Shades of Gray by Tim O’Brien

do you think is the coward, a man who walks away from a fight he knows he can win, or a man who makes a challenge he knows won’t be accepted?’ ”
    â€œAnd was that the end of it?” asked Will, unwilling to acknowledge the respect he was feeling for his uncle.
    Meg nodded. “Except that Mr. Jenkins hasn’t spoken to any of us since.”
    â€œI think your ma’s doing the right thing, sending him and his wife the extra meat,” Will said, shifting the sack to his other shoulder.
    â€œI know, but I’m awful glad I don’t have to take it up to the house.”
    They came out of the woods into a long-neglected field that was dotted with small cedars. Beyond it Will could see the glint of a tin roof.
    â€œThere’s the house,” said Meg, pointing. “Give a holler when you get to the fence. I’ll wait for you here.”
    While he was still a distance away, Will saw an old woman come out of the lean-to that ran the width of the house.
    He stopped and shouted, “Hello? Hello!”
    The woman turned in his direction and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Who’s there?” she called.
    For a moment or two, Will was uncertain how to respond. Then he held up the sack and started walking toward her, calling back, “I’m bringing you a rabbit for your dinner. I’m Ella Jones’s nephew, Will Page.”
    They met at the back gate. “Well, I’m pleased to meetyou, Will Page, and I’m right glad for the meat you brought. We—”
    â€œWho’s there? Who’s out there?” came a loud, peevish voice.
    Mrs. Jenkins called back, “It’s a young man bringing us a rabbit.”
    â€œWell, send him around here so I can see him.”
    Mrs. Jenkins led the way around to the front of the house. A frail-looking old man with a quilt thrown across his lap sat in a rocking chair on the porch. He leaned forward and squinted at Will.
    â€œWho is this boy?” he asked his wife. “It’s nobody I’ve seen before.”
    Will climbed the porch steps. “I’m Will Page. I’m from Winchester, but my father was killed in the war, so I’ve come to live with my Aunt Ella.”
    â€œElla Jones?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing.
    Will nodded. “She sent you this rabbit for your dinner,” he said, thrusting the sack toward him.
    â€œRabbit, eh?” he said. Then, turning to his wife he snapped, “Well, you’d better start it cooking if it’s going to be ready by noon.”
    She took the sack and started for the kitchen, and the old man turned his attention back to Will. “So you’re Jed Jones’s nephew,” he said, his eyes narrowing again.
    â€œAunt Ella and my mother were sisters,” Will answered.
    Mr. Jenkins gave a bark of a laugh. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to admit any kinship to that—”
    â€œHe and I don’t feel the same about the war, but he’s been good to me since I’ve come here to live,” Will interrupted,backing down the porch steps. He hated having to defend his uncle to a man who’d lost two sons in the war, but he knew it would be wrong to stand by and hear him criticized.
    â€œWell, you thank your Aunt Ella and her husband for the rabbit,” Mr. Jenkins said, dropping one eyelid in a wink.
    At the corner of the house, Will almost collided with Mrs. Jenkins. “Here,” she said breathlessly, thrusting a basket into his hands. “Here’s something to take back to your aunt.”
    Inside, nestled on the folded flour sack, were four chicks! Will looked up in surprise.
    â€œThe Union foragers thought they’d got my whole flock,” the old woman explained, “but I’d stuffed all I could into a burlap sack and hung it in the well. It was dark down there, so they never made a sound, and we’ve had a few eggs now and then. And just yesterday ol’