My Brother Sam Is Dead
When I woke up somebody was shouting. I sat up in bed. It was Father. I couldn't hear the words, but I could hear the sound—his heavy, hard voice going on and on. Then there was Sam's voice and he was shouting, too, and then Father again. (1.140)
Then Betsy Read said, "Timmy are you on your father's side or Sam's?"
I wished she hadn't asked me that question. I didn't want to answer it; in fact, I didn't know how to answer it. "I don't understand what it's all about," I said.
"It's simple," Sam said. "Either we're going to be free or we're not."
Betsy touched his arm. "It isn't that simple, Sam. There's more to it." (2.40-43)
I still hadn't made up my mind which side I was on in the war, and I didn't care whether Sam was a Patriot or a Tory or what. All I could think about was snuggling up to him and listening to him talk about scoring telling points. (3.21)