"No, no, Mr. Eves; little Josiah baint so gifted.  ’Twas Noakes’s elder lad, Nahum by name, as went away to work in Weymouth a year or two back, and now home he comes boasting of how he ’scaped the Army, and telling folks the war is wrong, and we be as much to blame as they Germans, and no one didn’t oughter fight for their country, and a pack of rubbish. All fighting be against his conscience, says he—a pretty conscience, indeed, as growed sudden when the Lords and Parlyment said every man was a born soldier. Conscience!  Why, Trenchard, you mind how he used to leather his feyther’s horse; and many’s the time I’ve seed un cuff and pinch his little brother till the poor soul hollered wi’ pain.  The likes of him!  What them there tribunals be about in letting him off when good boys like my Joe, as wouldn’t hurt a fly and haven’t got no conscience—there, ’tis a scandal, and makes my blood boil, it do."