“What fo’ you want big money, young marse?”

“Bonds.  Liberty Bonds.  You know what that is?”

“Naw, sir.”

“You don’t?  Well you ought to,” said Lance.  “There isn’t a soul in this country who oughtn’t to have a bond.  It’s this way.  You know we’re fighting a war?”

“Yassir.  Young Ananias Johnson, he’s Sist’ Amanda’s boy, he done tole his Unk Jeems ’bout dat war.  And Jeems, he done tole me.”

Lance regarded her.  Was it possible that the ocean upheaval had stirred even the quietest backwater so little?  “Well, anyhow, it’s the biggest war that ever was on earth.”

Aunt Basha shook her head.  “You ain’t never seed de War of de Rebullium,” she stated with superiority.  “You’s too young.  Well, I reckon dis yer war ain’t much on to dat war.  Naw, sir!  Dat ar was a sure ’nough war—­yas, sir!”

Lance considered.  He decided not to contest the point.  “Anyhow Aunt Basha, this is an awfully big war.  And if we don’t win it the Germans will come over here and murder the most of us, and make you and Uncle Jeems work in the fields from daylight till dark.”

“Dem low down white trash!” commented Aunt Basha.

“Yes, and worse.  And Uncle Sam can’t beat the Germans unless we all help.  He needs money to buy guns for the soldiers, and food and clothes.  So he’s asking everybody—­just everybody—­to lend him money—­every cent they can raise to buy things to win the war.  He gives each person who lends him any, a piece of paper which is a promise to pay it back, and that piece of paper is called a bond—­Uncle Sam’s promise to pay.  Everybody ought to help by giving up every cent they have.  The soldiers are giving their lives to save us from the horrible Germans.  They’re going over there to live in mud and water and sleep in holes of the earth, to be shot and wounded and tortured and killed.  They’re facing that for our sakes, to save us from worse than death, for you and Uncle Jeems and me, Aunt Basha.  Now, oughtn’t we to give all we’ve got to take care of those boys—­our soldiers?”

Lance had forgotten his audience, except that he was wording his speech carefully in the simplest English.  It went home.

“Oh, my Lawd!” moaned Aunt Basha, sitting down and rocking hard.  “Does dey sleep in de col’ yeth?  Oh, my Lawd have mercy!” It was the first realization she had had of the details of the war.  “You ain’t gwine over dar, is you young marse, honey?” she asked anxiously.

“I wish to God I was,” spoke Lance through set teeth.  “No, Aunt Basha, they won’t take me.  Because I’m lame.  I’d give my life to go.  And because I can’t fight I must buy bonds.  Do you see?  I must.  I’d sell my soul to get money for Liberty Bonds.  Oh, God!” Lance was as if alone, with only that anxious old black face gazing up at him.  “Oh, God—­it’s my country!”

Suddenly the rich flowing voice spoke.  “Young marse, it’s my country too, sir,” said Aunt Basha.