I'd have
liked to have gone at first, but in order to fight as I ought I'd
want to remember there was plenty to keep you and the children."
"I'm afraid, Zebulon, you've been fighting as well as working so
hard all summer long. For my sake and the children's, you've been
letting Susan Rolliffe think meanly of you."
"I can't help what she thinks, mother; I've tried not to act
meanly."
"Perhaps the God of the widow and the fatherless will shield and
bless you, my son. Be that as it may," she added with a heavy
sigh, "conscience and His will must guide in everything. If He
says go forth to battle, what am I that I should stay you?"
Although she did not dream of the truth, the Widow Jarvis was a
disciplined soldier herself. To her, faith meant unquestioning
submission and obedience; she had been taught to revere a jealous
and an exacting God rather than a loving one. The heroism with
which she pursued her toilsome, narrow, shadowed pathway was as
sublime as it was unrecognized on her part. After she had retired
she wept sorely, not only because her eldest child was going to
danger, and perhaps death, but also for the reason that her heart
clung to him so weakly and selfishly, as she believed.
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