Magazine article America in WWII

I Can Wait

Magazine article America in WWII

I Can Wait

Article excerpt

He's GONE, and I can't go with him.

I guess he knows I'd give every bone I've got buried in the garden to be with him now, but he told me to stay here and I'll stay.

It's hunting time. The frosty mornings of fall have come, with the leaves turning along the roadside, and the sharp delight of quail scent drifting in from the fields. I get to trembling all over with eagerness when my nose drinks in those autumn smells.

He knew it was hunting time, too. Yesterday he took down the old shotgun and oiled it, and sighted along the barrel and polished the stock. I was happy then. I thought we were going right out. But he put the gun back. He stood there a minute looking at me and then he stroked my head.

"Sure," he said. "I know how you feel, old-timer. Me, too. But this year it's a different kind of hunting season--the biggest one there ever was, I guess. …

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