“Yes it is, Lisha.  No one has a right to be comfortable in such times as these, and this family ain’t goin’ to be ef I can help it,” and Mrs. Wilkins set down her flat-iron with a slam which plainly told her Lisha war was declared.

He said no more but fell a thinking.  He was not as unmoved as he seemed by the general excitement, and had felt sundry manly impulses to “up and at ’em,” when his comrades in the shop discussed the crisis with ireful brandishing of awls, and vengeful pounding of sole leather, as if the rebels were under the hammer.  But the selfish, slothful little man could not make up his mind to brave hardship and danger, and fell back on his duty to his family as a reason for keeping safe at home.

But now that home was no longer comfortable, now that Cynthy had sharpened her tongue, and turned “ferce,” and now—­hardest blow of all—­that he was kept on short commons, he began to think he might as well be on the tented field, and get a little glory along with the discomfort if that was inevitable.  Nature abhors a vacuum, and when food fell short patriotism had a chance to fill the aching void.  Lisha had about made up his mind, for he knew the value of peace and quietness; and, though his wife was no scold, she was the ruling power, and in his secret soul he considered her a very remarkable woman.  He knew what she wanted, but was not going to be hurried for anybody; so he still kept silent, and Mrs. Wilkins began to think she must give it up.  An unexpected ally appeared however, and the good woman took advantage of it to strike one last blow.

Lisha sat eating a late breakfast one morning, with a small son at either elbow, waiting for stray mouthfuls and committing petty larcenies right and left, for Pa was in a brown study.  Mrs. Wilkins was frying flap-jacks, and though this is not considered an heroical employment she made it so that day.  This was a favorite dish of Lisha’s, and she had prepared it as a bait for this cautious fish.  To say that the fish rose at once and swallowed the bait, hook and all, but feebly expresses the justice done to the cakes by that long-suffering man.  Waiting till he had a tempting pile of the lightest, brownest flapjacks ever seen upon his plate, and was watching an extra big bit of butter melt luxuriously into the warm bosom of the upper one, with a face as benign as if some of the molasses he was trickling over them had been absorbed into his nature, Mrs. Wilkins seized the propitious moment to say impressively: 

“David Sterlin’ has enlisted!”

“Sho! has he, though?”

“Of course he has! any man with the spirit of a muskeeter would.”

“Well, he ain’t got a family, you see.”

“He’s got his old mother, that sister home from furrin’ parts somewheres, and Christie just going to be married.  I should like to know who’s got a harder family to leave than that?”

“Six young children is harder:  ef I went fifin’ and drummin’ off, who ’d take care of them I’d like to know?”