A college boy tells how he went home to say good-bye before he went to war. His family, especially his mother, make it the nicest sort of a time with no tears at parting. A little sermon for other mothers.
keep in remembrance of my foolish youth. I'm pretty fond of that old room. I don't need to explain that much, probably. Any fellow would know.
I took one look around before Mother came--I thought one would be about all that would be good for me. The fire was burning rather brightly on the hearth, but I'd put out the other lights.... Then Mother came in.
If I hadn't caught a glimpse of her hands I shouldn't have known, but I did happen to see them as she came in. They were clinched tight at her sides, just the way I've often clinched mine before I went into a game on which a good deal depended. But the next minute her arms were round my neck in the old way, and she was holding me so tight I could hardly breathe--and I don't believe she could breathe much, either, for I was giving her back every bit of that, with some to spare. I have an idea she was saying, inside, "I won't--I _won't"_--just the same way I was. And she didn't--and I didn't--though not to certainly pulled harder than anything I
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