“Has your mamma had any letters from the major the last day or so?” he inquired.

Babbie shook her head.  “No,” she said, “but she’s expecting one every day.  And Petunia and I expect one, too, and we’re just as excited about it as we can be.  A letter like that is most par-particklesome exciting. . . .  No, I don’t mean particklesome—­it was the caterpillar made me think of that.  I mean partickle-ar exciting.  Don’t you think it is, Uncle Jed?”

Captain Sam Hunniwell came strolling around the corner of the shop.  Jed greeted him warmly and urged him to sit down.  The captain declined.

“Can’t stop,” he declared.  “There’s a letter for Maud from Charlie in to-night’s mail and I want to take it home to her.  Letters like that can’t be held up on the way, you know.”

Charlie Phillips, too, was in France with his regiment.

“I presume likely you’ve heard the news from Leander Babbitt, Jed?” asked Captain Sam.

“About his bein’ wounded?  Yes, Gab flapped in at the shop this afternoon to caw over it.  Said the telegram had just come to Phineas.  I was hopin’ ’twasn’t so, but Eri Hedge said he heard it, too. . . .  Serious, is it, Sam?”

“They don’t say, but I shouldn’t wonder.  The boy was hit by a shell splinter while doin’ his duty with exceptional bravery, so the telegram said.  ’Twas from Washin’ton, of course.  And there was somethin’ in it about his bein’ recommended for one of those war crosses.”

Jed sat up straight on the bench.  “You don’t mean it!” he cried.  “Well, well, well!  Ain’t that splendid!  I knew he’d do it, too.  ’Twas in him.  Sam,” he added, solemnly, “did I tell you I got a letter from him last week?”

“From Leander?”

“Yes. . . .  And before I got it he must have been wounded. . . .  Yes, sir, before I got his letter. . . .  ’Twas a good letter, Sam, a mighty good letter.  Some time I’ll read it to you.  Not a complaint in it, just cheerfulness, you know, and—­and grit and confidence, but no brag.”

“I see.  Well, Charlie writes the same way.”

“Ye-es.  They all do, pretty much.  Well, how about Phineas?  How does the old feller take the news?  Have you heard?”

“Why, yes, I’ve heard.  Of course I haven’t talked with him.  He’d no more speak to me than he would to the Evil One.”

Jed’s lip twitched.  “Why, probably not quite so quick, Sam,” he drawled.  “Phin ought to be on pretty good terms with the Old Scratch.  I’ve heard him recommend a good many folks to go to him.”

“Ho, ho!  Yes, that’s so.  Well, Jim Bailey told me that when Phin had read the telegram he never said a word.  Just got up and walked into his back shop.  But Jerry Burgess said that, later on, at the post-office somebody said somethin’ about how Leander must be a mighty good fighter to be recommended for that cross, and Phineas was openin’ his mail box and heard ’em.  Jerry says old Phin turned and snapped out over his shoulder:  ’Why not?  He’s my son, ain’t he?’ So there you are.  Maybe that’s pride, or cussedness, or both.  Anyhow, it’s Phin Babbitt.”