in England we shall be well out of it.  Sure you don’t think the rebels will cross the ocean and attack London?”

“Why, if war comes,” said Phil, quietly, “we shall have to postpone our sailing.”

“Postpone it!” she cried, in alarm.  “Why?  And how long?”

“Until the matter is settled one way or another.”

“But it won’t come before we sail.  ’Tis only seven weeks.  Whatever happens, they’ll riddle away that much time first, in talk and preparation; they always do.”

“But we must wait, my dear, till the question is decided whether there’s to be war or peace.  If we come round to the certainty of peace, which is doubtful, then of course there’s naught to hinder us.  But if there’s war, why, we’ve no choice but to see it out before we leave the country.”

I never elsewhere saw such utter, indignant consternation as came over Margaret’s face.

“But why?  For what reason?” she cried.  “Will not vessels sail, as usual?  Are you afraid we shall be harmed on the sea?  ’Tis ridiculous!  The rebels have no war-ships.  Why need we stay?  What have we to do with these troubles?  ’Tis not our business to put them down.  The king has soldiers enough.”

“Ay,” said Phil, surprised at her vehemence, but speaking the more quietly for that, “’tis the colonies will need soldiers.”

“Then what folly are you talking?  Why should we stay for this war.”

“That I may take my part in it, my dear.”

“Bravo, brother Phil!” cried Tom Faringfield.  “You nor I sha’n’t miss a chance to fight for the king!”

“Nor I, either,” I added.

“’Tis not for the king, that I shall be fighting,” said Phil, simply.

A silence of astonishment fell on the company.  ’Twas broken by Mr. Faringfield: 

“Bravo, Phil, say I this time.”  And, losing no jot of his haughty manner, he went over, and with one hand grasping Phil’s, laid the other approvingly on the young man’s shoulder.

“What, have we rebels in our own family?” cried Mrs. Faringfield, whose horror at the fact gave her of a sudden the needful courage.