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+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Little Grandfather, by Sophie May.
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Grandfather, by Sophie May
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Little Grandfather
+
+Author: Sophie May
+
+Release Date: May 15, 2008 [EBook #25481]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE GRANDFATHER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Josephine Paolucci and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net.
+(This file was produced from images generously made
+available by The Internet Archive.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 301px;">
+<img src="images/front.jpg" width="301" height="500" alt="Little Grandfather." title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 301px;">
+<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="301" height="500" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3>LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES.</h3>
+
+
+<h1>LITTLE GRANDFATHER.</h1>
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h2>SOPHIE MAY,</h2>
+
+<h5>AUTHOR OF "LITTLE PRUDY STORIES," "DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES," "THE DOCTOR'S
+DAUGHTER." ETC.</h5>
+
+<h3><i>ILLUSTRATED.</i></h3>
+
+<p class="center">
+BOSTON:<br />
+LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.<br />
+<br />
+NEW YORK:<br />
+LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM.<br />
+1874.<br />
+</p>
+
+
+<p class="center">
+Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873,<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">By</span> LEE AND SHEPARD,<br />
+<br />
+In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.<br />
+<br />
+Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry,<br />
+No. 19 Spring Lane.<br />
+</p>
+
+
+<h3>DEDICATION.<br />
+TO<br />
+<i>LITTLE MARY TOBEY.</i></h3>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><i>LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES.</i></h2>
+
+<h4>TO BE COMPLETED IN SIX VOLS.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">1. LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">2. PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">3. AUNT MADGE'S STORY.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">4. LITTLE GRANDMOTHER.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">5. LITTLE GRANDFATHER.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">6. (In preparation.)<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+<p>
+CHAPTER                        <span class="tocnum">PAGE.</span><br />
+<br />
+I. <span class="smcap">The Parlins.</span>                                       <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></span><br />
+<br />
+II. <span class="smcap">Walking in Sleep.</span>                                <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></span><br />
+<br />
+III. <span class="smcap">The Trundle-bed.</span>                                <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></span><br />
+<br />
+IV. <span class="smcap">The Ox-money.</span>                                    <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></span><br />
+<br />
+V. <span class="smcap">The Boy that wore Home the Medal.</span>                 <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></span><br />
+<br />
+VI. <span class="smcap">The Boy that meant to mind his Mother.</span>           <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></span><br />
+<br />
+VII. <span class="smcap">The Boy that cheated.</span>                           <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></span><br />
+<br />
+VIII. <span class="smcap">The "Never-give-ups."</span>                         <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></span><br />
+<br />
+IX. <span class="smcap">The Muster.</span>                                     <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></span><br />
+<br />
+X. <span class="smcap">Going to Sea.</span>                                    <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></span><br />
+<br />
+XI. <span class="smcap">To the Forks.</span>                                   <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></span><br />
+<br />
+XII. <span class="smcap">"I ha'e naebody now."</span>                          <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></span><br />
+<br />
+XIII. <span class="smcap">Conclusion.</span>                                   <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_215">215</a></span><br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
+<h2>LITTLE GRANDFATHER.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE PARLINS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>He did look so funny when they first put him into "pocket-clothes!" His
+green "breeches" were so tight that they made you think of two pods of
+marrow-fat peas, only they were topped off with a pair of "rocco" shoes,
+as red as bell-peppers. He had silver buckles on his shoes, and brass
+buttons on his green jacket, which was fastened at the back. He had a
+white collar about his neck as large as a small cape, and finished off
+around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> the edge with a ruffle. His mother had snipped his dark locks so
+they needn't look so much like a girl's; and then with his brown fur hat
+on, which his grandfather Cheever had sent from Boston, he looked in the
+glass and smiled at himself.</p>
+
+<p>Do you wonder he smiled?</p>
+
+<p>He had bright black eyes, red cheeks, and a rich, dark skin. He was a
+handsome little creature; but when he was tanned, his brother Stephen
+called him a "Pawnee Indian," which was a heavy joke, and sank deeper
+into Willy's tender soul than Stephen suspected.</p>
+
+<p>After he had viewed himself in the mirror, dressed in his new suit, he
+ran to his best comforter, his mother, and said, with a quivering lip,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't I <i>most</i> white, mamma?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>His mother caught him to her breast and hugged him, brown fur hat and
+all, and told him he mustn't mind Steenie's jokes; he was not an Indian,
+and Molly Molasses&mdash;the squaw who came around with baskets to
+sell&mdash;would never carry him off.</p>
+
+<p>He was three years old at this time, and so full of high spirits and
+health, that he was rather a troublesome child to manage. Mrs. Parlin
+sometimes remarked, with a sigh and a smile,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what I <i>shall</i> do with our Willy!"</p>
+
+<p>If she had said, "I don't know what I should do without him," it would
+have been nearer the truth; for never did mother dote more on a child.
+He was the youngest, and two little children next older&mdash;a son and a
+daughter&mdash;had been called to their heavenly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> home before he was born.
+People said Mrs. Parlin was in a fair way to spoil Willy, and her
+husband was so afraid of it, that he felt it his duty to be very stern
+with the boy.</p>
+
+<p>Seth, the oldest son, helped his father in this, and seemed to be
+constantly watching to see what Willy would do that was wrong.</p>
+
+<p>Stephen, two years younger than Seth, was not so severe, and hardly ever
+scolded, but had a very "hectoring disposition," and loved dearly to
+tease his little brother.</p>
+
+<p>Love, the only sister, and the eldest of the family, was almost as
+soothing and affectionate to Willy as Mrs. Parlin herself. She was tall,
+fair, and slender, like a lily, and you could hardly believe it possible
+that she would ever grow to be such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> a very large woman as her mother,
+or that Mrs. Parlin had once been thin and delicate, like Love.</p>
+
+<p>There was another, besides these two, who petted Willy; and that was
+"Liddy," the housemaid. Lydia was a Quaker woman, and every "First Day"
+and "Fifth Day"&mdash;that is, Sunday and Thursday&mdash;she went off to a
+meeting, which was held over the river, three miles away, in a yellow
+"meeting-house" without any steeple. It was not always convenient to
+spare Lydia on "Fifth Day," for, Mr. Parlin kept a country hotel, or, as
+it was called in those days, a "tavern," and there was plenty of work to
+be done; but no matter how much company came, "Liddy" would leave her
+pies half rolled out on the board, or her goose half stuffed, and walk
+off to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> Quaker settlement to meeting. But when she came back, she
+went steadily to work again, and was such a good, honest, pious woman,
+that nobody thought of finding any fault with her.</p>
+
+<p>She was all the "regular help" Mrs. Parlin had; but Mrs. Knowles did the
+washing, and often Siller Noonin came in to help Lydia with an extra
+baking.</p>
+
+<p>Caleb Cushing&mdash;or, as the country people called him, "Kellup"&mdash;was the
+man of all work, who took care of the sheep and cattle, and must always
+be ready to "put up" the horses of any traveller who happened to stop at
+the house.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. and Mrs. Parlin, the four children, and Caleb and Lydia, made up the
+household, with the addition of great shaggy Fowler, the dog, and
+speckled Molly, the cat, with double fore-paws.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Grandfather Cheever, with his hair done up in a queue, came sometimes
+from Boston, and made a long visit; but you could hardly say he belonged
+to the family.</p>
+
+<p>Now, my story is to be about Willy, and I would like to describe him;
+but how can I, when I have heard such various accounts of the child? I
+suppose, if you had questioned the family about him, you would have
+heard a different story from every one. His father would have shaken his
+head, and said, Willy was a "singular child; there was no <i>regulation</i>
+to him." Seth would have told you he was "impudent." Stephen would have
+called him "a cry-baby," and Caleb, "the laziest little chap he ever
+came across;" though "grandf'ther Cheever" thought him "very bright and
+stirring." Love would have said, "He is <i>so</i> affectionate!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> which his
+father very much doubted. Lydia might possibly have called him a
+"rogue," because he would spy out her doughnuts and pies, no matter
+where she hid them away for safe keeping.</p>
+
+<p>But I know very well how his <i>mother</i> would have answered your question
+about Willy. She would have said, "Don't talk of his faults; he is my
+own little darling."</p>
+
+<p>And then she would have opened her arms wide, and taken him right in:
+that is the way it is with mothers.</p>
+
+<p>Thus you see our Willy was not the same to everybody; and no child ever
+is. To those who loved him he was "sweet as summer;" but not so to those
+who loved him not.</p>
+
+<p>I suspect Willy was rather contrarily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> made up; something like a mince
+pie, perhaps. Let us see.</p>
+
+<p>Short and crusty, now and then; rich, in good intentions; sweet, when he
+had his own way; sour, when you crossed him; well-spiced, with bright
+little speeches. All these qualities made up Willy's "points;" and you
+know a mince pie is good for nothing without points.</p>
+
+<p>Some people brought out one of these "points," and some another. Seth
+expected him to be as sharp as cider vinegar; and so I am afraid he was,
+whenever Seth corrected him. But his mother looked for sweet qualities
+in her little darling, and was never disappointed.</p>
+
+<p>Willy slept in the bedroom, in a trundle-bed which had held every one of
+the children, from the oldest to the youngest. After he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> had said his
+prayers, Mrs. Parlin tucked him up nice and warm, and even while she
+stood looking at his rosy cheeks, with the rich fringes of his eyelids
+resting on them, he often dropped off into dreamland. She had a way of
+watching him in his sleep, and blessing him without any words, only
+saying in her heart,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Dear God, let me keep this last precious treasure! But if that may not
+be, O, lay it up for me in heaven."</p>
+
+<p>Willy was afraid to go to bed alone, which is hardly to be wondered at;
+for he had a strange and dreadful habit of walking in his sleep. Such
+habits are not as common now as they were in old times, I believe.
+Whether Willy's walks had anything to do with the cider and doughnuts,
+which were sometimes given him in the evening, unknown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> to his mother, I
+cannot say; but Mrs. Parlin was never sure, when she "tucked" him into
+his trundle-bed, that he would spend the night there. Quite as likely he
+would go wandering about the house; and one cold winter, when he was a
+little more than seven years old, he got up regularly every night, and
+walked fast asleep into the bar-room, which was always full of men, and
+took his seat by the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>This was such a constant habit, that the men expected to see him about
+half past eight o'clock, just as much as they expected to see the cider
+and apples which "Kellup" brought out of the cellar.</p>
+
+<p>In those days cider was almost as freely drunk as water, and so, I
+grieve to say, was New England rum and brandy; and you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> must not suppose
+Mr. Parlin was a bad man because he allowed such drinking in his
+bar-room. There were no pledges signed in those days, but he was a
+perfectly temperate man, and a church member; he would have thought it
+very strange indeed if any one had told him he was doing wrong to sell
+liquor to his neighbors.</p>
+
+<p>And now, having introduced Master Willy and the rest of the family as
+well as I can, I will go on to tell you a few of Willy's adventures,
+some of which occurred while he was asleep, and some while he was
+awake.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<h3>WALKING IN SLEEP.</h3>
+
+
+<p>About seven o'clock, one cold evening, Willy was in the bar-room,
+sitting on Caleb's knee, and holding a private conversation with him,
+while he nibbled a cookie.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think it's the beautifulest bossy ever you saw?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, middlin' handsome," replied Caleb, mischievously; "middlin'
+handsome."</p>
+
+<p>"O, Caleb, when it's got a white place in its forehead shaped <i>so</i>!"
+said Willy, biting his cookie into something like the form of a star.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, yes; you see he'd be quite a decent-looking calf, if it wasn't
+for that white streak, now," said Caleb, in a tone of regret.</p>
+
+<p>"If it <i>wasn't</i> for that white streak! Why, Caleb Cushing!&mdash;when 'twas
+put there to purpose to be kissed! Love said so."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, everybody to their fancy," returned Caleb, dryly. "I never had
+any notion for kissing cattle, myself."</p>
+
+<p>"She isn't a cattle, Cale Cushing. She's my bossy."</p>
+
+<p>"Yours, do you say? Then you'd better take care of him, Willy. He walked
+up to the kitchen door to-day, to see if he could find anything there to
+lay his hands on."</p>
+
+<p>"Hands? He hasn't any hands, Caleb!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> But you ought to take care of her,
+any way, till I grow a man; father spects you to. And then, when she
+gets to be a ox&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what are you going to do when she gets to be a ox?"</p>
+
+<p>Willy looked puzzled. He had never thought of that before.</p>
+
+<p>"Have him killed&mdash;shan't you, sonny? He'll make very nice eating."</p>
+
+<p>Willy stood upright on Caleb's knee, in horror and amaze.</p>
+
+<p>"My bossy killed? I'll send anybody to jail that kills that bossy."</p>
+
+<p>"Then perhaps you'd better trade him off now to Squire Lyman. Didn't the
+squire offer to swap his baby for him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; and so I would if that baby was a boy," said Willy, thoughtfully;
+"but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> she's only a girl&mdash;couldn't help me bring in chips, you know.
+Guess I don't want a girl-baby."</p>
+
+<p>Caleb laughed at this very quietly, but his whole frame was shaking; and
+Willy turned round and looked him in the eye with strong displeasure.</p>
+
+<p>"What you laughing at, Cale Cushing? You mustn't make fun of my bossy.
+I'll tell you what I'll do with her. I'll keep her to haul hay with."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever see one ox hauling hay alone, Willy?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; but I'll have a little cart, and then she can."</p>
+
+<p>"But the trouble is, Willy, your ox might feel lonesome."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll buy one ox more, and then he won't be lonesome."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Ah! but, Willy, oxen cost money."</p>
+
+<p>"'Sif I didn't know that! How much money do they cost, Caleb?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes more, sometimes less. Pretty high this winter, for hay is
+plenty. There was a man along from the west'ard, and, Willy, what think
+he offered your pa for that brindled yoke of his?"</p>
+
+<p>"Three dollars?"</p>
+
+<p>"Seventy-five dollars; and your pa wouldn't let 'em go under ninety!
+Think of that," added Caleb, dropping his voice, and appearing to talk
+to the beech-wood fire, which was crackling in the big fireplace. "Think
+of that! Ninety dollars! Enough to buy a small farm! Just what I should
+have got in the logging-swamp, winter before last, if Dascom hadn't
+cheated me out of it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What did you say, Caleb?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, I was just talking to myself," replied Caleb, rather bitterly. "It
+wasn't anything little boys should hear. I was only thinking how easy
+money comes to some folks, and how hard it comes to others. You see I
+worked a whole winter once, and never got a cent of pay; and I couldn't
+help feeling it when your pa put that ninety dollars away in his
+drawer."</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't want my father's money&mdash;did you, Caleb Cushing?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, child; only I knew if I'd had justice done me, I should have had
+ninety dollars myself. It was mine by good rights, and I hadn't ought to
+be cheated out of it."</p>
+
+<p>Willy looked up astonished. What did Caleb mean by saying it was "his by
+good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> rights"?&mdash;his father's money. For he had not heard all Caleb's
+remarks, and what he had heard he had entirely misunderstood.</p>
+
+<p>"Willy!" called his mother's voice from the sitting-room; but the little
+fellow, was too excited to hear.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean my father's money, Caleb, that he keeps in his drawer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, child; laid inside of a book," replied Caleb, carelessly.</p>
+
+<p>"What! and you want it?&mdash;my father's money?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," laughed Caleb; "off to bed, child. Don't you hear your
+mother calling?"</p>
+
+<p>Willy slipped down from the man's knee, and walked out of the room in
+deep thought. Why Caleb should want his father's money,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> and say he had
+a right to it, was more than he could understand; and he went to sleep
+with his little brain in a whirl.</p>
+
+<p>Very soon tired and chilly teamsters began to pour into the bar-room,
+and rub their hands before the roaring fire. Caleb, who had quite
+forgotten his unlucky conversation with Master Willy, put fresh wood on
+the andirons, and brushed the hearth with a strip broom. Presently Mr.
+Parlin himself appeared in the doorway, bearing a huge pitcher of cider,
+which sparkled in a jolly way, as if it were glad to leave its hogshead
+prison in the dark cellar, and come up into such lively company.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, neighbors, this is a cold evening," said Mr. Parlin, setting the
+pitcher down on the counter, and looking round with a hospitable smile.
+"Caleb, fetch out the loggerhead."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Caleb drew from the left ear of the fireplace a long iron bar, and
+thrust it into the hot coals. That was the loggerhead, and you will soon
+see what it was used for.</p>
+
+<p>While it was still heating, Dr. Hilton took from one corner of the room
+a child's arm-chair, and set it down at a comfortable distance from the
+fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll have it all ready for Bubby, when he makes us his visit," said
+he, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>Some one always placed the chair there for Willy, and it was usually Dr.
+Hilton.</p>
+
+<p>When the loggerhead was red hot, Caleb drew it out of the coals, and
+plunged it into the cold cider, which immediately began to bubble and
+hiss. Then he poured the sparkling liquid into mugs for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> thirsty
+teamsters to drink; and while he was still holding the pitcher high in
+air, that the cider might come down with a good "bead," the door slowly
+opened, and in glided Willy, in his yellow flannel night-dress.</p>
+
+<p>The men smiled and nodded at one another, but said nothing, as the child
+crossed the floor, seated himself in the little red chair, and began to
+rock. He rocked with such careless grace, and held his little feet
+before the blaze so naturally, that you would have thought he came into
+the room merely to warm his toes and to hear the men talk. You would
+never have supposed he was asleep unless you had looked at his eyes.
+They were wide open, it is true, but fixed, like a doll's eyes. If you
+had held a lighted candle before them, I suppose they would not have
+winked.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 332px;">
+<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="332" height="500" alt="The Little Sleep-walker.&mdash;Page 31." title="" />
+<span class="caption">The Little Sleep-walker.&mdash;Page 31.</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>In fact, Willy was fast asleep and dreaming; and all the difference
+between him and other sleepers was, that he acted out his dreams.</p>
+
+<p>"Queer what ails that child! Must be trouble on the brain, and he ought
+to be bled," said Dr. Hilton, with the wise roll of the eye he always
+gave when he talked of diseases.</p>
+
+<p>Nobody answered, for the doctor had said the same thing fifty times
+before.</p>
+
+<p>Still little Willy kept on rocking and dreaming, as unconscious as a
+yellow lily swinging on its stem.</p>
+
+<p>Everybody had a story to tell, which everybody else laughed at, while
+the fire joined in the uproar right merrily. Still Willy slept on.</p>
+
+<p>Presently a glare of light at the windows startled the company.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Must be a fire somewhere!" said one of the men.</p>
+
+<p>"Only the moon rising," said another.</p>
+
+<p>"That's no place to look for the moon," said Mr. Parlin, seizing his hat
+and cloak.</p>
+
+<p>"Fire! Fire!" shouted Mr. Riggs, running to the door in a panic.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll warrant it's nothing but a chimney burning out," remarked Caleb,
+coolly; and when all the rest had gone to learn what it meant, he chose
+to stay behind.</p>
+
+<p>There was nobody left in the bar-room now but himself and the sleeping
+Willy.</p>
+
+<p>"Guess I'll take a look at the drawer, and see that the money is all
+right," said careful Caleb, stepping inside the bar, which had a long
+wooden grate, and looked somewhat like an enormous bird-cage, with the
+roof off. "Mr. Parlin is a very careless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> man," said Caleb, drawing a
+key from its hiding-place in an account-book; "he's dreadful free and
+easy about money. I don't know what he'd do without me to look out for
+him."</p>
+
+<p>So saying, Caleb turned the key in the lock, and opened the drawer.
+There were rolls of bank bills lying in it, and handfuls of gold and
+silver.</p>
+
+<p>"With so many coming and going in this house, it's a wonder Mr. Parlin
+ain't robbed every night of his life," said Caleb, reckoning over the
+bills very fast, for he was in the habit of counting money.</p>
+
+<p>Was it all right? Was the ox money there? When the "man from the
+west'ard" paid it to Mr. Parlin, Caleb saw Mr. Parlin spread it between
+the leaves of a little singing-book and lay it in the drawer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> Did Caleb
+find it there now? And if he did, did he <i>leave</i> it there?</p>
+
+<p>Little boys, what do you suppose? You see he had been cheated out of
+ninety dollars, and was very angry about it; and now he had the best
+chance in the world to help himself to another ninety dollars, and make
+up his loss. Do you think he would do it? Mr. Parlin <i>was</i> very careless
+about money; quite likely he would never miss this. Was that what Caleb
+was thinking about, as he knit his brows so hard?</p>
+
+<p>True, Caleb professed to fear God, but perhaps he did not fear Him;
+perhaps he had been living a lie all this time&mdash;who knows?</p>
+
+<p>After he had staid inside the bar a little while, he came out, and
+looking carefully at Willy, to make sure he was still asleep,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> stole out
+doors and joined the teamsters. They had only reached the top of the
+hill, and hardly any one had noticed that Caleb had not been with them
+all the while. The fire was only Mr. Chase's chimney burning out; but it
+was so late by this time that the men did not go back to Mr. Parlin's
+bar-room.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning Caleb went over to Cross Lots to see about selling a load
+of potatoes, and soon after he left there was a great excitement in the
+house. Mr. Parlin had found, on going to his money-drawer, that he had
+lost ninety dollars.</p>
+
+<p>"Strange!" said he; "I remember it was there all safe at six o'clock;
+for I saw it with my own eyes. It was spread in an old singing-book; and
+the singing-book is gone too."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Could anybody have taken it?" said Love. "Who was here last night?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, I never leave a man alone in the bar-room," replied her father; "at
+any rate I didn't last night."</p>
+
+<p>"Caleb would attend to that," said Mrs. Parlin; "he is more particular
+than you are, I think."</p>
+
+<p>Willy looked up, with his black eyes full of questions.</p>
+
+<p>"Was it that money you had for the oxen, papa? Caleb telled me all about
+it last night. He said you ought to not keep it; you ought to give it to
+him; he wanted it."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Parlin shook his head at Willy. "You mustn't make up such stories as
+that, my son."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess he dreamed it," said sister Love.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"O, I didn't, I didn't; Caleb said so," cried Willy; "he said so last
+night."</p>
+
+<p>Caleb was gone an unusually long time; and when Dr. Hilton returned from
+Harlow he said he left him at the bank in that town depositing some
+money.</p>
+
+<p>That seemed strange, for Caleb had been so unfortunate that no one
+supposed he had any money to put in the bank.</p>
+
+<p>"If it was anybody but Caleb, I should almost suspect he took that
+ninety dollars," said Seth, after a while.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't&mdash;don't think it," exclaimed his mother; "we know Caleb too well
+for that."</p>
+
+<p>"O, no, no, no!" cried little Willy. "Caleb is going to give me some
+rabbits. Caleb carries me pickaback; do you s'pose he'd steal?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>They all laughed at that; it was a little boy's reasoning.</p>
+
+<p>When Caleb came home that night, and was asked why he had been gone so
+long, he blushed, and, as Seth thought, looked guilty. He did not say he
+had put any money in the bank, and did not even mention having been at
+Harlow at all. Nobody could think why he should make such a secret of
+going to Harlow, for Caleb was a great talker, and usually told all his
+affairs to everybody.</p>
+
+<p>"Father has lost ninety dollars, Caleb," said Seth, looking him straight
+in the eye; "who do you suppose has got it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where? When?" cried Caleb; and then, when he had heard the story, he
+turned quite pale, and declared he was "'palled." When Caleb was greatly
+amazed, he said he was "'palled."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was very uncomfortable at Mr. Parlin's for a few days. Nobody liked
+to believe that Caleb had taken the money, but it did really seem very
+much like it. Mrs. Parlin said she could not and would not believe it,
+and she even shed tears when she saw her husband and sons treat Caleb so
+coldly.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Caleb! Whether he was guilty or not, he was certainly very unhappy.</p>
+
+<p>"Willy," said he, "what made you tell your father I said I wanted his
+money? I never made such a speech in my life?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes, you did, Caleb! Certain true you did! And I a sitting on your
+knee. But you wouldn't steal, Cale Cushing, and I telled my papa you
+wouldn't."</p>
+
+<p>"Willy," said Caleb, sadly, "I don't think you mean to tell a lie, but
+what you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> are talking about I don't know. I never stole so much as a pin
+in my life; yet all the same I must go away from this place. I can't
+stay where everybody is pointing the finger at me."</p>
+
+<p>"Who pointed a finger at you, Caleb? I didn't see 'em."</p>
+
+<p>Caleb smiled a broken-hearted smile, kissed Willy over and over again,
+and went away that night, no one knew whither. He said to himself,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Honor gone, all's gone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Better never have been born."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Was he guilty? Who could tell? Was he innocent? Then you may be sure God
+would make it clear some time. Caleb would only have to wait.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE TRUNDLE-BED.</h3>
+
+
+<p>They were all very sorry to have Caleb go away, for he had lived in the
+family a great many years, and was always good-natured and obliging.</p>
+
+<p>"But since he has turned out to be a thief, of course we don't want him
+here," said Seth.</p>
+
+<p>"How can you speak so, my son?" said his mother, reprovingly. "You do
+not really know any harm of Caleb. Remember what the Bible says, 'Judge
+not, that ye be not judged.'</p>
+
+<p>"Why, mother, who judged Caleb? Who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> ever accused him of stealing? I
+should think he judged himself&mdash;shouldn't you? When a man runs away as
+he did, it looks very much as if he was guilty."</p>
+
+<p>"O, no," said gentle Love, who was knitting "double mittens" in the
+corner; "that isn't a sure sign at all. I dare say he went away because
+he was unhappy. How would <i>you</i> like to live with people that don't
+trust you? Why, Seth, you couldn't bear it, I'm sure."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish Caleb didn't go off," said Willy; "he was a-going to give me a
+rabbit."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Stephen, in a teasing tone, "he wouldn't have gone off if
+it hadn't been for you, Master Willy! You said he wanted father's money,
+you know, and that was what put us to thinking."</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes, he telled me he wanted it," cried the little fellow stoutly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Willy, Willy, you should be more careful in repeating other people's
+words," said Mrs. Parlin, looking up from the jacket she was making.
+"Little boys like you are so apt to make mistakes, that they ought to
+say, 'Perhaps,' or, 'I think so,' and never be too sure."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'm not sure; but <i>perhaps</i> I know, and I <i>guess</i> I think so real
+hard."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, little Pawnee Indian," laughed Stephen. "Indians like you
+always stick fast to an idea when they once get hold of it."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not an Indian," said Willy, ready to cry; "and I never said Caleb
+stealed; 'twas you said so; you know you did."</p>
+
+<p>It grew very cold that winter, about "Christmas-tide," and one night the
+wind howled and shrieked, while up in the sky<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> the moon and stars seemed
+to shiver and shine like so many icicles. Willy had been put to bed at
+the usual time, and nicely tucked in, and it was nearly half past eight,
+the time for him to begin his wanderings. Lydia sat by the kitchen
+fireplace, comforting herself with hot ginger tea.</p>
+
+<p>"It would be too bad for that little creetur to get out of bed such a
+night as this," thought she; "I'm going in to see if he has enough
+clothes on. Who knows but his dear little nose is about <i>fruz</i> off by
+this time?"</p>
+
+<p>So she stole into the bedroom, which opened out of the kitchen, took a
+peep at her beloved Willy, made sure his nose was safe, and turned down
+the coverlet to see if his hands were warm.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor, sweet little lamb! Not much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> cold now; but thee will be cold;
+this room is just like a barn."</p>
+
+<p>Then, as "Liddy" went back to the kitchen, she wondered if it might not
+be the cold weather that made Willy have what she called his
+"walking-spells."</p>
+
+<p>"For he is so much worse in winter than he is in summer," thought she.
+"Any way, I'm going to try, and see if I can't put a stop to it
+to-night; and then, if the <i>expeeriment</i> works, I'll try it again."</p>
+
+<p>What "expeeriment"? You will soon see. There had been a quantity of
+charcoal put on the kitchen fire to broil some steak for travellers; so
+the kind-hearted Liddy bustled about on tiptoe, filled a shallow pan
+with some of the coals, "piping hot," and placed it very near the
+trundle-bed, on Mrs. Parlin's foot-stove.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Alas for Liddy's ignorance! she was always rather foolish in her
+fondness for Willy; but didn't she know any better than to put a dish of
+red coals so near him in a small room, and then go out and shut the
+door? She often said she didn't "see any use in all this book-larning,"
+and wondered Mrs. Parlin should be so anxious to have her children go to
+school. In her whole life Liddy had never attended school more than six
+months; and as for chemistry and philosophy she knew nothing about them
+except that they are hard words to spell. She did not dream that there
+was a deadly gas rising every moment from that charcoal, and that her
+darling Willy was breathing it into his lungs. She may have heard of the
+word "gas," but if she had she supposed it was some sort of "airy
+nothing" not worth mentioning.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Of course <i>you</i> know that if she had hated Willy, and wished to murder
+him, she could hardly have chosen a surer way than this; but poor Liddy
+went back to the kitchen with a smiling face, feeling well pleased with
+her "<i>expeeriment</i>," and began to chop a hash of beef, pork, and all
+sorts of vegetables, for to-morrow's breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>After a little while Willy began to toss about uneasily; but he did not
+come out of the room and Liddy was delighted. She had said she meant to
+put a stop to that; and so, indeed, she had,&mdash;for this time at least.
+The dear child had not strength enough to get out of bed, and moaned as
+if a heavy hand were clutching at his throat. In fact he was
+suffocating. It is frightful to think of! Was nobody coming to save him?</p>
+
+<p>The chilly teamsters had some time ago<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> crowded into the bar-room with
+frost on their hair and whiskers; but the frost was fast turning to
+steam as they drank the cider which John, the new hired man, heated with
+the red-hot loggerhead. Dr. Hilton had set out the little red chair, and
+somebody would have wondered why Willy did not come in, if the men had
+not all been so busy telling stories that they did not have time to
+think of anything else.</p>
+
+<p>It was now nearly nine, and Mrs. Parlin and Love were in the
+sitting-room sewing by the light of two tallow candles.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it the coldest night we've had this year, mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear, I think it is. You know what the old ditty says,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'When the days begin to lengthen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cold begins to strengthen.'<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<p>"I do wish dear little Willy would stay in his bed, nicely 'happed' in'"
+(<i>happed</i> is the Scotch word for "tucked"), "but I suppose he is just as
+well off by the bar-room fire. It's lucky he doesn't take a fancy to
+wander anywhere else, and we can always tell where he is."</p>
+
+<p>"But, mother, I haven't heard him pass through the south entry,&mdash;have
+you? I always know when he goes into the bar-room by the quick little
+click of the latch."</p>
+
+<p>"So do I," replied her mother; "but now I think of it, I haven't heard
+him to-night. I can't help hoping he is going to lie still."</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing more said for a little while. They were both very busy
+finishing off a homespun suit for Willy. How should they suspect that a
+strange stupor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> was fast stealing over their little darling? Who was
+going to tell them that even now he was entering the valley of the
+shadow of death? <i>Who?</i> I cannot answer that question; I only know that
+just then Mrs. Parlin, who was going to bed in about fifteen minutes,
+and did not like to leave her work yet, suddenly dropped the jacket,
+which was almost done, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Love, I guess I'll go in and look at that child. He may have tossed the
+clothes off and got a little chilly."</p>
+
+<p>Then she arose from her chair slowly,&mdash;she was so large that she always
+moved slowly,&mdash;took one of the candles, and went into the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>As she opened the bedroom door&mdash;Well, I cannot tell you; you will have
+to imagine that white, white face, pressed close to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> pillow, that
+limp little figure, stretched under the coverlet, in awful stillness.</p>
+
+<p>"O God, is it too late?" thought Mrs. Parlin. She saw the charcoal; she
+understood it all in an instant.</p>
+
+<p>"Lydia, come quick!"</p>
+
+<p>A low moan fell on her ear as she bent to listen. Thank Heaven, it was
+not too late! Willy could yet be saved!</p>
+
+<p>Happy mother, receiving her precious one as if from the dead! Bewildered
+Willy, coming back to life with no remembrance of the dark river which
+he had almost forded, without a thought of the pearly gates he had
+almost entered!</p>
+
+<p>Conscience-stricken "Liddy!" How she suffered when she found what she
+had done! Not that she made a scene by screaming and tearing her hair,
+as some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> ignorant people are apt to do at such a time. No; Liddy was a
+Quaker, and the Quaker blood is very quiet. She only pressed her hands
+together hard, and said to Mrs. Parlin,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Thee knows I never <i>meant</i> any harm to that sweet child."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE OX-MONEY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Perhaps the shock had some effect upon Willy's habits, for after this he
+did not walk in his sleep for some time.</p>
+
+<p>But one night, as the teamsters were drinking their cider, and talking
+about the well-beloved "Kellup," wondering why he should take it into
+his head to steal,&mdash;"as honest a man, they had always thought, as ever
+trod shoe-leather,"&mdash;the bar-room door softly opened, and in glided
+Willy, in his flannel night-dress.</p>
+
+<p>The men were really glad to see him, and nodded at one another, smiling,
+but,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> as usual, made no remark about the child. They knew he could not
+hear, but it seemed as if he could, and they were a little careful what
+they said before him.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Mr. Parlin, going on to speak of Caleb, "I considered him an
+honest, God-fearing man, and trusted him as I would one of my own sons.
+If there was any other way to account for that money, I should be glad,
+I assure you,&mdash;as glad as any of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Where has Kellup gone to?" asked Mr. Griggs.</p>
+
+<p>"Gone to Bangor, they say."</p>
+
+<p>All this while Willy had not seated himself in his little chair, but was
+walking towards the bar. After muttering to himself a little while, he
+went in and took from the shelf the old account-book. Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> Parlin looked
+at the teamsters, and put his finger on his lips as a hint for them to
+keep still, and see what the child would do.</p>
+
+<p>Willy felt in the account-book for the key, then glided along to the
+money-drawer and opened it.</p>
+
+<p>"There, now, it isn't here," said he, after he had fumbled about for a
+while with his chubby fingers; "the book isn't here that had the
+ox-money in it. Caleb mustn't have that money; it belongs to my father."</p>
+
+<p>The men grew very much interested, and began to creep up a little
+nearer, in order to catch every word.</p>
+
+<p>"Money all gone," sighed Willy; and then, appearing to think for a
+moment, added, "O, yes; but I know where I put it!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Breathless with surprise, Mr. Parlin and his guests watched the child as
+he pattered with bare feet across the floor to the west side of the
+room, climbed upon a high stool, and opening the "vial cupboard," took
+out from a chink in the wall, behind the bottles, a little old
+singing-book.</p>
+
+<p>It was only the danger of startling Willy too suddenly that prevented
+the amazed father from snatching the book out of his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, the ox-money is here," said Willy, patting the notes, which lay
+between the leaves.</p>
+
+<p>How <i>do</i> you suppose he could see them, with his eyes fixed and vacant?</p>
+
+<p>Then he seemed to be considering for a space what to do; but at last put
+the singing-book<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> back again in the chink behind the bottles, clambered
+down from the stool, and taking his favorite seat in the red chair,
+began to warm his little cold feet before the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that beats all!" exclaimed Dr. Hilton, before any one else could
+get breath to speak.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Parlin went at once to the cupboard, and took down the singing-book.</p>
+
+<p>"The money is safe and sound," said he, as he looked it over,&mdash;"safe and
+sound; and Caleb Cushing is an honest man, thank the Lord!"</p>
+
+<p>"Three cheers for Caleb!" said Dr. Hilton.</p>
+
+<p>"Three cheers for Kellup!" cried one of the teamsters.</p>
+
+<p>And quite forgetting the sleeping child,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> the rest of the teamsters took
+up the toast, and shouted,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Three cheers for Kellup Cushing! Hoo-ra-a-ay!"</p>
+
+<p>Of course that waked Willy, and frightened him dreadfully. Imagine
+yourself going to sleep in bed, and waking up in a chair in another
+room, in a great noise. It was the first time the little fellow had ever
+been roused from one of his "walking-spells," and they had to carry him
+away to his mother to be comforted.</p>
+
+<p>He did not know that night what had happened; but next morning they told
+him that Caleb did not steal the money, and that papa had written a
+letter to beg him to come back.</p>
+
+<p>"And how think we found out that Caleb didn't steal?" asked Stephen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Of course Willy had not the least idea.</p>
+
+<p>"Because you stole the money yourself!" replied the hectoring Stephen.</p>
+
+<p>"O, what a story!" exclaimed Willy, angrily. "'S if <i>I'd</i> steal!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but you did, little man! I'll leave it to father if you didn't!"</p>
+
+<p>Willy stamped and kicked. He had a high temper when it was aroused, and
+his sister Love had to come and quiet him.</p>
+
+<p>"You took the money in your sleep," said she. "You didn't mean to do it;
+you are not a thief, dear; and we love you just as well as we did
+before."</p>
+
+<p>They all thought Willy must have had a dream about Caleb and the
+ox-money, or he would never have gone and taken the singing-book out of
+the drawer; but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> from that day to this he has never been able to
+remember the dream.</p>
+
+<p>Caleb cried for joy when he received the letter, and fell on his
+knees,&mdash;so he afterwards told grandpa Cheever,&mdash;and thanked his heavenly
+Father for bringing him out of the greatest trial he had ever had in his
+life. He was very glad to go back to Mr. Parlin's, and everybody there
+received him like a prince. King George the Third, coming in his own
+ship from England, would not have been treated half so well; for the
+Parlins despised him,&mdash;poor crazy monarch,&mdash;whereas they now thought
+Caleb was the very pink of perfection. Even Seth begged pardon for his
+hasty judgment. Mrs. Parlin gave him "election cake," for supper, and
+some of her very best ginger preserves, and said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> she did not see how
+they could make up for the pain of mind he had suffered.</p>
+
+<p>Caleb confessed that he <i>had</i> felt "kind o' bad; but it wasn't worth
+speaking of now."</p>
+
+<p>After this, when Willy told any improbable story, and insisted that it
+was true, as children often will, his mother had only to remark,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Remember Caleb! You said he wanted your father's money. Is this story
+any more reasonable than that?" and Willy would blush, and stammer
+out,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, <i>perhaps</i> it isn't true, mamma. I won't tell it for certain; but
+I <i>think</i> so, you know!"</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>I believe this was the only time that Willy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> ever did anything in his
+sleep that is worth recording. The rest of his adventures occurred when
+he was wide awake; so, you see, if he did wrong there was not so much
+excuse for him.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BOY THAT WORE HOME THE MEDAL.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The school-house was deep red, and shamed the Boston pinks, which could
+not blush to the least advantage near it. It stood on a sand-bank, with
+a rich crop of thistles on three sides, and an oak tree in one corner.
+There were plenty of beautiful places in town; but the people of
+Perseverance, District Number Three, had chosen this spot for their
+school-house, because it was not good for anything else.</p>
+
+<p>It was the middle of September, but the summer term was still in
+session, because school had not begun that year until after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> haying. It
+was Saturday noon, and the fourth class was spelling. The children were
+all toeing a chalk-mark in the floor, but Willy Parlin scowled and moved
+about uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>"Order there," said Miss Judkins, pounding the desk with her ruler.
+"What makes you throw your head back so, William Parlin?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Cause there's somebody trying to tell me the word, and I don't want
+anybody to tell me," answered Willy, with another toss of his dark
+locks.</p>
+
+<p>Fred Chase was sitting on a bench behind the class, with an open
+spelling-book before him, and was the "somebody" who had been whispering
+the word to Willy; but Willy was naturally as open as the day, and
+despised anything sly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> More than that, he knew his lesson perfectly.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Judkins asked no more questions, for she was well aware that Fred
+Chase was constantly doing just such things. She smiled as she looked at
+Willy's noble face, and was well pleased soon after to hear him spell a
+word which had been missed by three boys above him, and march straight
+up to the head. She always liked to have Willy "Captain," for deep down
+in her heart he was her favorite scholar. There were only a few more
+words to be spelled; then Willy called out "Captain," the next boy said
+"Number One," the third "Number Two," and so on down the whole twenty;
+and after that the school was dismissed for the week.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The "mistress" put on her blue gingham "calash,"&mdash;a big drawn bonnet
+shaped like a chaise-top,&mdash;and as she was leaving the house she
+whispered to Willy, "Don't forget what I told you to say to your
+mother."</p>
+
+<p>"No, marm; you told me to say you'd asked Mrs. Lyman <i>if it was so</i>, and
+Mrs. Lyman said, '<i>Yes, it is too true.</i>'"</p>
+
+<p>"That is it, exactly, dear," replied Miss Judkins, smiling. "And be sure
+you don't lose your medal."</p>
+
+<p>She said that just for fun, and it was such a capital joke that Willy's
+eyes twinkled. Lose the quarter of a dollar dangling from his neck by a
+red string!&mdash;the medal which told as plainly as words can speak, that he
+had left off that day at the head of his class!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>As it was Saturday, he was to keep the medal till Monday morning&mdash;a
+great privilege, and one he had enjoyed two or three times before. But
+there was this drawback; he had to slip the medal under his jacket, out
+of sight, on Sunday. It was the more to be regretted, as he sat in one
+of the "amen pews," not far from the pulpit; and if the medal might only
+hang outside his jacket, where it ought, Elder Lovejoy would certainly
+catch sight of it when he turned round, and looked through his
+spectacles, saying, "And now, seventhly, my dear hearers."</p>
+
+<p>Willy would sit, to-morrow, swelling with secret pride, and wishing
+Elder Lovejoy's eyes were sharp enough to pierce through his jacket. But
+then, as he told his mother, he "liked the feeling of the medal, even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
+if it <i>was</i> covered up." I suppose there was some satisfaction in
+knowing he was more of a boy than people took him to be.</p>
+
+<p>"Wonder what it is that Mrs. Lyman says is too true," thought Willy,
+taking a piece of chalk out of his pocket, and drawing a profile of Miss
+Judkins on the door-sill, while that young lady tripped along the road,
+brushing the golden-rod and sweet-fern with the skirt of her dress.</p>
+
+<p>"Now stop that, Gid Noonin," said he, as a large boy came up behind him,
+and tickled him under the arms. "Stop that!" repeated he, making chalk
+figures, as he spoke, in the ample nose of Miss Judkins.</p>
+
+<p>"7ber 18001," scrawled he, slowly and carefully. "7ber" was short for
+September; and Gideon could find no fault with that, for people often
+wrote it so; but he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> could not help laughing at the extra cipher in the
+year 1801.</p>
+
+<p>"Give me that chalk," chuckled he; and then he wrote, in bold
+characters, "7ber the 15th, 1801."</p>
+
+<p>Willy dropped his head. He had not learned to write; but did he want to
+be taught by that great Gid Noonin, the stupidest boy in school? Why, he
+had gone above Gid long ago, just by spelling "exact." Gideon spelt it
+e, g, z! Did you ever hear of anything so silly? And he a fellow twelve
+years old! Willy was just eight, but he hoped he could spell! If you
+doubted it, there was the medal!</p>
+
+<p>Gideon was not only a poor scholar,&mdash;he was regarded as a bad boy, and
+many mothers warned their little sons not to play with him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Billy, what you up to this afternoon? Going anywhere?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only up to the store, I guess. Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, nothing partic'lar. Just asked for fun."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, give back that piece of chalk," said Willy, "for it isn't mine.
+Steve keeps it in his pocket to rub his shoe-buckles with."</p>
+
+<p>Gideon laughed, but would not return the chalk till he had whitened
+Willy's jacket with it and the top of his hat. He never seemed to mean
+any harm, but just to be running over with good-natured, silly mischief.</p>
+
+<p>Willy ran home whistling; but when he saw his father standing in the
+front entry, his tune grew a little slower, and then stopped. Mr. Parlin
+was rather stern with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> his children, and did not like to have them make
+much noise in the house.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my son, so you have brought home the medal again. That's
+right,&mdash;that's right."</p>
+
+<p>Willy took off his hat when his father spoke to him, and answered, "Yes,
+sir," with a respectful bow.</p>
+
+<p>There were two or three men standing in the doorway which led into the
+bar-room.</p>
+
+<p>"How d'ye do, my fine little lad?" said one of the men; "and what is
+your name?"</p>
+
+<p>Now, this was a question which Deacon Turner had asked over and over
+again, and Willy was rather tired of answering it. He thought the deacon
+might remember after being told so many times.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"My name is just the same as it was the other day when you asked me,
+sir," said he.</p>
+
+<p>This pert speech called forth a laugh from all but Mr. Parlin, who
+frowned at the child, and exclaimed,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You are an ill-mannered little boy, sir. Go to your mother, and don't
+let me see you here again till you can come back with a civil tongue in
+your head."</p>
+
+<p>Tears sprang to Willy's eyes. He really had not intended any rudeness,
+and was ashamed of being reproved before strangers. He walked off quite
+stiffly, wishing he was "a growed-up man, so there wouldn't anybody dare
+send him out to his mother."</p>
+
+<p>But when he reached the kitchen, he found it so attractive there that he
+soon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> forgot his disgrace. A roast of beef was sizzling before the fire
+on a string, and Siller Noonin was taking a steaming plum pudding out of
+the Dutch oven, while Mrs. Parlin stood near the "broad dresser," as it
+was called, cutting bread.</p>
+
+<p>"O, mother, mother! the mistress told me to tell you she asked Mrs.
+Lyman what you asked her to, and she told <i>her</i> to ask <i>me</i> to tell
+<i>you</i> it was too true.&mdash;Now, <i>what</i> is too true, mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is too true that you are right in my way, you dear little plague,"
+said Mrs. Parlin, stopping, in the very act of cutting bread, to hug the
+rosy-cheeked boy. She was a "business woman," and had many cares on her
+mind, but always found time to kiss and pet her children more than most
+people did, and much more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> than Siller Noonin thought was really
+necessary.</p>
+
+<p>"But, then," as Siller said, "their father never makes anything of them
+at all; so I suppose their mother feels obliged to do more than her part
+of the kissing."</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, mother! what is it that is too true? How can anything be too
+true?" asked Willy, dancing across the hearth, and almost upsetting the
+dripping-pan in which Liddy had just made the gravy.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall hear, by and by, all it is best for you to know," replied
+Mrs. Parlin. And after dinner was served, and Siller had gone home, she
+told him that Siller's nephew, Gideon Noonin, had been a very naughty
+boy&mdash;worse than people generally supposed him to be.</p>
+
+<p>She did not like to repeat the whole<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> of the sad story,&mdash;how he had
+stolen money from Mr. Griggs, the toll-gatherer, and how poor Mr.
+Noonin, the father, had paid it back by selling some sheep, and begged
+Mr. Griggs not to send his bad son to jail. She did not wish Willy to
+know all this; but she told him she was more than ever convinced that
+Gideon was a wicked boy.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what makes you little children all like him so well," said
+she. "He may be funny and good-natured, but he is not a suitable
+playmate for anybody, especially for a small boy like you. Remember the
+old proverb, 'Eggs should not dance with stones.'"</p>
+
+<p>Willy looked deeply interested while his mother was talking, and said he
+would never speak to Gideon except to answer questions.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But he does ask so many questions! I tell you, mamma, he's always
+taking hold of you, and asking if you don't want to go somewhere, or do
+something. And then he makes you go right along and do it, 'cause he's
+so big. Why he's twice as big as me, mother; but he can't spell worth a
+cent."</p>
+
+<p>A little while after this, Willy ran off, whistling, to buy some
+mackerel and codfish at Daddy Wiggins's store. Before he reached the
+store, he heard a voice up in the air calling out to him,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, Billy Button! what you crying about down there?"</p>
+
+<p>Willy stopped whistling, and looked up to see where the voice came from.
+Gideon Noonin was sitting on the bough of a great maple tree, eating
+gingerbread. The sight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> of his face filled Willy with strange feelings.
+What a naughty, dreadful face it was, with the purple scar across the
+left cheek! Willy had never admired that scar, but now he thought it was
+horrible. His mother was right: Gid must be a very bad boy.</p>
+
+<p>At the same time Gid's eyes danced in the most enticing manner, and
+laughing gleefully he threw down a great ragged piece of gingerbread,
+which Willy knew, from past experience, must be remarkably nice. It was
+glazed on the top as smooth as satin, and had caraway seeds in it, and
+another kind of spice of an unknown name. Willy intended to obey his
+mother, and beware of Gideon; but who had ever told him to beware of
+Gideon's gingerbread? Gid might be bad, but surely the gingerbread<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
+wasn't! Moreover, if nobody ate it, it would get stepped on in the road,
+and wasted. So to save it Willy opened his mouth and began to nibble. No
+harm in that&mdash;was there?</p>
+
+<p>"Wan't to go swimming, Billy?"</p>
+
+<p>Willy was walking along as fast as he could, but of course he must
+answer a civil question.</p>
+
+<p>"No. Don't know how to swim."</p>
+
+<p>"Who s'posed you did&mdash;a little fellow like you?" said Gid, in a
+warm-hearted tone, as he dropped nimbly down from the tree, and alighted
+on his head. "Come 'long o' me, and I'll show you how."</p>
+
+<p>Willy's eyes sparkled,&mdash;he didn't know it, but they did,&mdash;and he drew in
+his breath with a "Whew!" Not that he had the least idea of going with
+Gid; but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> the very thought of it was perfectly bewitching. How often he
+had teased his two brothers to teach him to swim! and they wouldn't. He
+was always too young, and they never could stop. They thought he was a
+baby; but Gid didn't think so. Ah, Gid knew better than that.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BOY THAT MEANT TO MIND HIS MOTHER.</h3>
+
+
+<p>"Come on, Billy Button."</p>
+
+<p>"O, Gid Noonin, I can't."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not? Got the cramp?"</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Gid."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm looking."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Gid Noonin!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; that's my name!"</p>
+
+<p>"I shan't go a step!"</p>
+
+<p>"So I wouldn't," returned Gid, coolly. "I only asked you for fun."</p>
+
+<p>"O&mdash;h! H'm! Are you going to swim in the brook or the river?"</p>
+
+<p>"Brook, you goosie. Prime place down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> there by the old willow tree.
+Don't you wish I'd let you go?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; for my mother says&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"O, <i>does</i> she, though?"</p>
+
+<p>"My mother says&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Lor, now, Billy Button!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, Gid; my mother says&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"A pretty talking woman your mother is!" struck in Gid, squinting his
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>What a witty creature Gid was! Willy could hardly keep from laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you let me speak, Gid Noonin? My mother says she won't&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Says she <i>won't</i>? That's real wicked kind of talk! I'm ashamed of your
+mother!"</p>
+
+<p>Willy laughed. Gid did have <i>such</i> a way of making up faces!</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, you little girl-baby! Guess I <i>will</i> take you, if you won't
+cry."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Willy laughed again. It was not at all painful, but extremely funny, to
+hear Gid call names, for he never did it in a provoking way at all.</p>
+
+<p>"Come along, you little tip end of a top o' my thumb."</p>
+
+<p>"No, <i>sir</i>. Shan't go a step!"</p>
+
+<p>Willy was a boy that meant to mind his mother.</p>
+
+<p>"But I s'pose you'll have to go if I take you."</p>
+
+<p>Willy caught himself by the left ear. He felt the need of holding on by
+something; still he was somehow afraid he should have to go in spite of
+his ears. Was there ever such a boy as Gid for teasing?</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Gid Noonin, I told you my mother said&mdash;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"No, you didn't! You haven't told me a thing! You stutter so I can't
+understand a word."</p>
+
+<p>At the idea of his stuttering, Willy laughed outright; and during that
+moment of weakness was picked up and set astride of Gid's shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"You put me down! My mother says I shan't play with you; so there!"
+cried Willy, struggling manfully, yet a little pleased, I must confess,
+to think he couldn't possibly help himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Ride away, ride away. Billy shall ride," sang Gid, bouncing his burden
+up and down.</p>
+
+<p>Willy felt like a dry leaf in an eddy, which is whirled round and round,
+yet is all the while making faster and faster for the hungry dimple in
+the middle, where there is no getting out again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"O, dear, Gid's such a great big boy, and I'm <i>only</i> just eight,"
+thought he, jolting up and down like a bag of meal on horseback. Well,
+it would be good fun, after all, to go in swimming,&mdash;splendid fun, when
+there was somebody to hold you up, and keep you from drowning. If you
+could forget that your mother had told you not to play with Gid Noonin!</p>
+
+<p>"If you get the string of that medal wet you'll catch it," said Gid.
+"Better take it off and put it in your pocket."</p>
+
+<p>"Just a-going to," said Willy. "D'you think I's a fool?"</p>
+
+<p>Well, wasn't it nice! The water feeling so ticklish all over you, and&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Why, no, it wasn't nice at all; it was just frightful! After two or
+three dives, Gid had snapped his fingers in his face,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> and gone off and
+left him. Willy couldn't swim any more than a fish-hook. Where <i>was</i>
+Gid?</p>
+
+<p>"The water's up to my chin. Come, Gid, quick!"</p>
+
+<p>What would Seth and Stephen say if they knew how he was abused? No&mdash;his
+mother? No&mdash;Love, and Caleb, and Liddy? How they would feel! There
+wasn't any bottom to this brook, or if there ever had been it had
+dropped out.</p>
+
+<p>"O, Gid, I can't stand up."</p>
+
+<p>Gid was in plain sight now, on the bank, pretending to skip stones. Gid
+was like a Chinese juggler; he could make believe do one thing, while he
+was really doing another.</p>
+
+<p>"Quick! Quick! Quick! I shall dro&mdash;ow&mdash;own!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Gid took his own time; but as he swam slowly back to his trembling
+little playmate, he was "rolling a sweet morsel under his tongue," which
+tasted very much like a silver medal&mdash;with the string taken out.</p>
+
+<p>"What d'you go off for?" gasped Willy.</p>
+
+<p>"For fun, you outrageous little ninny!" mumbled Gid, tickling Willy
+under the arms. "I'm going to get you out, now, and dress you, and send
+you home to your mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Dress me, I guess!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you'd better scamper!" said Gid, hurriedly, as they got into
+their clothes. "Your mother'll have a fit about you."</p>
+
+<p>"My mother? No, she won't. She don't spect the codfish and mackerel till
+most supper-time. She said I might play, but she wasn't willing I should
+play with you,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> though, Gid Noonin," said little Willy, squeezing the
+water out of his hair.</p>
+
+<p>"But you did, you little scamp! Now run along home. I can't stop to
+talk. Got to saw wood."</p>
+
+<p>"Then what made you creep so awful slow when I called to you?" asked
+Willy, indignantly.</p>
+
+<p>"O, because I've got such a sore throat," wheezed Gideon. "Off with you!
+Scamper!"</p>
+
+<p>Upon that Gid took to his heels, and left Master Willy staring at him,
+and wondering what a sore throat had to do with swimming, and what made
+Gid in such a hurry all in a minute.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a queer fellow&mdash;Gid is! Can't spell worth a cent. Should think
+he'd be ashamed to see a little boy like me wear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> the medal. Glad I
+didn't wet it, for the color would have washed out of the string."</p>
+
+<p>With that Willy put his hand in his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"Out here and show yourself, sir."</p>
+
+<p>This to the medal.</p>
+
+<p>"What! Why, what's this?"</p>
+
+<p>He felt in the other pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"Why! Why!"</p>
+
+<p>He drew out junks of blue clay, wads of twine, a piece of chalk, a
+fish-hook, and various other articles more or less wound up in a wad;
+but no medal.</p>
+
+<p>"Guess there's a hole in my pocket, and the medal fell through."</p>
+
+<p>And without stopping to examine the pocket, he ran back all the way to
+the brook. Nowhere to be found. Not in the grass on either side of the
+road; not on the bank.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Then he remembered to look at his pockets; turned them all three inside
+out four times. No hole there.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I never!&mdash;Look here, you Oze Wiggins; did you pick up anything in
+the grass?"</p>
+
+<p>"Noffin' but a toadstool," replied little Ozem, innocently; and Willy
+wondered if he wasn't a half-fool to make such an answer as that.</p>
+
+<p>"Where can that medal be?" said he, with a dry sob.</p>
+
+<p>He did not once suspect that Gideon Noonin had taken it.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go home and tell my mother. O, dear! O, dear!"</p>
+
+<p>He was still at the tender age when little boys believe their mammas can
+help them out of any kind of trouble. True, he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> been naughty and
+disobedient; but if he said he was sorry, wouldn't her arms open to take
+him in? He was sorry now,&mdash;no doubt of that,&mdash;and was running home with
+all speed, when the sight of his father in the distance reminded him of
+his errand, and he rushed back to the store for the codfish and
+mackerel.</p>
+
+<p>"What makes your hair so wet, bubby?" asked Daddy Wiggins, rolling the
+fish in brown paper. "Haven't been in swimming&mdash;have you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don' know," stammered Willy, darting out of the store.</p>
+
+<p>If his hair was wet it wouldn't do to go home till it was dry; for his
+father would find out that he had been in the brook, and the next thing
+in order would be a whipping. It was hard enough to lose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> the medal;
+Willy thought a whipping would be more than he could bear, for it was
+always given with a horsewhip out in the barn; and the unlucky boy could
+never help envying the cows, as they looked on, chewing their cuds with
+such an air of content and unconcern. Cows never were punished, nor
+sheep either. Good times they had&mdash;that's a fact. <i>Sheep</i> wouldn't mind
+a real heavy horse-whipping, they were done up so in wool; but when a
+little boy had to take off his jacket, why, there wasn't much over his
+skin to keep off the smart. Ugh! how it did hurt!</p>
+
+<p>There was another advantage in being a sheep, or a cow, or a hen;
+animals of that sort never lost anything&mdash;didn't have medals to lose.</p>
+
+<p>"And this wasn't mine," groaned Willy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> "What'll the mistress do to me?
+Don' know; blister both hands, I s'pose!"</p>
+
+<p>Willy had intended to play ball with the little boys, but it was not to
+be thought of now. Putting his fish behind a tree, he ran to the brook
+again and poked with a stick as far as he could reach; then waded in up
+to his knees, for the medal might have rolled out of his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"No, it couldn't; for my breeches were tucked in up there between two
+rocks."</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he recollected Gideon's going back to the bank.</p>
+
+<p>"That wicked, mean boy!" almost screamed Willy. "He stole my medal! I'll
+go right off and tell mother!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parlin had on her afternoon cap, and was sitting alone in the
+well-sanded "fore-room," doing the mending, and singing,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"While shepherds watched their flocks by night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All seated on the ground,"&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>when Willy, with his pantaloons tucked up to his knees, and his head
+dripping with water, rushed wildly into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"My medal's gone! Gid Noonin stole it!"</p>
+
+<p>"My son! What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am; Gid Noonin stole it! Made me go in swimming, and then he
+stole it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Gideon Noonin?" said Mrs. Parlin, with a meaning glance. "That boy?
+<i>Made</i> you go swimming, my son?"</p>
+
+<p>Willy hung his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am! Marched me off down to the brook pickaback,&mdash;he did!"</p>
+
+<p>"Poor, little baby!" said Mrs. Parlin, in the soft, pitiful tone she
+would have used to an infant. "Poor little baby!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Willy's head sank lower yet, and the blush of shame crept into his
+cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, mother, he's as strong's a moose; he could most lift <i>you</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"'My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You consented in your heart, Willy, or Gideon could not have made you
+go swimming."</p>
+
+<p>What a very bright woman! Willy was amazed. How could she guess that
+while riding on Gid's back he had been a <i>little</i> glad to think he could
+not help it? He had hardly known himself that he was glad, it was such a
+wee speck of a feeling, and so covered up with other feelings.</p>
+
+<p>"But I tried not to go, mother. I tell you I squirmed awf'ly!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, you didn't try hard enough in the first place, Willy. Come here,
+and sit in my lap, and let us talk it over.&mdash;Do you know, my son, if you
+<i>had</i> tried hard enough, the Lord would have helped you?"</p>
+
+<p>Willy raised his eyes wonderingly. Had God been looking on all the
+while, just ready to be spoken to? He had not thought of that.</p>
+
+<p>"O, mamma," said he solemnly, "I will mind, next time, see 'f I don't.
+But there's that medal; why, what'll I do?"</p>
+
+<p>"If Gideon will not return it, you must pay Miss Judkins a quarter of a
+dollar."</p>
+
+<p>"With a hole in," sighed Willy. "Why, I've only got two cents in this
+world."</p>
+
+<p>"O, well," said Mrs. Parlin, hopefully, "perhaps you can hire out to
+papa, and earn the rest."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"O, if he'll <i>only</i> let me! Won't you please ask him, mamma?" cried
+Willy, filled with a new hope. "Ask him, and get Love to ask him, too.
+<i>I</i> shouldn't dare do it, you know."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BOY THAT CHEATED.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The next Monday Seth happened to go into the shed-chamber for a piece of
+leather to mend an old harness, and met Willy coming down the stairs
+with a basket full of old iron.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop a minute, Willy. What have you got there?"</p>
+
+<p>Willy would have obeyed at once, if it had not been for that lordly tone
+and air of Seth's, which always made him feel contrary.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop, I say!" repeated Seth. "What have you got there?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Old iron."</p>
+
+<p>"Old iron? Did mother send you after it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, go carry it right back."</p>
+
+<p>Willy did not stir.</p>
+
+<p>"Old iron is worth money, little boy."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I know that."</p>
+
+<p>"And what business have you with it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Going to sell it."</p>
+
+<p>"What? Without asking mother, you naughty boy?"</p>
+
+<p>Willy set the heavy basket on the next lower stair.</p>
+
+<p>"So you went up stairs for that iron without leave? What a wicked boy!"</p>
+
+<p>Willy set the basket on another stair.</p>
+
+<p>"Bellows' nose, old tea-kettle, rusty nails," said Seth, examining the
+basket.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Willy Parlin, do you know this is stealing."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tisn't, neither!"</p>
+
+<p>"But I tell you it is! Just as much stealing as if you took money out of
+father's wallet."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't steal," said Willy, setting the basket on another stair.</p>
+
+<p>Seth was growing exasperated.</p>
+
+<p>"If you don't intend to mind me, Willy Parlin, and carry back that iron,
+I shall have to go and tell father."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you'll be a tell-tale, Mr. Seth."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I'll have my little brother grow up a thief?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wasn't a thief; but you're a tell-tale. You said, yesterday, little
+boys mustn't tattle, and I guess big boys mustn't tattle, neither,"
+chuckled the aggravating Willy, dragging his basket of iron into the
+kitchen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Mother," said Seth, as Mrs. Parlin passed through the shed with a pan
+of sour milk, "there's got to be something done with Willy; he has taken
+to stealing."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parlin set the pan upon a bench, and sank down on the meat-block,
+too weak to stand.</p>
+
+<p>"I caught him just now, mother, lugging off a great basket full of old
+iron; and if you don't go right in and stop him, he'll take it up to the
+store to sell."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that all?" exclaimed Mrs. Parlin, drawing a deep breath. "Why, how
+you frightened me! His father gave him leave to collect what old iron he
+could find, and sell it to make up for the medal he lost the other day."</p>
+
+<p>"Well there, mother, I'm glad to hear it&mdash;that's a fact! But why didn't
+the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> rogue tell me? I declare, he deserves a good whipping for
+imposing upon me so."</p>
+
+<p>"He ought to have told you; but perhaps you spoke harshly to him, my
+son. You know Willy can't bear that."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I was very harsh, mother. You wouldn't have me see the
+child doing wrong, and not correct him&mdash;would you?"</p>
+
+<p>"His father and I are the ones to correct him," replied Mrs. Parlin.
+"Willy has too many masters and mistresses. Next time you see him doing
+what you think is wrong, let me know it, but don't scold him!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parlin had said this before, but it was something Seth never could
+remember.</p>
+
+<p>Willy sold the iron, returned a bright new quarter to Miss Judkins, and
+felt happy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> again, especially as there were ten cents left, which his
+father kindly allowed him to keep.</p>
+
+<p>Gideon Noonin never confessed his crime, and after this Willy was very
+careful to keep away from him. But there was another boy, nearer his own
+age, who had quite as bad an influence over him&mdash;Fred Chase. He
+afterwards became a worthless young man, and made his mother so wretched
+that Siller Noonin said, "Poor Mrs. Chase, she has everything heart can
+wish, except a bottle to put her tears in."</p>
+
+<p>Fred was a well-mannered, pretty little fellow, and no one thought ill
+of him, because he was so sly with his mischief. He did harm to Willy by
+making him think he had a very hard time. His work was to bring in a
+bushel basket of chips<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> every morning, and fill the "fore-room"
+wood-box. Of course the "back-log" and "back-stick," and "fore-stick"
+were all too heavy for his little arms, and Caleb attended to those.
+Freddy had nothing whatever to do, and pretended to pity Willy.</p>
+
+<p>"They 'pose upon you," said he. "I never'd stand it."</p>
+
+<p>Until Freddy told him he was imposed upon, Willy had never suspected it;
+but, after that, he saw he had nearly all the work to do, and that Seth
+and Stephen did not help as much as they might. The more he reflected
+upon the subject, the more unhappy he grew, and the more he lingered
+over his wood and chips.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever hear of the little boy and the two pails of water?" said
+his mother.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"O, what about him, mamma? Do tell me."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, the boy was told to draw two pails of water from the well; but
+instead of drawing them he sat down and dreaded it, till he pined away,
+and pined away, and finally died."</p>
+
+<p>Willy ran out with his basket, and never asked again to hear the story
+of the boy and the two pails. But the wood-pile seemed to be lying on
+top of his heart, crushing him, till he was relieved by a bright idea.</p>
+
+<p>Why not stand some sticks upright in the bottom of the box, and then lay
+the rest of the wood on top of them? It would look just the same as
+usual; but <i>what</i> a help!</p>
+
+<p>The box was in the entry, and the "fore-room"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> door shut; he could cheat
+as well as not.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I'll have lots of time to play!"</p>
+
+<p>"What, you here yet, Willy?" said his mother, opening the door. She
+thought he had been an unusually long while filling the box; and so he
+had. It was new business, doing it in this way, and it took time.</p>
+
+<p>"I supposed you had gone, darling, for I didn't hear you whistle."</p>
+
+<p>Willy whistled faintly, as he laid on the last stick. How lucky his
+mother hadn't opened the door sooner!</p>
+
+<p>"That's a nice big box full, my son. You please your mother this
+morning. Come here and kiss me."</p>
+
+<p>Willy went, and then Mrs. Parlin, who was a fine singer, and knew a
+great many ballads, sang, smiling,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Ho! why dost thou shiver and shake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i7">Gaffer Gray?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And why doth thy nose look so blue?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>She often sang that when he came into the house cold, and then he would
+sing in reply, with a voice almost as sweet as her own,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i5">"'Tis the weather that's cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">'Tis I'm grown very old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my doublet is not very new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Well-a-day!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>But he was not in a musical mood this morning: he felt in a hurry to be
+off; and giving his mother a hasty kiss, he bounded away without his
+shingle-covered spelling-book, and had to come back after it.</p>
+
+<p>Foolish Willy! Did he think his mamma would not find out the deep-laid
+plot, which had cost him so much labor? Children have no idea how bright
+their parents<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> are! It was a very cold day in December, and as Mrs.
+Parlin kept up a roaring fire, she came before noon to the upright
+sticks standing in the wood-box, as straight as soldiers on a march. She
+sighed a little, and smiled a little, but said not a word, for she was a
+wise woman, was Mrs. Parlin.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Willy boy," said she, when he came home from school, and had had
+his supper of brown bread, baked apples, and milk, "come, let us have a
+sing."</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing Willy and his mother enjoyed better than a "sing," she
+holding him in her lap and rocking him the while. He put his whole soul
+into the music, miscalling the Scotch words sometimes so charmingly that
+it was a real delight to hear him. People often stopped at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
+threshold, I am told, or at the open window in summer, to listen to the
+clear childish voice in such ballads as,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Fy! let us a' to the wedding,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For they will be lilting there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Jock's to be married to Maggie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The lass wi' the gowden hair."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>To-night it was "Colin's Come to Town;" and Willy's tones rang sweet and
+high,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"His very step has music in't,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As he comes up the stair."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Did you ever hear the beat of that little chap for singing?" said
+Caleb, in the bar-room, to Dr. Hilton and Mr. Griggs.</p>
+
+<p>Since that sad affair of the ox-money Caleb had loved Willy better than
+ever, though it would be hard to tell why; perhaps because the child had
+been so glad to see him come back again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Bless him!" said Love, bringing the brass warming-pan into the
+"fore-room," to fill it with coals at the fireplace. "Why, mother, I
+never hear the name 'Willy,' but it makes me think of music. It sounds
+as sweet as if you said 'nightingale.'"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parlin answered by folding the singing-bird closer to her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"And do you know what the word 'Mother' makes me think of?&mdash;Of a great
+large woman, always just ready to hug somebody."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parlin laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed it does. And it doesn't seem as if a small woman is really
+fit to be called mother. There's Dorcas Lyman: when she says 'Mother' to
+that little woman, it sounds so queer to me; for Mrs. Lyman isn't big
+enough, you know."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>Course</i> she isn't; not half big enough," said Willy. "I could 'most
+lift her with my little finger. But, then, that baby&mdash;she's got a real
+nice baby; wish she'd give Patty to me."</p>
+
+<p>Love smiled, and walked off, with her long-handled warming-pan, to heat
+a traveller's bed in the icy north chamber.</p>
+
+<p>Willy's heart was full of tenderness for his mother, whom he kept
+kissing fondly. Now was a good time to speak of the upright, deceitful
+sticks of wood, perhaps; but Mrs. Parlin did not do it. She began the
+Evening Hymn, and Willy sang with her:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Glory to Thee, my God, this night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all the blessings of the light;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath thine own almighty wings.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ills which I this day have done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That with the world, myself, and Thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, ere I sleep, at peace may be."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Now, Willy," said Mrs. Parlin, pausing, "let us think a while, and try
+to remember what we have done to-day that is wrong. You think, and I
+will think, too."</p>
+
+<p>He looked up, and she knew by the cloud in his eyes that his conscience
+was troubled.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll think. But <i>you</i> haven't done anything wrong, mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes, dear; many things."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, so've I, too. Want me to tell what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not unless you choose, my child. Only be sure you tell God."</p>
+
+<p>They were silent a few moments.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"There, that's the <i>last</i> time I'll ever stand the sticks up on end in
+the wood-box," burst forth Willy.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so," said his mother, kissing him.</p>
+
+<p>So she had known about it all the while!</p>
+
+<p>But not another word did she say; and they went on with the hymn:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Teach me to live, that I may dread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grave as little as my bed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Teach me to die, that so I may<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Triumphing rise at the last day."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>"THE NEVER-GIVE-UPS."</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i5">"Now Christmas is come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Let us beat up the drum,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And call our neighbors together;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And when they appear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Let us make them good cheer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As will keep out the wind and the weather."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>This is what the old song says; but it is not the way the people of the
+new colonies celebrated Christmas. Indeed, they thought it wrong to
+observe it at all,&mdash;because their forefathers had come away from England
+almost on purpose to get rid of the forms and ceremonies which hindered
+their worship in the church over there.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The Parlins, however, saw no harm in celebrating the day of our
+Saviour's birth, and Mrs. Parlin, who was an Episcopalian, always
+instructed Love and the boys to trim the house with evergreens, and put
+cedar crosses in the windows.</p>
+
+<p>Willy was glad whenever his grandfather Cheever happened to be visiting
+them at "Christmas-tide," for then he was sure of a present. Mr. Cheever
+was an Englishman of the old school, and prayed for King George. He wore
+what were called "small clothes,"&mdash;that is, short breeches, which came
+only to the knee, and were fastened there with a buckle,&mdash;silk
+stockings, and a fine ruffled shirt. His hair was braided into a long
+queue behind, which served Willy for a pair of reins, when he went
+riding on the dear old gentleman's back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I am not sure that Mr. Parlin was always glad to see grandpa Cheever,
+for they differed entirely in politics, and that was a worse thing then
+than it is now, if you can believe it. Mr. Parlin loved George
+Washington, and grandpa said he was "only an upstart." Grandpa loved
+King George, and Mr. Parlin said he was "only a crazy man."</p>
+
+<p>But Willy adored his grandfather, especially at holiday times; for
+besides presents, they were sure to have games in the big dining-room,
+such as blindfold, or "Wood-man blind," bob-apple, and snap-dragon.</p>
+
+<p>Then they always had a log brought in with great ceremony, called the
+Yule log, the largest one that could be found in the shed; and when Seth
+and Stephen came staggering in with it, grandpa Cheever,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> and Mrs.
+Parlin, and Love, and Willy all struck up,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">"Come, bring with a noise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">My merry, merry boys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Christmas log to the firing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">While my good dame, she<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Bids ye all be free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And drink to your hearts' desiring."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The "good dame," I suppose, was Mrs. Parlin; and she gave them to drink,
+it is true, but nothing stronger than metheglin, or egg nog, or flip. It
+seems to me I can almost see her standing by the table, pouring it out
+with a gracious smile. She was a handsome, queenly-looking woman, they
+say, though rather too large round the waist you might think.</p>
+
+<p>Her father was a famous singer, as well as herself; and for my part I
+should have enjoyed hearing some of their old songs,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> while the wind
+went whistling round the house:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Without the door let Sorrow lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if for cold it hap to die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We'll bury it in a Christmas pie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And evermore be merry."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Or this one:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Rejoice, our Saviour, he was born<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On Christmas day in the morning."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>But these were family affairs, these Christmas meetings. No one else in
+Perseverance had anything to do with them, not even Caleb or Lydia.</p>
+
+<p>But the little boys in those days did not live without amusements, you
+may be sure. Perhaps their choicest and most bewitching sport was
+training. There had been one great war,&mdash;the war of the
+Revolution,&mdash;and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> as people were looking for another,&mdash;which actually
+came in 1812,&mdash;it was thought safe for men to be drilled in the practice
+of marching and carrying fire-arms.</p>
+
+<p>In Perseverance, and many other towns, companies were formed, such as
+the Light Infantry, or "String Bean Company," the Artillery, and the
+"Troop." These met pretty often, and marched about the streets to the
+sound of martial music.</p>
+
+<p>Of course the little boys could not see and hear of all this without a
+swelling of the heart and a prancing of the feet; for they were rather
+different from boys of these days! Hard indeed, thought they, if they
+couldn't form a company too! As for music, what was to hinder them from
+pounding it out of tin pans and pewter porringers? There is music in
+everything,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> if you can only get it out. Chickens' wind-pipes, when well
+dried, are very melodious, and so are whistles made of willow; and if
+you are fond of variety, there are always bones to be had, and
+dinner-horns, and jews-harps.</p>
+
+<p>Full of zeal for their country, the little boys on both sides of the
+river met together and formed quite a large company. They had two trials
+to begin with; firstly, they could not think of a name fine enough for
+themselves; and secondly, they could not get any sort of uniform to
+wear. Their mothers could not see the necessity of their having new
+suits just to play in; and it seemed for some time as if the little
+patriots would have to march forever in their old every-day clothes.</p>
+
+<p>"But they'll give us some new ones by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> and by, boys," said Willy. "My
+mother laughed last night, when I asked again, and that's a certain sure
+sign."</p>
+
+<p>"O, I thought we'd given that up," said Fred Chase.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, boys," exclaimed Willy; "I've thought of a name; it's the
+'Never-Give-Ups.' All in favor say 'Ay'!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay! ay!" piped all the lads; and it was a vote. Perhaps it was a year
+before the Never-Give-Ups got their uniforms; but at last their mammas
+saw the subject in a proper light, and stopped their work long enough to
+dye some homespun suits dark blue, and trim them gorgeously with red.</p>
+
+<p>Willy's regimentals were not home-made; they were cut down from his
+father's old ones; and he might have been too well pleased with them,
+only Fred Chase's were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> better yet, being new, with the first gloss on,
+just as they had come from a store in the city of Boston.</p>
+
+<p>Fred was captain of the company. The boys had felt obliged in the very
+beginning to have it so, on account of a beautiful instrument, given him
+by his father, called a flageolet. True, Fred could not play on it at
+all, and had to give it up to Willy; but it belonged to him all the
+same.</p>
+
+<p>"Something's the matter with my lungs," said Fred, coughing; "and that's
+why those little holes plague me so; it's too hard work to blow 'em."</p>
+
+<p>The boys looked at one another with wise nods and smiles. They did not
+like Fred very well; but he was always pushing himself forward: and when
+a boy has a great deal of self-esteem, and a brave suit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> of clothes
+right from Boston, how are you going to help yourselves, pray? So Fred
+was captain, and Willy only a fifer.</p>
+
+<p>There was one boy in the ranks who caused some trouble&mdash;Jock Winter. Not
+that Jock quarrelled, or did anything you could find fault with; but he
+was simple-minded and a hunchback, and some of the boys made fun of him.
+When Fred became captain he fairly hooted him out of the company. "No
+fair! no fair!" cried Willy, Joshua Potter, the Lyman twins, and two
+thirds of the other boys; but the captain had his way in spite of the
+underground muttering.</p>
+
+<p>Saturday afternoon was the time for training. The Never-Give-Ups met at
+the old red store kept by Daddy Wiggins, and paraded down the village
+street, and across<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> the bridge, as far sometimes as the Dug Way, a
+beautiful spot three or four miles from home. They were a goodly sight
+to see,&mdash;the bright, healthy boys, straight as the "Quaker guns" they
+carried, and marching off with a firm and manly tread.</p>
+
+<p>Mothers take a secret pride in their sons, and many loving eyes watched
+this procession out of town; but the procession didn't know it, for the
+mothers were very much afraid of flattering the boys. I think myself it
+would have done the little soldiers no harm to be praised once in a
+while. Indeed, I wish they might have heard the ladies of the village
+talking about them, as they met to drink tea at Mrs. Parlin's. She never
+went out herself, but often invited company to what they called little
+"tea-junketings."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Mrs. Potter, the doctor's wife, "isn't it enough to do your
+eyes good to see such a noble set of boys?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it is," said Mrs. Griggs; "and I am not afraid for our country, if
+they grow up as good men as they now bid fair to be."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chase could not respond to this, for her boy Fred was a great
+trial; his father indulged him too much, and she had had strong fears
+that he might take to bad habits. But he was as handsome as any of the
+boys, and she spoke up quickly:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Mrs. Potter; as you say, they <i>are</i> a noble-looking set of boys;
+and don't they march well?"</p>
+
+<p>"They waste a great deal of time; but then they might be doing worse,
+and I like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> to see boys enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Lyman, the greatest
+worker in town.</p>
+
+<p>Her twins, George and Silas, ought to have heard that, for they thought
+their mother did not care to see them do anything but delve.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, bless their little hearts, we are all as proud of them as we can
+be," said ruddy, fleshy Mrs. Parlin, brushing back her purple
+cap-strings as she poured the tea. "My Willy, now, is the very apple of
+my eye, and the little rogue knows it too."</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Willy did know it, for his mother was not afraid to tell him so.
+The other boys had love doled out to them like wedding cake, as if it
+were too rich and precious for common use; but Mrs. Parlin's love was
+free and plenteous, and Willy lived on it like daily bread.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Kissing and petting were sure to spoil boys, so Elder Lovejoy's wife
+thought; and she longed to say so to Mrs. Parlin; but somehow she
+couldn't; for her little Isaac was not half as good as Willy, though he
+hadn't been kissed much since he was big enough to go to school.</p>
+
+<p>"Willy's grandpa Cheever has sent him a splendid present," said Mrs.
+Parlin; "it is a drum. His birthday will come next Wednesday; but when I
+saw him marching off with Freddy's flageolet under his arm, I really
+longed to give him the drum to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say you did," said Mrs. Lyman, warmly. "We mothers enjoy our
+children's presents more than they enjoy them themselves."</p>
+
+<p>Then she and Mrs. Parlin exchanged a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> pleasant smile, for they two
+understood each other remarkably well.</p>
+
+<p>Willy received his drum on the fifteenth of September, his tenth
+birthday, and was prouder than General Washington at the surrender of
+Lord Cornwallis. No more borrowed flageolets for him. He put so much
+soul into the drumsticks that the noise was perfectly deafening. He
+called the family to breakfast, dinner, and supper, to the tune of "Hail
+Columbia," or "Fy! let us a' to the wedding!" and nearly distracted
+Quaker Liddy by making her roll out her pie-crust to the exact time of
+"Yankee Doodle."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see the sense of such a con-tin-oo-al thumping, you little
+dear," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"That's 'cause you're a Quaker," cried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> Willy. "But I tell you while my
+name's Willy Parlin this drum <i>shall</i> be heard."</p>
+
+<p>Poor Liddy stopped her ears.</p>
+
+<p>"What you smiling for, mother?" said Willy. "Are you pleased to think
+you've got a little boy that can pound music so nice?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not exactly that, my son. I was wondering whether there is room enough
+out of doors for that drum."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, mother!" exclaimed the little soldier much chagrined. "Why,
+mother!"</p>
+
+<p>Everybody else had complained of the din; but he thought she, with her
+fine musical taste, must be delighted. After this pointed slight he did
+not pound so much in the house, and the animals got more benefit of the
+noise. Towler enjoyed it hugely; and the cows might have kept<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> step to
+the pasture every morning, and the hens every night to the roost, if
+they had had the least ear for music. Siller Noonin, who believed in
+witches, began to think the boy was "possessed." Love laughed, and said
+she did not believe that; but she was afraid Willy spoke the truth every
+day when he said so stoutly,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"While my name is Willy Parlin, this drum <i>shall</i> be heard."</p>
+
+<p>She wondered if parchment would ever wear out.</p>
+
+<p>He drummed with so much spirit that it had a strong effect on the little
+training company. They had always liked him much better than Fred, and
+were glad of an excuse now to make him their captain. A boy who could
+fife so well, and drum so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> well, ought to be promoted, they
+thought&mdash;"All in favor say Ay!"</p>
+
+<p>Poor Fred was dismayed. He had always known he was unpopular; still he
+had not expected this.</p>
+
+<p>"But how can <i>I</i> be captain?" replied Willy, ready to shout with
+delight. "If I'm captain, who'll beat my drum?"</p>
+
+<p>"Isaac Lovejoy," was the quick reply.</p>
+
+<p>That settled it, and Willy said no more. He was now leader of the
+company, and Fred Chase was obliged to walk behind him as first
+lieutenant.</p>
+
+<p>But the moment Willy was promoted, and before they began to march, he
+"took the stump," and made a stirring speech in favor of Jock Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Now see here, boys," said he, leaning on his wooden gun, and looking
+around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> him persuasively. "'All men are born free and equal.' I s'pose
+you know that? It's put down so in the Declaration of Independence!"</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes! Ay! Ay!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Jock Winter was born as free and equal as any of us; he wasn't
+born a hunchback. But see here: wouldn't you be a hunchback yourself,
+s'posing your father had let you fall down stairs when you was a baby? I
+put it to you&mdash;now wouldn't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, ay," responded the boys.</p>
+
+<p>"Well; and s'pose folks made fun of you just for that; how would you
+like it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Shouldn't like it at all."</p>
+
+<p>"But then Jock's just about half witted," put in Fred, faintly. He knew
+his power was gone, but he wanted to say something.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, what if he is half-witted? He thinks more of his country than you
+do; twice more, and risk it."</p>
+
+<p>"That's so," cried Joshua Potter. "Fred says if there's another war,
+<i>he</i> won't go; he never'll stand up for a mark to be shot at, at eleven
+dollars a month!"</p>
+
+<p>"O, for shame!" exclaimed the captain.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you hush up," said Fred, reddening. "I was only in fun&mdash;of course I
+was! You needn't say anything, Will Parlin; a boy that has a <i>Tory
+drum</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a good Whig drum as ever lived!" returned Willy. "But come, now,
+boys; will we have Jock Winter?"</p>
+
+<p>It was a vote; and the Never-Give-Ups went over the river in a body to
+invite him. He lived in a log-house with his grandfather, and a negro
+servant known<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> as Joe Whitehead. Old Mr. Winter was aroused from his
+afternoon nap by the terrific beating of the drum, and thought the
+British were coming down upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"Joe! Joe!" cried he. "Get your scythe, Joe, and mow 'em down as fast as
+they come!"</p>
+
+<p>When the little boys heard of this, it amused them greatly. Mistaken for
+the British army, indeed! Well, now, that was something worth while!</p>
+
+<p>A happier soul than little, simple, round-shouldered Jock you never saw,
+unless it was his poor old grandfather. He could keep step with the best
+of them; but unfortunately he had no decent clothes. This was a great
+drawback, but Mrs. Parlin and Mrs. Lyman took pity on the boy, and made
+him a nice suit.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE MUSTER.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Willy proved to have fine powers as a leader. Like the famous John
+Gilpin,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"A train-band captain eke was he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Of credit and renown,"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>and the Never-Give-Ups became such an orderly, well-trained company,
+that some of the rich fathers made them the present of a small cannon.</p>
+
+<p>Do you know what a wonderful change that made in the condition of
+things? Well, I will tell you. They became at once an Artillery Company!
+Not poor little infantry any more, but great, brave artillery!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Every man among them cast aside his Quaker gun with contempt, and wore a
+cut-and-thrust sword, made out of the sharpest kind of wood. An
+Artillery Company,&mdash;think of that! The boys threw up their caps, and
+Willy sang,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Come, fill up my cup, come, fill up my can;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, saddle your horses, and call up your men!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, open the west port, and let us gang free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>There was to be a General Muster that fall, and if you suppose the
+Perseverance boys had thought of anything else since the Fourth of July,
+that shows how little you know about musters.</p>
+
+<p>A muster, boys&mdash;Well, I never saw a muster, myself; but it must have
+been something like this:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>A mixture of guns and gingerbread; men and music; horses and hard
+cider.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was very exciting,&mdash;I know that. There were plumes dancing, flags
+waving, cannons firing, men marching, boys screaming, dogs barking; and
+women looking on in their Sunday bonnets.</p>
+
+<p>The "Sharp-shooters" and the "String Beans" were there from Cross Lots;
+the Artillery from Harlow; the "Pioneers," in calico frocks, with wooden
+axes, from Camden; and all the infantry and cavalry from the whole
+country round about.</p>
+
+<p>Seth Parlin belonged to the cavalry, or "troop," and made a fine figure
+on horseback. Willy secretly wondered if he would look as well when <i>he</i>
+grew up.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Saddled and bridled and booted rode he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A plume at his helmet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sword at his knee."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>It seemed to be the general impression<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> that the muster would do the
+country a great deal of good. The little artillery company, called the
+Never-Give-Ups, were on the ground before any one else, their cheeks
+painted with clear, cold air, and their hearts bursting with patriotism.
+As a rule, children were ordered out of the way; but as the little
+Never-Give-Ups had a cannon, they were allowed to march behind the large
+companies, provided they would be orderly and make no disturbance.</p>
+
+<p>"Boys," said Willy, sternly,&mdash;for he felt all the importance of the
+occasion,&mdash;"boys, remember, George Washington was the Father of his
+Country; so you've got to behave."</p>
+
+<p>The boys remembered "the father of his country" for a while, but before
+the close of the afternoon forgot him entirely. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> were several
+stalls where refreshments were to be had,&mdash;such as cakes, apples,
+molasses taffy, sugar candy, and cider by the mugful, not to mention the
+liquors, which were quite too fiery for the little Never-Give-Ups.</p>
+
+<p>At every halt in the march the boys bought something to eat or drink.
+There had been a barrel of cider brought from Mr. Chase's for their
+especial use, and Fred sold it out to the boys for four cents a glass.
+This was a piece of extraordinary meanness in him, for his father had
+intended the cider as a present to the company. The boys did not know
+this, however, and paid their money in perfect good faith.</p>
+
+<p>"Hard stuff," said Willy, draining his mug. "I don't like it much."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's tip-top," returned Fred. "My father says it's the best he
+ever saw."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chase had never said anything of the sort. He had merely ordered his
+colored servant, Pompey, to put a barrel of cider on the wheelbarrow,
+and take it to the muster-ground. Whether Pompey and Fred had selected
+this one for its age I cannot tell, but the boys all declared it was "as
+hard as a stone wall."</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Hilton, who seemed to be everywhere at once, heard them say that,
+and exclaimed,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Then I wouldn't drink any more of it, boys. Hard cider does make
+anybody dreadful cross. Better let it alone."</p>
+
+<p>I fear the boys did not follow this advice, for certain it is that they
+grew outrageously cross. The trouble began, I believe,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> with Abram
+Noonin, who suddenly declared he wouldn't march another step with Jock
+Winter. As the marching was all done for the day, Abram might as well
+have kept quiet.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you shall march with Jock Winter, too," said Captain Willy,
+exasperated with the throbbing pain in his head&mdash;the first he had ever
+felt in his life. "Pretty doings, if you are going to set up and say, 'I
+will' and 'I won't!'"</p>
+
+<p>While the captain and the private were shooting sharp words back and
+forth, and Fred was busy drawing cider, Isaac Lovejoy, the rogue of the
+company, was very busy with his own mischief.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Fred," said Joshua Potter, going up to the stall with a
+twinkle in his eye; "they don't ask but three cents a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> mug, round at the
+other end of the barrel!"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean by that?" cried the young cider merchant, looking up
+just in time to see Isaac Lovejoy marching off with the pitcher he had
+been filling from a hole in the barrel made with his jack-knife.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop thief! Stop thief!" cried Fred.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right," said one of the big boys from over the river. "Ike's
+selling your cider to the men for three cents a glass."</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps this was one of Isaac's jokes, and he intended to give back the
+money; we will hope so. But, be that as it may, Fred was terribly angry;
+as angry, mind you, as if he was an honest boy himself, and had a
+perfect right to all the coppers jingling in his own pockets!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He ran after Ike, and caught him; and there was a scuffle, in which the
+pitcher was broken. Mr. Chase came up to inquire into it.</p>
+
+<p>"Tut, tut, Isaac!" said he; "aren't you ashamed? You know that cider was
+a present to the Never-Give-Ups."</p>
+
+<p>The boys were astonished, and Fred's face crimsoned with shame. As soon
+as Mr. Chase had gone away, Willy exclaimed, with a sudden burst of
+wrath,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, boys, if you are going to stand such a mean lieutenant as that, I
+won't! If he stays in lieutenant, I won't stay captain&mdash;so there!"</p>
+
+<p>"Three cheers for the captain!" cried the boys; and there was another
+uproar.</p>
+
+<p>And how did Fred feel towards the fearless, out-spoken Willy? Very
+angry, of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> course; but, if you will believe me, he respected him more
+than ever. Pompous boys are often mean-spirited and cowardly; they will
+browbeat those who are afraid of them; but those who look down on them
+and despise them, they hold in the highest esteem. Willy had never
+scrupled to tell Fred just what he thought of his conduct; and for that
+very reason Fred liked him better than any other boy in town.</p>
+
+<p>But the Never-Give-Ups were growing decidedly noisy. After they learned
+that the cider was their own, they must drink more of it, whether they
+wanted it or not. The consequence was, they soon began to act
+disgracefully.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you have peace there, you young scamps?" said one of the big boys
+from over the river.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, we will have peace if we have to fight for it," replied the
+captain, who had drawn the little hunchback Jock to his side, and was
+darting glances at Abe Noonin as sharp as a cut-and-thrust sword.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Chase," said Dr. Hilton, struck with a new idea, "those boys act as
+if they were drunk."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, how can they be?" returned Mr. Chase; "they've had nothing to
+drink but innocent cider."</p>
+
+<p>"Any way," cried the doctor, "they are getting up a regular mob, and we
+shall have to <i>quail</i> it!"</p>
+
+<p>Too true: it was necessary to quell the Never-Give-Ups, that orderly
+artillery company, the pride of the town! Quell it, and order it off the
+grounds!</p>
+
+<p>Dire disgrace! Their steps were unsteady<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> and slow; their heads were
+bowed, but not with grief, for, to say the truth, they did not fully
+comprehend the situation.</p>
+
+<p>"The little captain is the furthest gone of any of them," said Dr.
+Hilton. Indeed, before he reached home he was unable to walk, and
+Stephen carried him into the house in his arms. Not that Willy had drunk
+so much as some of the others, but it had affected him more.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Mrs. Parlin! She had to know what was the matter with her boy; and
+the shock was so great that she went to bed sick, and Mr. Parlin sent
+for the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>When Willy came to his senses next morning, there was a guilty feeling
+hanging over him, and his head ached badly. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> crept down stairs, and
+fixed his gaze first on the sanded floor of the kitchen, then on the
+dresser full of dishes; but to look any one in the face he was ashamed.
+His mother was not at the table, and they ate almost in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, young man," said Mr. Parlin, after breakfast, "you may walk out to
+the barn with me." Willy had a dim idea that he had done something
+wrong; but exactly what it was he could not imagine. He remembered
+scolding Abe Noonin for hurting little Jock's feelings; was that what he
+was to be punished for?</p>
+
+<p>Willy did not know he had been intoxicated. He was sure he did not like
+that cider, yesterday, and had taken only a little of it. He supposed he
+had eaten too much, and that was what had made him sick.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Off with your jacket, young man!"</p>
+
+<p>Old Dick neighed, Towler growled, the sheep bleated; it seemed as if
+they were all protesting against Willy's being whipped.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, sir," said Mr. Parlin, after a dozen hearty lashes, "shall I ever
+hear of your getting drunk again?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, father! I didn't&mdash;O, I didn't! I only took some cider&mdash;just two
+mugfuls!" gasped Willy; "that's all; and you know you always <i>let</i> me
+drink cider."</p>
+
+<p>"Two mugfuls!" groaned Mr. Parlin, distressed at what he considered a
+wilful lie; and the blows fell heavier and faster, while Willy's face
+whitened, and his teeth shut together hard. Mr. Parlin had never acted
+from purer motives; still Willy felt that the punishment was not just,
+and it only served to call up what the boys termed his "Indian sulks."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Angry and smarting with pain in mind and body, he walked off that
+afternoon to the old red store. Fred was sitting under a tree, chewing
+gum.</p>
+
+<p>"Had to take it, I guess, Billy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, an awful whipping," replied Willy; "did you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Me? Of course not. Do you know how I work it? When father takes down
+the cowhide, I look him right in the eye, and that scares him out of it.
+He <i>darsn't</i> flog me!"</p>
+
+<p>This was a downright lie. Fred was as great a coward as ever lived, and
+screamed at sight of a cowhide. He had been whipped for cheating about
+the cider, but would not tell Willy so.</p>
+
+<p>Willy looked at him with surprise and something like respect. He could
+never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> seem to learn that Freddy's word was not to be trusted.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll do so next time," cried he, his eyes flashing fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here," said Fred, crossing his knees, and looking important;
+"let's run away."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Fred Chase! 'Twould be wicked!"</p>
+
+<p>"'Twouldn't, either. Things ain't wicked when folks don't catch you at
+it; and we can go where folks won't catch us, now I promise you."</p>
+
+<p>Willy's heart leaped up with a strange joy. He would not run away, but
+if Fred had a plan he wanted to hear it.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, where could we go?"</p>
+
+<p>"To sea."</p>
+
+<p>"Poh! our Caleb got flogged going to sea."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"O, well, Captain Cutter never flogs. He's a nice man,&mdash;lives down to
+Casco Bay. And of all the oranges that ever you saw, and the guava
+jelly, and the pine-apples! he's always sending them to mother."</p>
+
+<p>"I never ate a pine-apple."</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't you? Well, come, let's go; Captain Cutter will be real glad to
+see us; come, to-night; he'll treat us first rate."</p>
+
+<p>"'My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.'"</p>
+
+<p>It seemed as if Willy could hear his mother saying the words.</p>
+
+<p>"You and I are the best kind of friends, Willy. We'd have a real nice
+time, and come home when we got ready."</p>
+
+<p>Willy did not respond to this. He did not care very much about
+Fred,&mdash;nobody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> did,&mdash;and if he should be persuaded to go with him, it
+would not be from friendship, most certainly.</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't go off and leave mother; 'twould be real mean: but sometimes
+I don't like father one bit,&mdash;now, that's a fact," burst forth Willy,
+with a heaving breast. "I told him I didn't like your cider, and didn't
+take but two mugfuls; but he didn't believe a word I said."</p>
+
+<p>"You're a fool to stand it, Billy."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't stand it again&mdash;so there!"</p>
+
+<p>"There, that's real Injun grit," said Fred, approvingly; "stick to it."</p>
+
+<p>"Father thinks children are foolish; he hates to hear 'em talk," pursued
+Willy; "and then, when you don't talk, he says you're sulky."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if you go off he won't get a chance to say it again."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"O, but you see, Fred&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pshaw! you <i>darsn't</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"Now, <i>you're</i> not the one to call me a coward, Fred Chase."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if you <i>dars</i>, then come on."</p>
+
+<p>Willy did not answer. He was deliberating; and I wish you to understand
+that in a case like this "the child that deliberates is lost."</p>
+
+<p>Without listening to any more of the boys' conversation, we will go
+right on to the next chapter, and see what comes of it.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<h3>GOING TO SEA.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Seven o'clock was the time appointed to meet, and Willy watched the tall
+clock in the front entry with a dreadful sinking at the heart. His
+mother was not at the supper-table and he was glad of that. Ever since
+muster she had staid in her room, suffering from a bad toothache. As her
+face was tied up, and she could not talk, Willy was not quite sure how
+she felt.</p>
+
+<p>"How can I tell whether she has been crying or not? Her eyes are
+swelled, any way. Perhaps she doesn't care much. She used to love me,
+but she thinks I act so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> bad now that it's no use doing anything with
+me. I can't make her understand it at all."</p>
+
+<p>It was a pity he thought of his mother just then, for it was hard
+enough, before that, swallowing his biscuit.</p>
+
+<p>"She said to me, out in the orchard, one day,&mdash;says she, 'Willy, if a
+boy wants to do wrong, he'll find some way to do it;' and I s'pose she
+was thinking about me when she said it. S'pose she thinks I'm going to
+be bad&mdash;mother does. Well, then, I ought to go off out of the way; she
+doesn't want me here; what does she want of a bad boy? She'll be glad to
+get rid of me; so'll Love."</p>
+
+<p>You see what a hopeless tangle Willy's mind was in. What ailed his
+biscuit he could not imagine, but it tasted as dry as ashes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Why, sonny," said Stephen, "what are you staring at your plate so for?
+That's honey. Ever see any before?"</p>
+
+<p>"This is the last chance Steve will have to pester me," thought the
+child; and he almost pitied him.</p>
+
+<p>"Guess he'll feel sorry he's been so hard on a little fellow like me."</p>
+
+<p>As for grown-up Seth, it was certain that <i>his</i> conscience would prick,
+and on the whole Willy was rather glad of it, for Seth had no right to
+correct him so much. "Only eighteen, and not my father either!"</p>
+
+<p>Willy did not think much about himself, and how he would be likely to
+feel after he had left this dear old home&mdash;the home where every
+knot-hole in the floor was precious. It would not do to brood over that;
+and besides, there was sullen anger<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> enough in his heart to crowd out
+every other feeling.</p>
+
+<p>There were circles in the wood of the shed-door which he had made with a
+two-tined fork; and after supper he made some more, while waiting for a
+chance to pocket a plate of doughnuts. Of course it wasn't wrong to take
+doughnuts, when it was the last morsel he should ever eat from his
+mother's cupboard. He had the whole of eighteen cents in his leathern
+wallet; but that sum might fail before winter, and it was best to take a
+little food for economy's sake.</p>
+
+<p>At quarter of seven he put on his cap, and was leaving the house, when
+his father said, severely,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going, young man?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Parlin did not mean to be severe,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> but he usually called Willy a
+"young man" when he was displeased with him.</p>
+
+<p>"Going to the post-office, sir, just as I always do."</p>
+
+<p>Willy spoke respectfully,&mdash;he had never done otherwise to his
+father,&mdash;and Mr. Parlin little suspected the tempest that was raging in
+the child's bosom.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well; go! but don't be gone long."</p>
+
+<p>"'<i>Long?</i>' Don't know what he calls long," thought the little boy.
+"P'raps I'll be gone two years; p'raps I'll be gone ten. Calls me a
+'young man' after he has whipped me. Guess I <i>will</i> be a young man
+before I get back! Guess there won't be any more horsewhippings then!"</p>
+
+<p>And, dizzy with anger, he walked fast to the post office, without
+turning his head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Fred was there, anxiously waiting for him. The two boys greeted each
+other with a meaning look, and soon began to move slowly along towards
+the guide-board at the turn of the road.</p>
+
+<p>To the people who happened to be looking that way, it seemed natural
+enough that Willy and Fred should be walking together. If anybody
+thought twice about the matter, it was Dr. Hilton; and I dare say he
+supposed they were swapping jack-knives.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as they were fairly out of sight of the village, Fred said,
+sneeringly,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I've been waiting most half an hour&mdash;I suppose you know. Began to
+think you'd sneaked out of it, Bill."</p>
+
+<p>There is an insult in the word 'sneak' that no boy of spirit can bear,
+and Willy was in no mood to be insulted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Fred Chase," said he, bristling, "I'll give you one minute to take that
+back."</p>
+
+<p>"O, I didn't mean anything, Billy; only you was so awful slow, you
+know."</p>
+
+<p>"Slow, Fred Chase! You needn't call <i>me</i> slow! Bet you I can turn round
+three times while you're putting out one foot."</p>
+
+<p>It is plain enough, from the tone of this conversation, that the boys
+had not started out with that friendly feeling, which two travellers
+ought to have for each other, who are intending to take a long journey
+in company. Fred saw it would not do for Willy to be so cross in the
+very beginning. He had had hard work to get the boy's consent to go, and
+now, for fear he might turn back, he suddenly became very pleasant.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Billy; you can beat me running;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> I own up to that; but we've
+got to keep together, you know. Don't you get ahead of me&mdash;now will
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll try not to," replied Willy, somewhat softened; "but you do get out
+of breath as easy as a chicken."</p>
+
+<p>"Most time to begin to run?" said Fred, after they had trudged on for
+some time at a moderate pace.</p>
+
+<p>"No; there's a man coming this way," replied the sharper-eyed Willy.</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes; I see him now. Who suppose it is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Dr. Potter, of course. Don't you know him by his <i>shappo brar</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>The <i>chapeau bras</i> was a three-cornered hat, the like of which you and I
+have never seen, except in very old pictures.</p>
+
+<p>As Dr. Potter met the boys, he shook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> his ivory-headed cane, and said,
+playfully, "Good evening, my little men."</p>
+
+<p>"Good evening, sir."</p>
+
+<p>But it was certainly a bad evening inside their hearts, sulky and dark.</p>
+
+<p>"What if Dr. Potter should tell where he met us?" exclaimed Fred. "Lucky
+'twasn't Dr. Hilton.&mdash;There, he's out of the way; now let's run."</p>
+
+<p>They were on the road to Cross Lots, a town about five miles from
+Perseverance. They had not as yet marked out their course very clearly,
+but thought after they should reach Cross Lots it would be time enough
+to decide what to do next.</p>
+
+<p>They ran with all their might, but did not make the speed they desired,
+for they jumped behind the fences whenever they heard a wagon coming,
+and were obliged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> to stop often, besides, for Freddy to take breath. By
+the time they reached Cross Lots&mdash;a thriving little town with a
+saw-mill&mdash;it was pretty late; and if it had not been for the bright
+light of the moon and stars, they might have been a little disheartened.</p>
+
+<p>They took a seat on a stump near the saw-mill, and prepared to talk over
+the situation. A lonesome feeling had suddenly come upon them, which
+caused them to gaze wistfully upon the "happy autumn fields" and the
+far-off sky.</p>
+
+<p>"Stars look kind o' shiny&mdash;don't they?" said Fred, heaving a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>Willy forced a gay tone.</p>
+
+<p>"What s'pose makes 'em keep up such a winking? Like rows of pins, you
+know,&mdash;gold pins; much as a million of 'em,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> and somebody sticking 'em
+into a great blue cushion up there, and keeps a-sticking 'em in, but out
+they come again."</p>
+
+<p>"I never heard of such a silly idea in my life," sneered Fred.
+"Pins!&mdash;H'm!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, can't you tell when a fellow's in fun, Fred Chase? Thought I meant
+real pins&mdash;did you? The stars are worlds, and I guess I know it as well
+as you do."</p>
+
+<p>"Worlds? A likely story, Bill Parlin! Mother has said so lots of times,
+but you don't stuff such a story down <i>my</i> throat."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't believe your mother!" exclaimed Willy, astonished. "Why, I always
+believe my mother. She never made a mistake in her life."</p>
+
+<p>Fred laughed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"She don't know any more'n anybody else, you ninny! only you think so
+because she makes such a baby of you."</p>
+
+<p>Willy reddened with sudden shame, but retorted sharply,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Stop that! You shan't say a word against my mother."</p>
+
+<p>"But you let me talk about your father, though. What's the difference?"</p>
+
+<p>"Lots. You may talk about father as much as you've a mind to," said
+Willy, scowling; "for he no business to whip me so. He thinks boys are
+pretty near fools."</p>
+
+<p>"That's just what my father thinks," returned Fred.</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon the two boys were friends again, having got back to their one
+point of agreement.</p>
+
+<p>"If I had a boy I wouldn't treat him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> so,&mdash;now I tell you," said Willy,
+clinching his little fists. "I'd let him have a good time when he's
+young."</p>
+
+<p>"So'd I!"</p>
+
+<p>"For when he's old he won't want to have a good time."</p>
+
+<p>"That's so."</p>
+
+<p>"And I wouldn't be stingy to him; I'd let him have all the money he
+could spend."</p>
+
+<p>"So'd I," responded the ungrateful Fred, who had probably had more
+dollars given him to throw away than any other boy in the county.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd treat a boy real well. I wouldn't make him work as tight as he
+could put in," pursued Willy, overcome with dreadful recollections.</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I, neither! Guess I wouldn't!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Poh! what do you know about it, Fred? Your father's rich, and don't
+keep a pig!"</p>
+
+<p>"What if he don't? What hurt does a pig do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you have to carry out swill to 'em. Then there's the wood-box, and
+there's the corn to husk, and the cows to bring up! It makes a fellow
+ache all over."</p>
+
+<p>"No worse'n errands, Bill! Guess you never came any nearer blistering
+your feet than I did last summer, time we had so much company. Mother's
+a case for thinking up errands."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Fred, we've started to run away."</p>
+
+<p>"Should think it's likely we had."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going 'cause I can't stand it to be whipped any more; but you don't
+get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> whipped, Fred. What are <i>you</i> going for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, to seek my fortune," replied Fred, spitting, in a manly fashion,
+into a clump of smartweed. "Always meant to, you know, soon's I got so I
+could take care of myself; and now I can cipher as far as
+<i>substraction</i>, what more does a fellow want?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't believe you can spell 'phthisic,' though."</p>
+
+<p>As this remark had nothing to do with the case in point, Fred took no
+notice of it. What if he couldn't spell as well as Willy? He was a year
+and a half older, and had the charge of this expedition.</p>
+
+<p>"Which way you mean to point, Billy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I thought we were going to sea. That's what you said; and I put a
+lot of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> nutcakes in my pocket to eat 'fore we got to the ship."</p>
+
+<p>"You did? Well, give us some, then, for I'm about starved."</p>
+
+<p>"So'm I, too."</p>
+
+<p>And one would hardly have doubted it, to see them both eat. The
+doughnuts were sweet and spicy, and cheering to the spirits; the young
+travellers did not once stop to consider that they might need them more
+by and by. Children are not, as a general rule, very deeply concerned
+about the future. Birds of the air may have some idea where to-morrow's
+dinner is coming from; but these boys neither knew nor cared.</p>
+
+<p>"First rate," remarked Fred, as the last doughnut disappeared. "But I
+don't know about going to sea. It's plaguy tough work climbing ropes,
+they say, and I heard of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> boy that got whipped so hard he jumped
+overboard."</p>
+
+<p>"Let's not go, then," cried Willy.</p>
+
+<p>"Catch me!" said Fred. "I've been thinking of the lumb'ring business.
+They make money fast as you can wink up there to the Forks."</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go lumbering, then."</p>
+
+<p>"Guess we will, Billy. You see the trees don't cost anything,&mdash;they grow
+wild,&mdash;and all you've got to do is to chop 'em down."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Willy, "and we need red shirts for that. I never chopped a
+tree's I know of. Could, though, if I had a sharp axe. Guess I could, I
+mean,&mdash;I mean if the tree wasn't <i>too</i> big!"</p>
+
+<p>"O, we shan't chop 'em ourselves," said Fred, spitting grandly. "Wasn't
+my father<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> a lumberman once, and got rich by it? But did <i>he</i> ever cut
+down a tree? What's the use? Hire men, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"O!" exclaimed Willy. But a gleam of common sense striking him next
+moment, he added, "but the money; where'll we get that?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, we'll get it after a while," replied Fred, vaguely. "My father was a
+poor boy once. Fact! I've heard him tell about it. Nothing but tow-cloth
+breeches, and wale-cloth jacket, off there to Groton. And he made butter
+tubs and potash tubs, sir. And he took his pay in beaver skins. And then
+he went afoot to Boston, and he rolled a barrel of lime round the Falls,
+sir. I've heard him tell it five million times. And my aunt Tempy, she
+rode a-horseback three hundred miles to Concord.&mdash;O,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> poh! there's lots
+of ways to make money, if you try. And once he took his pay in
+potash,&mdash;my father did; and he sold tobacco. O, there's ways enough to
+make money if you keep your eyes open; that's what my father says."</p>
+
+<p>Willy's eyes were open enough, if that were all. At any rate, he was
+trying his very best to keep them open. Half of his mind was sleepy, and
+half of it very wide awake indeed. There was something so inspiring in
+Fred's confident tone. Rather misty his plans might be as yet; but
+hadn't Willy heard, ever since he could remember, that people were sure
+to succeed if they were only "up and doing?"</p>
+
+<p>"Come, let's start," said he, rising eagerly, as the bell rang for nine.
+"If we are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> going to the Forks we must go to Harlow first; I know that
+much."</p>
+
+<p>And turning the corner at the left, the two wise little pilgrims set out
+upon their travels,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Strange countries for to see."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<h3>TO THE FORKS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Willy started upon the run; but Fred, as soon as he could overtake him,
+and speak for puffing, exclaimed,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Will Parlin, what's the use? We've got a good start, and let's
+take it fair and easy."</p>
+
+<p>This was the most sensible remark Fred had made for the evening. Lazy
+and good-for-nothing as he was, he had spoken the truth for once. If
+they were ever to arrive at the Forks, they were likely to do it much
+sooner by walking than running. Willy did not understand this. Being as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
+lithe as a young deer, he preferred "bounding over the plains" to
+lagging along with such a slow walker as Fred.</p>
+
+<p>The town of Harlow was twelve miles away, and it was Fred's opinion that
+they should reach it in season for an early breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got two dollars in my pocket," said he, "and I guess we shan't
+starve <i>this</i> fall."</p>
+
+<p>Willy thought of the eighteen cents he had been six weeks in saving, but
+was ashamed to speak of such a small sum.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we shan't get to Harlow, or any where else, till day after
+to-morrow afternoon, if you don't hurry up," said he, impatiently. "You
+say you can't run, but I should think you might do as much as to march.
+Now, come,&mdash;left, foot out,&mdash;while I whistle."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Fred tried his best, but he was one of the few boys born with "no music
+in his soul," and he could not keep step.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with you, Fred Chase?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't know. Guess you haven't got the right tune."</p>
+
+<p>Willy stopped short in "Come, Philander," and turned it into "Hail,
+Columbia;" but it made no difference. "Roy's Wife," or "Fy! let us a' to
+the wedding," was as good as anything else. Fred took long steps or
+short steps, just as it happened, and Willy never had understood, and
+could not understand now, what did ail Fred's feet; it was very
+tiresome, indeed.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here: what tune have I been whistling now? See if you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that's&mdash;that's&mdash;some kind of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> dancing tune. Can't think. O, yes;
+'Old Hundred.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Fred Chase!" thundered Willy; "that's <i>'Yankee Doodle</i>!' Anybody that
+don't know Yankee Doodle <i>must</i> be a fool!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, look here now: I know Yankee Doodle as well as you do, Will
+Parlin, only you didn't whistle it right!"</p>
+
+<p>At another time Willy would have been quick to laugh at such an absurd
+remark; but now, tired as he was, it made him downright angry. He
+stopped whistling, and did not speak again for five minutes. Meanwhile
+he began to grow very sleepy.</p>
+
+<p>"Wish we were going to battle," said Fred at last, for the sake of
+breaking the silence. "I'd like to be in a good fight; that is, if they
+had decent music. I could march to a fife and drum first rate."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Could, hey! Then why didn't you ever do it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to say I don' know how to march? Know how as well as you
+do."</p>
+
+<p>"Think's likely," snarled Willy, "for <i>I</i> can't march if I have <i>you</i> to
+march with. Can't keep step with anybody that ain't bright!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I can't, either, Will Parlin; that's why I can't keep step with
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, go along to the other side of the road&mdash;will you? I won't
+have you here with your hippity-hop, hippity-hop."</p>
+
+<p>"Go to the other side of the road your own self, and see how you like
+it," retorted Fred. "I won't have <i>you</i> here, with your tramp, tramp,
+tramp."</p>
+
+<p>Was ever anybody so provoking as Fred? Willy had an impulse to give him
+a hard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> push; but before he could extend his arm to do it, he had
+forgotten what they were quarrelling about. That strange sleepiness had
+drowned every other feeling, and Fred's "tramp, tramp, tramp," spoken in
+such drawling tones, had fairly caused his eyes to draw together.</p>
+
+<p>"Guess I'll drop down here side of the road, and rest a minute," said
+he.</p>
+
+<p>"So'll I," said Fred, always ready for a halt if not for a march.</p>
+
+<p>But it was a cold night. As soon as they had thrown themselves upon the
+faded grass they began to feel the pinchings of the frost.</p>
+
+<p>"None of your dozing yet a while," said Fred, who, though tired, was not
+as sleepy as Willy. "We must push along till we get to a barn or
+something."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Willy rose to his feet, promptly.</p>
+
+<p>"Look up here and show us your eyes, Billy. I've just thought of
+something. How do I know but you're sound asleep this minute? Generally
+sleep with your eyes open&mdash;don't you&mdash;and walk round too, just the
+same?"</p>
+
+<p>Fred said this with a cruel laugh. He knew Willy was very sensitive on
+the subject of sleep-walking, and he was quite willing to hurt his
+feelings. Why shouldn't he be? Hadn't Willy hurt <i>his</i> feelings by
+making those cutting remarks in regard to music? As for the Golden Rule,
+Master Fred was not the boy to trouble himself about that; not in the
+least.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't walked in my sleep since I was a small boy," said Willy,
+trying his best to force back the tears; "and I don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> think it's fair
+to plague me about it now."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, you needn't plague me for not keeping step to your old
+whistling. If you want to know what the reason is I can't keep step,
+I'll tell you; it's because my feet are sore. They've been tender ever
+since I blistered 'em last summer."</p>
+
+<p>Willy was too polite this time, or perhaps too sleepy, to contradict.</p>
+
+<p>It did seem as if the road to Harlow was the longest, and the hills the
+steepest, ever known.</p>
+
+<p>"Call it twelve miles&mdash;it's twenty!" said Fred, beginning to limp.</p>
+
+<p>"Would be twenty-five," said Willy, "if the hills were rolled out
+smooth."</p>
+
+<p>They trudged on as bravely as they could, but, in spite of the cold, had
+to stop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> now and then to rest, and by the time they had gone eight miles
+it seemed as if they could hold out no longer.</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't be tired if I were in your place," said Fred; "it's my
+feet, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a barn," exclaimed Willy, joyfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" whispered cautious Fred; "don't you see there's a house to it,
+and it wouldn't do to risk it? Folks would find us out, sure as guns."</p>
+
+<p>A little farther on there was a hayrack at the side of the road, filled
+with boards; and after a short consultation the boys decided to climb
+into it, and "camp down a few minutes."</p>
+
+<p>"It won't do to stay long," said Fred, "for it must be 'most sunrise;
+and we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> should be in a pretty fix if anybody should go by and catch us."</p>
+
+<p>It was only one o'clock! The boards were not as soft as feathers, by any
+means, but the boys thought they wouldn't have minded that if they could
+only have had a blanket to spread over them. More forlorn than the
+"babes in the wood," they had not even the prospect that any birds would
+come and cover them with leaves.</p>
+
+<p>As they stretched themselves upon the boards, Willy thought of his
+prayer. "Now I lay me down to sleep." Never, since he could remember,
+had he gone to bed without that. Would it do to say it now? Would God
+hear him? Ah, but would it do <i>not</i> to say it? So he breathed it softly
+to himself, lest Fred should hear and laugh at him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was so cold that Fred declared he couldn't shut his eyes, and
+shouldn't dare to, either; but in less than a minute both the boys were
+fast asleep.</p>
+
+<p>They had slept about three hours, without stirring or even dreaming,
+when they were suddenly wakened by the glare of a tin lantern shining in
+their eyes, and a gruff voice calling out,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Who's this? How came you here?"</p>
+
+<p>Willy stared at the man without speaking. Was it to-night, or last
+night, or to-morrow night?</p>
+
+<p>Fred had not yet opened his eyes, and the worthy farmer was obliged to
+shake him for half a minute before he was fairly aroused.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are you? What are you here for?" repeated he.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Then the boys sat upright on the boards and looked at each other. They
+were both covered with a thick coating of frost, as white as if they had
+been out in a snowstorm. What should they say to the man? It would never
+do to tell him their real names, for then he would very likely know who
+their fathers were, and send them straight home. Dear! dear! What a pity
+they happened to fall asleep! And why need the man have come out there
+in the night with a lantern?&mdash;a man who probably had a bed of his own to
+sleep in.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I&mdash;" said Willy, brushing the frost off his knees; and that is
+probably as far as he would have gone with his speech, for his tongue
+failed him entirely; but Fred, being afraid he might tell the whole
+truth,&mdash;which was a bad habit of Willy's,&mdash;gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> him a sly poke in the
+side, as a hint to stop. Willy couldn't and wouldn't make up a wrong
+story; but Fred could, and there was nothing he enjoyed more.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir," said he, clearing his throat, and looking up at the farmer
+with a face of baby-like innocence, "I guess you don't know me&mdash;do you?
+My name's Johnny Quirk, and this boy here's my brother, Sammy Quirk."</p>
+
+<p>Willy drew back a little. It seemed as if he himself had been telling a
+lie. Ah! and wasn't it next thing to it?</p>
+
+<p>"Quirk? Quirk? I don't know any Quirks round in these parts," said the
+farmer.</p>
+
+<p>"O, we live up yonder," said Fred, pointing with his finger. "We live
+two miles beyond Harlow, and we were down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> to Cross Lots to aunt
+Nancy's, you see, and they sent for us to come home,&mdash;mother did. Our
+father's dreadful sick: they don't expect he'll get well."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't say so! Poor little creeturs! And here you are out doors,
+sleeping on the rough boards. Come right along into the house with me,
+and get warm. What's the matter with your father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some kind of a fever; and he don't know anything; he's awful sick,"
+replied Fred, running his sleeve across his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The good farmer's heart was touched. He thought of his own little boys,
+no older than these, and how sad it would be if they should be left
+fatherless.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in and get warm," said he. "It's four o'clock, and you shall sleep
+in a good bed till six, and then I'll wake you up, and give you some
+breakfast."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"O, I don't know as we can; we ought to be going," said Fred, wiping his
+eyes; "father may be dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but you shall come in," persisted the farmer; "you're all but
+froze. If 'twas my little boys, I should take it kindly in anybody that
+made 'em go in and get warm. Besides, you can travel as fast again if
+you start off kind of comfortable."</p>
+
+<p>A good bed was so refreshing to think of that the boys did not need much
+urging; but Willy entered the house with downcast eyes and feelings of
+shame, whereas Fred could look their new friend in the face, and answer
+all his questions without wincing.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Johonnet thought himself a shrewd man, but he could not see into the
+hearts of these young children. He liked the appearance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> of "Johnny
+Quirk," an "open-hearted, pretty-spoken little chap, that any father
+might be proud of;" but "Sammy" did not please him as well; he was not
+so frank, or so respectful,&mdash;seemed really to be a little sulky. There
+are some boys who pass off finely before strangers, because they are not
+in the least bashful, and have a knack of putting on any manner they
+choose; and Fred was one of these. Willy, a far nobler boy, was
+naturally timid before his betters; but even if he had been as bold as
+Fred, his conscience would never have let him say and do such untrue
+things.</p>
+
+<p>Willy suffered. Although he had told no lies himself, he had stood by
+and heard them told without correcting them. How much better was that?
+Still it seemed as if, as things were, he could not very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> well have
+helped himself. So much for falling into bad company. "Eggs should not
+dance with stones."</p>
+
+<p>"Well; I never'd have come with Fred Chase if father hadn't whipped me
+'most to death."</p>
+
+<p>And, soothed with this flimsy excuse, Willy was soon asleep again.</p>
+
+<p>At six o'clock Mr. Johonnet called the little travellers to breakfast.
+The coffee was very dark-colored, with molasses boiled in it, and there
+were fried pork, fried potatoes swimming in fat, and clammy "rye and
+indian bread." None of these dishes were very inviting to the boys, who
+both had excellent fare at home; and they would have made but a light
+meal, if it had not been for the pumpkin pie and cheese, which Mr.
+Johonnet asked his wife to set on the table.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Poor children, they must eat," said he; "for they've got to get home to
+see their sick father."</p>
+
+<p>There were so many questions to be asked, that the boys made quick work
+of their breakfast and hurried away.</p>
+
+<p>"There, glad we're out of that scrape," said Fred.</p>
+
+<p>"But <i>didn't</i> you lie? Why, Fred, how could you lie so?"</p>
+
+<p>"H'm! Did it up handsome&mdash;didn't I, though? Wouldn't give a red cent for
+you. You haven't the least gumption about lying."</p>
+
+<p>Willy shivered and drew away a little. His fine nature was shocked by
+Fred's coarseness and lack of principle; still, this was the boy he had
+chosen for an intimate friend!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"If it hadn't been for me you'd have let the cat out of the bag,"
+chuckled Fred. "You hung your head down as if you'd been stealing a
+sheep."</p>
+
+<p>It was three miles farther to Harlow, and Fred grumbled all the way
+about his sore feet.</p>
+
+<p>"See that yellow house through the trees?" said he. "That's my uncle
+Diah's; wish we could go there and rest."</p>
+
+<p>"But what's the use to wish?" returned Willy. "Look here, Fred; isn't
+there a ford somewhere near here?"</p>
+
+<p>To be sure there was. They had forgotten that; and sometimes the ford
+was not fordable, and it was necessary to go round-about in order to
+cross a ferry. While they were puzzling over this new dilemma, a
+stage-horn sounded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"That's the Harlow driver; he knows us," cried Fred; "let's hide quick."</p>
+
+<p>They concealed themselves behind some aspen trees on the bank, and
+"peeking" out, could see the stage-coach and its four sleek horses,
+about an eighth of a mile away, driving down the ferry-hill into the
+river.</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said Willy; "there's the ford, and now we know. And the water
+isn't up to the horses' knees; so <i>we</i> can cross well enough."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and get our breeches wet," groaned Fred.</p>
+
+<p>"O, that's nothing. Lumbermen don't mind wet breeches," said Willy,
+cheerily.</p>
+
+<p>"Lumbermen? Who said we were lumbermen? I shan't try it yet a while; my
+feet are too plaguy sore!"</p>
+
+<p>"Shan't try what?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, nothing, I guess," yawned Fred; "lumber nor nothing else."</p>
+
+<p>The stage had passed, by this time, and they were walking towards the
+ford. When they reached it, Willy, nothing daunted, drew off his
+stockings and shoes, and began to roll up his pantaloons.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Billy; if you see any fun in this business, <i>I</i> don't!"</p>
+
+<p>"Fun? O, but we don't spect that, you know," said heroic Willy, stepping
+into the stream.</p>
+
+<p>"Cold as ice, I know by the way you cringe," said lazy Fred, who had not
+yet untied his shoes.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, Fred; who minds the cold?"</p>
+
+<p>"Now wait a minute, Billy. I hadn't got through talking. I'm not going
+to kill myself for nothing; I want some fun out of it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Do come on and behave yourself," called back Willy; "when we get rich
+we'll have the fun."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, go and get rich then," cried Fred; "I shan't stir another step!
+My father's got money enough, and I needn't turn my hand over."</p>
+
+<p>Willy stopped short.</p>
+
+<p>"But you are going to the Forks with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who said I was?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you said so, yourself. You were the one that put it in my head."</p>
+
+<p>"O, that was only talk. I didn't mean anything."</p>
+
+<p>Willy turned square round in the water, and glared at Fred, with eyes
+that seemed to shoot sparks of fire.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 347px;">
+<img src="images/i002.jpg" width="347" height="500" alt="Deserted.&mdash;Page 195." title="" />
+<span class="caption">Deserted.&mdash;Page 195.</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;well, yes, I did kind of mean to, too," cried Fred, shrinking
+under the gaze; "but I've got awful sick of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Who called me a <span class="smcap">sneak</span>?" exclaimed Willy, his voice shaking with wrath.
+"Who called me my mamma's cry-baby? Who said he spected I'd back out?"</p>
+
+<p>"But you see, Billy, my feet!"</p>
+
+<p>Willy, whose own feet were nearly freezing, replied by a sniff of
+contempt. He planted himself on a rock in the middle of the river, and
+awaited the rest of Fred's speech.</p>
+
+<p>"You know I've got folks living this side, back there a piece&mdash;my uncle
+Diah. That's where I'll go. They'll let me make a visit, and carry me
+home: they did it last spring."</p>
+
+<p>"And what about <i>me</i>, Fred Chase?"</p>
+
+<p>"You? Why, you may go where you're a mind to."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What? Me, that you coaxed so to come?"</p>
+
+<p>Fred quailed before the look and the tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'd take you to uncle Diah's, Willy, only&mdash;well&mdash;I can't very
+well, that's all."</p>
+
+<p>Willy suddenly turned his back, and cleared the stream with one bound.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<h3>"I HA'E NAEBODY NOW."</h3>
+
+
+<p>Standing on the bank, Willy looked back over his shoulder at Fred, and
+saw him dart off into a shady cow-path. No doubt he was going to his
+uncle Diah's. When he was fairly out of sight, and Willy comprehended at
+last that he had really left him, and did not mean to come back, he sat
+down on a stone by the wayside, and began to rave.</p>
+
+<p>"The tormentable, mean, naughty boy! I'd be ashamed to treat a <i>skeeter</i>
+the way he's treated me! Did I ever coax a boy to go anywhere with me,
+and then run off<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> and leave him right in the middle of the river? No,
+<i>sir</i>. Sore feet, hey? Didn't anybody ever have sore feet 'fore now, I
+wonder? Why, I had chilblains last winter so deep they dug a hole into
+my heels, and,&mdash;well, it's no use to make a great fuss,&mdash;I didn't cry
+but two or three times. Blisters! what's that? Nothing but little puffs
+of water! Perhaps that wasn't why he stopped, though. Just as likely as
+not he meant all the time to stop, and come a-purpose to see Mr. Diah.
+How can you tell? A boy that lies so! There, there, come to think of it,
+shouldn't wonder if his feet weren't sore a bit! Wish I'd looked at 'em!</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he's backed out, Fred Chase has! I should think he'd feel so mean
+he never'd want to show <i>his</i> head anywhere again!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> 'Fore I'd <i>sneak
+out</i> when I got started! Eh, for shame!"</p>
+
+<p>Willy tore up a handful of grass, and threw it into the road, and the
+action served to relieve him a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what'll <i>I</i> do? now let's think. If a tiger should come right
+down this ferry-hill, and tear me all to pieces, Fred wouldn't care.
+'Course not. All he cares is to get enough to eat, and not make his feet
+sore. He don't care what comes of me. I've got to think it out for
+myself, what I'd better do. Got to do it myself, too, all alone, and
+there won't be anybody to help me. Pretty scrape, I should think! Might
+have known better'n to come!</p>
+
+<p>"Well; will I be a lumberman and go up to the Forks? Let's see; I don'
+know the way up there. That makes it bad,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> 'cause I guess there isn't
+much of any road to it 'cept spotted trees; that's what I heard once.
+Most likely I'd get lost. Fred wouldn't care if I did; be glad, I
+s'pose. But, then, there's bears. Ugh! Pshaw! who's afraid of bears? And
+then there's mother&mdash;O, I didn't mean to think about mother!"</p>
+
+<p>Willy sighed, but soon roused himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what'll I do? O, wasn't that a real poor breakfast the woman gave
+us? Don't see how I swallowed it! Makes me sick to think of it. Didn't
+taste much like mother's breakfasts! I don't want to go where I'll have
+to drink molasses in my coffee, and eat fatty potatoes too.</p>
+
+<p>"And who'd take a little boy like me? Folks laugh at little boys&mdash;think
+they don't know a thing. And folks always ask<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> so many questions. They
+want to know where you come from, and who your father is, and if he's
+got any cows. And I <i>won't</i> lie. And next thing they'd be sending me
+home. They'd say home was the best place for little boys. H'm! So it is,
+if you don't have to get whipped!</p>
+
+<p>"O, my! Didn't I have to take it that last time? Father never hurt so
+before. Made all the bad come up in my throat, and I can't swallow it
+down yet. It would be good enough for him if I was dead; for then every
+time he went out to the barn there'd be that horsewhip hanging up on the
+nail; and he'd think to himself&mdash;'Where's that little boy I used to
+whip?' And then the tears will come into his eyes, I pretty much know
+they will. I saw the tears in his eyes once when I was sick.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> He felt
+real bad; but when I got well, first thing he did was to whip me again.
+Whippings don't do any good. All that does any good is when mother talks
+to me; and that don't do any good, either. She made me learn this
+verse:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"'And thou, Solomon, my son, know thou the God of thy fathers, and serve
+him with a perfect heart and a willing mind. If thou seek him, he will
+be found of thee, but if thou forsake him, he will cast thee off
+forever.'</p>
+
+<p>"There, I know that straight as a book. She prays to God to make me
+better, but He doesn't do it yet, and I should think she'd get
+discouraged. 'Heart like a stone,' she said. That made me want to laugh,
+for I could feel it beating all the time she spoke, and it couldn't if
+it was a stone!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> Bad heart, though, or I wouldn't be so bad myself.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's no use to think about badness or goodness now," said Willy,
+flinging another handful of grass into the road. "<i>What'll I do?</i> That's
+the question.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, now, folks have such a poor opinion of boys," added he, his
+thoughts spinning round the same circle again. "Most wish I was a girl.
+O, my stars, what an idea!"</p>
+
+<p>And completely disgusted with himself, he jumped up and turned a
+somerset.</p>
+
+<p>"Better be whipped three times a day than be a girl!</p>
+
+<p>"But father felt real bad that time I was sick, for I saw him. Not so
+bad as mother, though. Poor mother! I no business to gone off and left
+her. What you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> s'pose she thought last night, when I didn't come back
+from the post office?"</p>
+
+<p>This question had tried to rise before, but had always been forced back.</p>
+
+<p>"She waited till nine o'clock, and didn't think much queer. But after
+that she come out of the bedroom, with her face tied up, and said she,
+'Hasn't Willy got home yet?' Then they told her 'No,' and father
+scowled. And she sat up till ten o'clock, and then do you s'pose anybody
+went out doors to hunt? She didn't sleep a wink all night. Don't see how
+folks can lie awake so. I couldn't if I should try; but I'm not a woman,
+you know, and I don't believe I should care much about my boys, if I
+was. Would <i>I</i> mend their trousis for 'em, when they tore 'em on a nail,
+going where I told 'em not to? For, says<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> I, I can't bear the sight of a
+child that won't mind. But you see, mother&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Poor mother, what'll she do without me? She said there wasn't anybody
+she could take in her arms to hug but just me. Stephen's too big to sit
+in her lap, and Love's too big; and there wouldn't anybody think of
+hugging Seth, if he was ever so little.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mother wants <i>me</i>. I remember that song she sings about the Scotch
+woman that lost her baby, and she cries a little before she gets
+through."</p>
+
+<p>The words were set to a plaintive air, and Willy hummed it over to
+himself,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I ha'e naebody now, I ha'e naebody now<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">To clasp at my bosom at even,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er his calm sleep to breathe out a vow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">And pray for the blessing of Heaven."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<p>"Poor mother, how that makes her cry! Why, I declare, I'm crying too!
+Somehow seems's if I couldn't get along without mother. But there, I
+won't be a cry-baby! Hush up, Willy Parlin!</p>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">What'll I do?</span> Wish I hadn't come. Wish I'd thought more about
+mother&mdash;how she's going to feel.</p>
+
+<p>"What if I should turn right round now, and go home? Why, father'd whip
+me worse'n ever&mdash;<i>that's</i> what. Well, who cares? It'll feel better after
+it's done smarting. Guess I can stand it. Look here, Will Parlin, I'm
+going."</p>
+
+<p>Bravo, Willy! With both feet he plunged into the river, and waded slowly
+across. Very slowly, for his mind was not fully made up yet. There was a
+great deal of thinking to be done first; but he might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> as well be moving
+on while he thought. Every now and then rebellious pride, or anger, or
+shame would get the better of him, and he would wheel round, with the
+impulse to strike off into the unknown <i>Somewhere</i>, where boys lived
+without whippings. But the thought of his mother always stopped him.</p>
+
+<p>Was there an invisible cord which stretched from her heart to his&mdash;a
+cord of love, which drew him back to her side? He could see her
+sorrowful face, he could hear her pleading voice, and the very tremble
+in it when she sang,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I ha'e naebody now, I ha'e naebody now."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"But I'd never go back and take that whipping, if it wasn't for mother!"</p>
+
+<p>He no longer felt obliged to hide from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> the approach of every human
+being; and when a pedler, driving a "cart of notions," called out, "Want
+a lift, little youngster?" he was very glad to accept the offer. To be
+sure, he only rode two or three miles, but it was a great help.</p>
+
+<p>It was noon, by that time, "high noon too," and the smell of nice
+dinners floated out to him from the farm-houses, as he trudged by; but
+to beg a meal he was ashamed. When he reached Cross Lots it was the
+middle of the afternoon. He went up to the stump near the mill, where he
+and Freddy had sat the night before; and, as he seated himself, he
+thought with a pang of that pocket full of doughnuts, so freely made way
+with.</p>
+
+<p>He had eighteen cents in his wallet; but what good did it do, when there
+was no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> store at hand where a body could buy so much as a sheet of
+gingerbread? He was starving in the midst of plenty, like that
+unfortunate man whose touch turned all the food he put in his mouth into
+gold.</p>
+
+<p>Beginning to think he would almost be willing to be whipped for the sake
+of a good supper, he rose and walked on.</p>
+
+<p>When he reached the Noonin farm, a mile and a half from home, the night
+shadows were beginning to fall, but he could see in the distance a horse
+and wagon coming that made his heart thump loud. The horse was old
+Dolly; and what if one of the men in the wagon should be his father?</p>
+
+<p>No, it was only Seth and Stephen; but Seth was almost as much to be
+dreaded as Mr. Parlin himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You here, you young rogue?" called out Stephen, in a tone between
+laughing and scolding, for he would not have Willy suspect how relieved
+they were at finding him. "You here? And where's Fred?"</p>
+
+<p>"Up to Harlow, to Mr. Diah's," replied Willy, and coolly climbed into
+the wagon.</p>
+
+<p>"Better wait for an invitation. How do you know we shall let you ride?"
+said Stephen, turning the horse's head towards home.</p>
+
+<p>"First, we'd like to know what you've got to say for yourself," put in
+Seth, in that cold, hard tone, which always made Willy feel as if he
+didn't care how he had acted, and as if he would do just so again.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you are aware that you have been a very wicked, deceitful,
+disobedient boy?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Willy made no reply, but lay down on the floor of the wagon, and curled
+himself up like a caterpillar.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be too hard on him, Seth," said Stephen, who could not help
+pitying the poor little fellow in his shame and embarrassment; "I don't
+believe you meant to run away&mdash;now did you, Willy?"</p>
+
+<p>The child was quite touched by this unexpected kindness. So they were
+not sure he did mean to run away? If he said "No," they would believe
+him, and then perhaps he wouldn't have to be whipped. But next instant
+his better self triumphed, and he scorned the lie. Uncurling himself
+from his caterpillar ball, he stammered,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I did mean to, too."</p>
+
+<p>A little more, and he would have told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> the whole story. He longed to
+tell it&mdash;how life had seemed a burden on account of his whippings, and
+how he and Fred had planned to set up in business for themselves, but
+Fred had backed out. But before he had time to speak, Seth said,
+sternly,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You saucy child!"</p>
+
+<p>He had taken Willy's quick "Yes, I did mean to, too," for impertinence;
+whereas it was one of the bravest speeches the boy ever made, and did
+him honor.</p>
+
+<p>After this rebuke from Seth, Willy could not very well go on with his
+confessions; the heart was gone out of him, and he curled up, limp and
+quiet, like a caterpillar again.</p>
+
+<p>"Meant to run away&mdash;did you?" went on Seth, who ought to have known
+better<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> than to pursue the subject; "to run away like a little dirty
+vagabond! You've nearly killed mother, I wish you to understand. You'll
+get a severe thrashing for this. I shall tell father not to show you any
+mercy."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, now, don't kick a fellow when he's down," said Stephen. "Willy
+will be ashamed enough of this."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he ought to be ashamed! If he'd had a teaspoonful of brains he'd
+have known better than to cut up such a caper as this. Did you think you
+could run off so far but that we could find you, child?"</p>
+
+<p>No answer.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you little goslings mean to do with yourselves? Live on
+acorns? And what did Fred's uncle say when he saw him coming into the
+house in that shape?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>No answer.</p>
+
+<p>Stephen looked down at the curled-up bunch on the floor of the wagon,
+and as it did not move, he gently touched it with his foot.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little thing," said he, "I guess he's had a pretty hard cruise of
+it; he's sound asleep."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Mrs. Parlin saw the wagon driving up to the porch door, and came out
+trembling and too much frightened to speak. She supposed at first that
+Willy had not come, for she did not see him till Seth and Stephen lifted
+him out of the wagon, a dead weight between them.</p>
+
+<p>O, her baby&mdash;her baby; what had happened to her dear wee Willie?</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, mother, don't be frightened," said Stephen, cheerily;
+"his tramp has been too much for him; that's all. I guess we'll carry
+him right up stairs to bed."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;want&mdash;some&mdash;supper," moaned the little rebel, waking up just as they
+were laying him on his bed in the pink chamber.</p>
+
+<p>His mother and Love watched him with real pleasure, as he devoured cold
+meat and bread, all they dared let him have, but not half as much as he
+craved. Then he fell asleep again, and did not wake till noon of the
+next day. His mother was bending over him with the tenderest love, just
+as if he had never given her a moment's trouble in his life. That was
+just like his dear mother, and it was more than Willy could bear; he
+threw his arms round her neck, and buried his face in her bosom,
+completely subdued.</p>
+
+<p>"O, mother, mother, I'll never do so again."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"My darling, I am sure you never will."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Down stairs in the dining-room, I think."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm ready; will you tell him I'm ready," cried Willy, drawing a
+quick breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Ready for what, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he is going to whip me, I suppose, and I want it over with."</p>
+
+<p>"And how do you feel about it, my son? Don't you think you deserve to be
+whipped?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes'm, I do," replied Willy, with a sudden burst of candor; "I don't
+see how anybody can help whipping a boy that's acted the way I have."</p>
+
+<p>"That's nobly said, my child," exclaimed Mr. Parlin, stepping out of the
+large clothes-press. "I happened to be in there over-hauling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> the trunk
+that has my Freemason clothes in it, and I couldn't but overhear what
+you've been saying."</p>
+
+<p>Willy buried his face in the pillow. He was willing his mother should
+know his inmost thoughts, but he had always been afraid of his father.</p>
+
+<p>"And, Willy, since you take so kindly to the idea of another whipping, I
+don't know but I shall let you off this time."</p>
+
+<p>Willy opened his eyes very wide.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you why," went on Mr. Parlin. "You didn't deserve the last
+whipping you had; so that will go to offset this one, which you do
+deserve."</p>
+
+<p>Willy's eyes sparkled with delight; still there was a look in them of
+question and surprise. The idea of his ever having a whipping that his
+father thought he didn't deserve!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You were in a shameful state that night, Willy; I can't call it
+anything else but <i>drunk</i>; but I know now how it happened; there was
+brandy in the cider."</p>
+
+<p>"Brandy, papa?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Dr. Potter and I examined the barrel yesterday, and the mixture in
+it was at least one third brandy."</p>
+
+<p>"O, papa, was that why it tasted so bad? I drank one mugful, and didn't
+like it; and then by and by I drank another mugful; but that was all."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Willy; so you told me when I talked with you; and I didn't believe
+you then; but I believe you now."</p>
+
+<p>"O, father, I'm so glad!" cried Willy, with a look such as he had never
+before given his father&mdash;a beaming look of gratitude and love. I think
+he was happier at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> that moment to know that his father trusted him, than
+to know he would not be punished.</p>
+
+<p>He little thought then that he should never have another whipping as
+long as he lived; but so it proved. Not that Mr. Parlin ever changed his
+mind about the good effects of the rod; but when he saw that Willy was
+really trying to be a better boy, he had more patience with him.</p>
+
+<p>And Willy was trying. He continued to be rather hasty and headstrong,
+but the "Indian sulks" gradually melted out of his disposition like ice
+in a summer river. This exploit of running away had a humbling effect,
+no doubt; but more than that, as he grew older he learned to understand
+and love his father better. He found that those dreadful whippings had
+been given<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> "more in sorrow than in anger,"&mdash;given as a help to make him
+better; and the time came when he thanked his father for them.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>And this is all I have to tell of his younger days. When he was
+twenty-seven years old, and pretty Patience Lyman was twenty, they were
+married in Squire Lyman's parlor, by Elder Lovejoy, then a very old man.</p>
+
+<p>After the wedding they rode at once to Willowbrook, where they have both
+lived to this day; she, the dearest of old ladies, and he, a large,
+beautiful, white-headed old man, whom no one would now think of calling
+the <i>Little Grandfather</i>.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Grandfather, by Sophie May
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@@ -0,0 +1,3946 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Grandfather, by Sophie May
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Little Grandfather
+
+Author: Sophie May
+
+Release Date: May 15, 2008 [EBook #25481]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE GRANDFATHER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Josephine Paolucci and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net.
+(This file was produced from images generously made
+available by The Internet Archive.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: LITTLE GRANDFATHER.]
+
+[Illustration: LITTLE GRANDFATHER.
+
+ILLUSTRATED
+
+LEE & SHEPARD, BOSTON]
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES.
+
+
+LITTLE GRANDFATHER.
+
+BY
+
+SOPHIE MAY,
+
+AUTHOR OF "LITTLE PRUDY STORIES," "DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES," "THE DOCTOR'S
+DAUGHTER." ETC.
+
+_ILLUSTRATED._
+
+BOSTON:
+LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
+
+NEW YORK:
+LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM.
+1874.
+
+
+Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873,
+
+BY LEE AND SHEPARD,
+
+In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
+
+Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry,
+No. 19 Spring Lane.
+
+    DEDICATION.
+
+    TO
+
+    _LITTLE MARY TOBEY._
+
+
+
+
+_LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES._
+
+TO BE COMPLETED IN SIX VOLS.
+
+
+    1. LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.
+
+    2. PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE.
+
+    3. AUNT MADGE'S STORY.
+
+    4. LITTLE GRANDMOTHER.
+
+    5. LITTLE GRANDFATHER.
+
+    6. (In preparation.)
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER                                            PAGE.
+
+I. THE PARLINS.                                       9
+
+II. WALKING IN SLEEP.                                21
+
+III. THE TRUNDLE-BED.                                41
+
+IV. THE OX-MONEY.                                    53
+
+V. THE BOY THAT WORE HOME THE MEDAL.                 63
+
+VI. THE BOY THAT MEANT TO MIND HIS MOTHER.           80
+
+VII. THE BOY THAT CHEATED.                           97
+
+VIII. THE "NEVER-GIVE-UPS."                         113
+
+IX. THE MUSTER.                                     134
+
+X. GOING TO SEA.                                    153
+
+XI. TO THE FORKS.                                   173
+
+XII. "I HA'E NAEBODY NOW."                          197
+
+XIII. CONCLUSION.                                   215
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE GRANDFATHER.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE PARLINS.
+
+
+He did look so funny when they first put him into "pocket-clothes!" His
+green "breeches" were so tight that they made you think of two pods of
+marrow-fat peas, only they were topped off with a pair of "rocco" shoes,
+as red as bell-peppers. He had silver buckles on his shoes, and brass
+buttons on his green jacket, which was fastened at the back. He had a
+white collar about his neck as large as a small cape, and finished off
+around the edge with a ruffle. His mother had snipped his dark locks so
+they needn't look so much like a girl's; and then with his brown fur hat
+on, which his grandfather Cheever had sent from Boston, he looked in the
+glass and smiled at himself.
+
+Do you wonder he smiled?
+
+He had bright black eyes, red cheeks, and a rich, dark skin. He was a
+handsome little creature; but when he was tanned, his brother Stephen
+called him a "Pawnee Indian," which was a heavy joke, and sank deeper
+into Willy's tender soul than Stephen suspected.
+
+After he had viewed himself in the mirror, dressed in his new suit, he
+ran to his best comforter, his mother, and said, with a quivering lip,--
+
+"Isn't I _most_ white, mamma?"
+
+His mother caught him to her breast and hugged him, brown fur hat and
+all, and told him he mustn't mind Steenie's jokes; he was not an Indian,
+and Molly Molasses--the squaw who came around with baskets to
+sell--would never carry him off.
+
+He was three years old at this time, and so full of high spirits and
+health, that he was rather a troublesome child to manage. Mrs. Parlin
+sometimes remarked, with a sigh and a smile,--
+
+"I don't know what I _shall_ do with our Willy!"
+
+If she had said, "I don't know what I should do without him," it would
+have been nearer the truth; for never did mother dote more on a child.
+He was the youngest, and two little children next older--a son and a
+daughter--had been called to their heavenly home before he was born.
+People said Mrs. Parlin was in a fair way to spoil Willy, and her
+husband was so afraid of it, that he felt it his duty to be very stern
+with the boy.
+
+Seth, the oldest son, helped his father in this, and seemed to be
+constantly watching to see what Willy would do that was wrong.
+
+Stephen, two years younger than Seth, was not so severe, and hardly ever
+scolded, but had a very "hectoring disposition," and loved dearly to
+tease his little brother.
+
+Love, the only sister, and the eldest of the family, was almost as
+soothing and affectionate to Willy as Mrs. Parlin herself. She was tall,
+fair, and slender, like a lily, and you could hardly believe it possible
+that she would ever grow to be such a very large woman as her mother,
+or that Mrs. Parlin had once been thin and delicate, like Love.
+
+There was another, besides these two, who petted Willy; and that was
+"Liddy," the housemaid. Lydia was a Quaker woman, and every "First Day"
+and "Fifth Day"--that is, Sunday and Thursday--she went off to a
+meeting, which was held over the river, three miles away, in a yellow
+"meeting-house" without any steeple. It was not always convenient to
+spare Lydia on "Fifth Day," for, Mr. Parlin kept a country hotel, or, as
+it was called in those days, a "tavern," and there was plenty of work to
+be done; but no matter how much company came, "Liddy" would leave her
+pies half rolled out on the board, or her goose half stuffed, and walk
+off to the Quaker settlement to meeting. But when she came back, she
+went steadily to work again, and was such a good, honest, pious woman,
+that nobody thought of finding any fault with her.
+
+She was all the "regular help" Mrs. Parlin had; but Mrs. Knowles did the
+washing, and often Siller Noonin came in to help Lydia with an extra
+baking.
+
+Caleb Cushing--or, as the country people called him, "Kellup"--was the
+man of all work, who took care of the sheep and cattle, and must always
+be ready to "put up" the horses of any traveller who happened to stop at
+the house.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Parlin, the four children, and Caleb and Lydia, made up the
+household, with the addition of great shaggy Fowler, the dog, and
+speckled Molly, the cat, with double fore-paws.
+
+Grandfather Cheever, with his hair done up in a queue, came sometimes
+from Boston, and made a long visit; but you could hardly say he belonged
+to the family.
+
+Now, my story is to be about Willy, and I would like to describe him;
+but how can I, when I have heard such various accounts of the child? I
+suppose, if you had questioned the family about him, you would have
+heard a different story from every one. His father would have shaken his
+head, and said, Willy was a "singular child; there was no _regulation_
+to him." Seth would have told you he was "impudent." Stephen would have
+called him "a cry-baby," and Caleb, "the laziest little chap he ever
+came across;" though "grandf'ther Cheever" thought him "very bright and
+stirring." Love would have said, "He is _so_ affectionate!" which his
+father very much doubted. Lydia might possibly have called him a
+"rogue," because he would spy out her doughnuts and pies, no matter
+where she hid them away for safe keeping.
+
+But I know very well how his _mother_ would have answered your question
+about Willy. She would have said, "Don't talk of his faults; he is my
+own little darling."
+
+And then she would have opened her arms wide, and taken him right in:
+that is the way it is with mothers.
+
+Thus you see our Willy was not the same to everybody; and no child ever
+is. To those who loved him he was "sweet as summer;" but not so to those
+who loved him not.
+
+I suspect Willy was rather contrarily made up; something like a mince
+pie, perhaps. Let us see.
+
+Short and crusty, now and then; rich, in good intentions; sweet, when he
+had his own way; sour, when you crossed him; well-spiced, with bright
+little speeches. All these qualities made up Willy's "points;" and you
+know a mince pie is good for nothing without points.
+
+Some people brought out one of these "points," and some another. Seth
+expected him to be as sharp as cider vinegar; and so I am afraid he was,
+whenever Seth corrected him. But his mother looked for sweet qualities
+in her little darling, and was never disappointed.
+
+Willy slept in the bedroom, in a trundle-bed which had held every one of
+the children, from the oldest to the youngest. After he had said his
+prayers, Mrs. Parlin tucked him up nice and warm, and even while she
+stood looking at his rosy cheeks, with the rich fringes of his eyelids
+resting on them, he often dropped off into dreamland. She had a way of
+watching him in his sleep, and blessing him without any words, only
+saying in her heart,--
+
+"Dear God, let me keep this last precious treasure! But if that may not
+be, O, lay it up for me in heaven."
+
+Willy was afraid to go to bed alone, which is hardly to be wondered at;
+for he had a strange and dreadful habit of walking in his sleep. Such
+habits are not as common now as they were in old times, I believe.
+Whether Willy's walks had anything to do with the cider and doughnuts,
+which were sometimes given him in the evening, unknown to his mother, I
+cannot say; but Mrs. Parlin was never sure, when she "tucked" him into
+his trundle-bed, that he would spend the night there. Quite as likely he
+would go wandering about the house; and one cold winter, when he was a
+little more than seven years old, he got up regularly every night, and
+walked fast asleep into the bar-room, which was always full of men, and
+took his seat by the fireplace.
+
+This was such a constant habit, that the men expected to see him about
+half past eight o'clock, just as much as they expected to see the cider
+and apples which "Kellup" brought out of the cellar.
+
+In those days cider was almost as freely drunk as water, and so, I
+grieve to say, was New England rum and brandy; and you must not suppose
+Mr. Parlin was a bad man because he allowed such drinking in his
+bar-room. There were no pledges signed in those days, but he was a
+perfectly temperate man, and a church member; he would have thought it
+very strange indeed if any one had told him he was doing wrong to sell
+liquor to his neighbors.
+
+And now, having introduced Master Willy and the rest of the family as
+well as I can, I will go on to tell you a few of Willy's adventures,
+some of which occurred while he was asleep, and some while he was
+awake.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+WALKING IN SLEEP.
+
+
+About seven o'clock, one cold evening, Willy was in the bar-room,
+sitting on Caleb's knee, and holding a private conversation with him,
+while he nibbled a cookie.
+
+"Don't you think it's the beautifulest bossy ever you saw?"
+
+"Well, middlin' handsome," replied Caleb, mischievously; "middlin'
+handsome."
+
+"O, Caleb, when it's got a white place in its forehead shaped _so_!"
+said Willy, biting his cookie into something like the form of a star.
+
+"Well, yes; you see he'd be quite a decent-looking calf, if it wasn't
+for that white streak, now," said Caleb, in a tone of regret.
+
+"If it _wasn't_ for that white streak! Why, Caleb Cushing!--when 'twas
+put there to purpose to be kissed! Love said so."
+
+"Well, everybody to their fancy," returned Caleb, dryly. "I never had
+any notion for kissing cattle, myself."
+
+"She isn't a cattle, Cale Cushing. She's my bossy."
+
+"Yours, do you say? Then you'd better take care of him, Willy. He walked
+up to the kitchen door to-day, to see if he could find anything there to
+lay his hands on."
+
+"Hands? He hasn't any hands, Caleb! But you ought to take care of her,
+any way, till I grow a man; father spects you to. And then, when she
+gets to be a ox--"
+
+"Well, what are you going to do when she gets to be a ox?"
+
+Willy looked puzzled. He had never thought of that before.
+
+"Have him killed--shan't you, sonny? He'll make very nice eating."
+
+Willy stood upright on Caleb's knee, in horror and amaze.
+
+"My bossy killed? I'll send anybody to jail that kills that bossy."
+
+"Then perhaps you'd better trade him off now to Squire Lyman. Didn't the
+squire offer to swap his baby for him?"
+
+"Yes; and so I would if that baby was a boy," said Willy, thoughtfully;
+"but she's only a girl--couldn't help me bring in chips, you know.
+Guess I don't want a girl-baby."
+
+Caleb laughed at this very quietly, but his whole frame was shaking; and
+Willy turned round and looked him in the eye with strong displeasure.
+
+"What you laughing at, Cale Cushing? You mustn't make fun of my bossy.
+I'll tell you what I'll do with her. I'll keep her to haul hay with."
+
+"Did you ever see one ox hauling hay alone, Willy?"
+
+"No; but I'll have a little cart, and then she can."
+
+"But the trouble is, Willy, your ox might feel lonesome."
+
+"Well, I'll buy one ox more, and then he won't be lonesome."
+
+"Ah! but, Willy, oxen cost money."
+
+"'Sif I didn't know that! How much money do they cost, Caleb?"
+
+"Sometimes more, sometimes less. Pretty high this winter, for hay is
+plenty. There was a man along from the west'ard, and, Willy, what think
+he offered your pa for that brindled yoke of his?"
+
+"Three dollars?"
+
+"Seventy-five dollars; and your pa wouldn't let 'em go under ninety!
+Think of that," added Caleb, dropping his voice, and appearing to talk
+to the beech-wood fire, which was crackling in the big fireplace. "Think
+of that! Ninety dollars! Enough to buy a small farm! Just what I should
+have got in the logging-swamp, winter before last, if Dascom hadn't
+cheated me out of it."
+
+"What did you say, Caleb?"
+
+"O, I was just talking to myself," replied Caleb, rather bitterly. "It
+wasn't anything little boys should hear. I was only thinking how easy
+money comes to some folks, and how hard it comes to others. You see I
+worked a whole winter once, and never got a cent of pay; and I couldn't
+help feeling it when your pa put that ninety dollars away in his
+drawer."
+
+"You didn't want my father's money--did you, Caleb Cushing?"
+
+"No, child; only I knew if I'd had justice done me, I should have had
+ninety dollars myself. It was mine by good rights, and I hadn't ought to
+be cheated out of it."
+
+Willy looked up astonished. What did Caleb mean by saying it was "his by
+good rights"?--his father's money. For he had not heard all Caleb's
+remarks, and what he had heard he had entirely misunderstood.
+
+"Willy!" called his mother's voice from the sitting-room; but the little
+fellow, was too excited to hear.
+
+"Do you mean my father's money, Caleb, that he keeps in his drawer?"
+
+"Yes, yes, child; laid inside of a book," replied Caleb, carelessly.
+
+"What! and you want it?--my father's money?"
+
+"Yes, yes," laughed Caleb; "off to bed, child. Don't you hear your
+mother calling?"
+
+Willy slipped down from the man's knee, and walked out of the room in
+deep thought. Why Caleb should want his father's money, and say he had
+a right to it, was more than he could understand; and he went to sleep
+with his little brain in a whirl.
+
+Very soon tired and chilly teamsters began to pour into the bar-room,
+and rub their hands before the roaring fire. Caleb, who had quite
+forgotten his unlucky conversation with Master Willy, put fresh wood on
+the andirons, and brushed the hearth with a strip broom. Presently Mr.
+Parlin himself appeared in the doorway, bearing a huge pitcher of cider,
+which sparkled in a jolly way, as if it were glad to leave its hogshead
+prison in the dark cellar, and come up into such lively company.
+
+"Well, neighbors, this is a cold evening," said Mr. Parlin, setting the
+pitcher down on the counter, and looking round with a hospitable smile.
+"Caleb, fetch out the loggerhead."
+
+Caleb drew from the left ear of the fireplace a long iron bar, and
+thrust it into the hot coals. That was the loggerhead, and you will soon
+see what it was used for.
+
+While it was still heating, Dr. Hilton took from one corner of the room
+a child's arm-chair, and set it down at a comfortable distance from the
+fireplace.
+
+"We'll have it all ready for Bubby, when he makes us his visit," said
+he, laughing.
+
+Some one always placed the chair there for Willy, and it was usually Dr.
+Hilton.
+
+When the loggerhead was red hot, Caleb drew it out of the coals, and
+plunged it into the cold cider, which immediately began to bubble and
+hiss. Then he poured the sparkling liquid into mugs for the thirsty
+teamsters to drink; and while he was still holding the pitcher high in
+air, that the cider might come down with a good "bead," the door slowly
+opened, and in glided Willy, in his yellow flannel night-dress.
+
+The men smiled and nodded at one another, but said nothing, as the child
+crossed the floor, seated himself in the little red chair, and began to
+rock. He rocked with such careless grace, and held his little feet
+before the blaze so naturally, that you would have thought he came into
+the room merely to warm his toes and to hear the men talk. You would
+never have supposed he was asleep unless you had looked at his eyes.
+They were wide open, it is true, but fixed, like a doll's eyes. If you
+had held a lighted candle before them, I suppose they would not have
+winked.
+
+[Illustration: THE LITTLE SLEEP-WALKER.--Page 31.]
+
+In fact, Willy was fast asleep and dreaming; and all the difference
+between him and other sleepers was, that he acted out his dreams.
+
+"Queer what ails that child! Must be trouble on the brain, and he ought
+to be bled," said Dr. Hilton, with the wise roll of the eye he always
+gave when he talked of diseases.
+
+Nobody answered, for the doctor had said the same thing fifty times
+before.
+
+Still little Willy kept on rocking and dreaming, as unconscious as a
+yellow lily swinging on its stem.
+
+Everybody had a story to tell, which everybody else laughed at, while
+the fire joined in the uproar right merrily. Still Willy slept on.
+
+Presently a glare of light at the windows startled the company.
+
+"Must be a fire somewhere!" said one of the men.
+
+"Only the moon rising," said another.
+
+"That's no place to look for the moon," said Mr. Parlin, seizing his hat
+and cloak.
+
+"Fire! Fire!" shouted Mr. Riggs, running to the door in a panic.
+
+"I'll warrant it's nothing but a chimney burning out," remarked Caleb,
+coolly; and when all the rest had gone to learn what it meant, he chose
+to stay behind.
+
+There was nobody left in the bar-room now but himself and the sleeping
+Willy.
+
+"Guess I'll take a look at the drawer, and see that the money is all
+right," said careful Caleb, stepping inside the bar, which had a long
+wooden grate, and looked somewhat like an enormous bird-cage, with the
+roof off. "Mr. Parlin is a very careless man," said Caleb, drawing a
+key from its hiding-place in an account-book; "he's dreadful free and
+easy about money. I don't know what he'd do without me to look out for
+him."
+
+So saying, Caleb turned the key in the lock, and opened the drawer.
+There were rolls of bank bills lying in it, and handfuls of gold and
+silver.
+
+"With so many coming and going in this house, it's a wonder Mr. Parlin
+ain't robbed every night of his life," said Caleb, reckoning over the
+bills very fast, for he was in the habit of counting money.
+
+Was it all right? Was the ox money there? When the "man from the
+west'ard" paid it to Mr. Parlin, Caleb saw Mr. Parlin spread it between
+the leaves of a little singing-book and lay it in the drawer. Did Caleb
+find it there now? And if he did, did he _leave_ it there?
+
+Little boys, what do you suppose? You see he had been cheated out of
+ninety dollars, and was very angry about it; and now he had the best
+chance in the world to help himself to another ninety dollars, and make
+up his loss. Do you think he would do it? Mr. Parlin _was_ very careless
+about money; quite likely he would never miss this. Was that what Caleb
+was thinking about, as he knit his brows so hard?
+
+True, Caleb professed to fear God, but perhaps he did not fear Him;
+perhaps he had been living a lie all this time--who knows?
+
+After he had staid inside the bar a little while, he came out, and
+looking carefully at Willy, to make sure he was still asleep, stole out
+doors and joined the teamsters. They had only reached the top of the
+hill, and hardly any one had noticed that Caleb had not been with them
+all the while. The fire was only Mr. Chase's chimney burning out; but it
+was so late by this time that the men did not go back to Mr. Parlin's
+bar-room.
+
+Next morning Caleb went over to Cross Lots to see about selling a load
+of potatoes, and soon after he left there was a great excitement in the
+house. Mr. Parlin had found, on going to his money-drawer, that he had
+lost ninety dollars.
+
+"Strange!" said he; "I remember it was there all safe at six o'clock;
+for I saw it with my own eyes. It was spread in an old singing-book; and
+the singing-book is gone too."
+
+"Could anybody have taken it?" said Love. "Who was here last night?"
+
+"O, I never leave a man alone in the bar-room," replied her father; "at
+any rate I didn't last night."
+
+"Caleb would attend to that," said Mrs. Parlin; "he is more particular
+than you are, I think."
+
+Willy looked up, with his black eyes full of questions.
+
+"Was it that money you had for the oxen, papa? Caleb telled me all about
+it last night. He said you ought to not keep it; you ought to give it to
+him; he wanted it."
+
+Mr. Parlin shook his head at Willy. "You mustn't make up such stories as
+that, my son."
+
+"I guess he dreamed it," said sister Love.
+
+"O, I didn't, I didn't; Caleb said so," cried Willy; "he said so last
+night."
+
+Caleb was gone an unusually long time; and when Dr. Hilton returned from
+Harlow he said he left him at the bank in that town depositing some
+money.
+
+That seemed strange, for Caleb had been so unfortunate that no one
+supposed he had any money to put in the bank.
+
+"If it was anybody but Caleb, I should almost suspect he took that
+ninety dollars," said Seth, after a while.
+
+"Don't--don't think it," exclaimed his mother; "we know Caleb too well
+for that."
+
+"O, no, no, no!" cried little Willy. "Caleb is going to give me some
+rabbits. Caleb carries me pickaback; do you s'pose he'd steal?"
+
+They all laughed at that; it was a little boy's reasoning.
+
+When Caleb came home that night, and was asked why he had been gone so
+long, he blushed, and, as Seth thought, looked guilty. He did not say he
+had put any money in the bank, and did not even mention having been at
+Harlow at all. Nobody could think why he should make such a secret of
+going to Harlow, for Caleb was a great talker, and usually told all his
+affairs to everybody.
+
+"Father has lost ninety dollars, Caleb," said Seth, looking him straight
+in the eye; "who do you suppose has got it?"
+
+"Where? When?" cried Caleb; and then, when he had heard the story, he
+turned quite pale, and declared he was "'palled." When Caleb was greatly
+amazed, he said he was "'palled."
+
+It was very uncomfortable at Mr. Parlin's for a few days. Nobody liked
+to believe that Caleb had taken the money, but it did really seem very
+much like it. Mrs. Parlin said she could not and would not believe it,
+and she even shed tears when she saw her husband and sons treat Caleb so
+coldly.
+
+Poor Caleb! Whether he was guilty or not, he was certainly very unhappy.
+
+"Willy," said he, "what made you tell your father I said I wanted his
+money? I never made such a speech in my life?"
+
+"O, yes, you did, Caleb! Certain true you did! And I a sitting on your
+knee. But you wouldn't steal, Cale Cushing, and I telled my papa you
+wouldn't."
+
+"Willy," said Caleb, sadly, "I don't think you mean to tell a lie, but
+what you are talking about I don't know. I never stole so much as a pin
+in my life; yet all the same I must go away from this place. I can't
+stay where everybody is pointing the finger at me."
+
+"Who pointed a finger at you, Caleb? I didn't see 'em."
+
+Caleb smiled a broken-hearted smile, kissed Willy over and over again,
+and went away that night, no one knew whither. He said to himself,--
+
+    "Honor gone, all's gone;
+    Better never have been born."
+
+Was he guilty? Who could tell? Was he innocent? Then you may be sure God
+would make it clear some time. Caleb would only have to wait.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE TRUNDLE-BED.
+
+
+They were all very sorry to have Caleb go away, for he had lived in the
+family a great many years, and was always good-natured and obliging.
+
+"But since he has turned out to be a thief, of course we don't want him
+here," said Seth.
+
+"How can you speak so, my son?" said his mother, reprovingly. "You do
+not really know any harm of Caleb. Remember what the Bible says, 'Judge
+not, that ye be not judged.'
+
+"Why, mother, who judged Caleb? Who ever accused him of stealing? I
+should think he judged himself--shouldn't you? When a man runs away as
+he did, it looks very much as if he was guilty."
+
+"O, no," said gentle Love, who was knitting "double mittens" in the
+corner; "that isn't a sure sign at all. I dare say he went away because
+he was unhappy. How would _you_ like to live with people that don't
+trust you? Why, Seth, you couldn't bear it, I'm sure."
+
+"I wish Caleb didn't go off," said Willy; "he was a-going to give me a
+rabbit."
+
+"Well," said Stephen, in a teasing tone, "he wouldn't have gone off if
+it hadn't been for you, Master Willy! You said he wanted father's money,
+you know, and that was what put us to thinking."
+
+"O, yes, he telled me he wanted it," cried the little fellow stoutly.
+
+"Willy, Willy, you should be more careful in repeating other people's
+words," said Mrs. Parlin, looking up from the jacket she was making.
+"Little boys like you are so apt to make mistakes, that they ought to
+say, 'Perhaps,' or, 'I think so,' and never be too sure."
+
+"Then I'm not sure; but _perhaps_ I know, and I _guess_ I think so real
+hard."
+
+"That's right, little Pawnee Indian," laughed Stephen. "Indians like you
+always stick fast to an idea when they once get hold of it."
+
+"I'm not an Indian," said Willy, ready to cry; "and I never said Caleb
+stealed; 'twas you said so; you know you did."
+
+It grew very cold that winter, about "Christmas-tide," and one night the
+wind howled and shrieked, while up in the sky the moon and stars seemed
+to shiver and shine like so many icicles. Willy had been put to bed at
+the usual time, and nicely tucked in, and it was nearly half past eight,
+the time for him to begin his wanderings. Lydia sat by the kitchen
+fireplace, comforting herself with hot ginger tea.
+
+"It would be too bad for that little creetur to get out of bed such a
+night as this," thought she; "I'm going in to see if he has enough
+clothes on. Who knows but his dear little nose is about _fruz_ off by
+this time?"
+
+So she stole into the bedroom, which opened out of the kitchen, took a
+peep at her beloved Willy, made sure his nose was safe, and turned down
+the coverlet to see if his hands were warm.
+
+"Poor, sweet little lamb! Not much cold now; but thee will be cold;
+this room is just like a barn."
+
+Then, as "Liddy" went back to the kitchen, she wondered if it might not
+be the cold weather that made Willy have what she called his
+"walking-spells."
+
+"For he is so much worse in winter than he is in summer," thought she.
+"Any way, I'm going to try, and see if I can't put a stop to it
+to-night; and then, if the _expeeriment_ works, I'll try it again."
+
+What "expeeriment"? You will soon see. There had been a quantity of
+charcoal put on the kitchen fire to broil some steak for travellers; so
+the kind-hearted Liddy bustled about on tiptoe, filled a shallow pan
+with some of the coals, "piping hot," and placed it very near the
+trundle-bed, on Mrs. Parlin's foot-stove.
+
+Alas for Liddy's ignorance! she was always rather foolish in her
+fondness for Willy; but didn't she know any better than to put a dish of
+red coals so near him in a small room, and then go out and shut the
+door? She often said she didn't "see any use in all this book-larning,"
+and wondered Mrs. Parlin should be so anxious to have her children go to
+school. In her whole life Liddy had never attended school more than six
+months; and as for chemistry and philosophy she knew nothing about them
+except that they are hard words to spell. She did not dream that there
+was a deadly gas rising every moment from that charcoal, and that her
+darling Willy was breathing it into his lungs. She may have heard of the
+word "gas," but if she had she supposed it was some sort of "airy
+nothing" not worth mentioning.
+
+Of course _you_ know that if she had hated Willy, and wished to murder
+him, she could hardly have chosen a surer way than this; but poor Liddy
+went back to the kitchen with a smiling face, feeling well pleased with
+her "_expeeriment_," and began to chop a hash of beef, pork, and all
+sorts of vegetables, for to-morrow's breakfast.
+
+After a little while Willy began to toss about uneasily; but he did not
+come out of the room and Liddy was delighted. She had said she meant to
+put a stop to that; and so, indeed, she had,--for this time at least.
+The dear child had not strength enough to get out of bed, and moaned as
+if a heavy hand were clutching at his throat. In fact he was
+suffocating. It is frightful to think of! Was nobody coming to save him?
+
+The chilly teamsters had some time ago crowded into the bar-room with
+frost on their hair and whiskers; but the frost was fast turning to
+steam as they drank the cider which John, the new hired man, heated with
+the red-hot loggerhead. Dr. Hilton had set out the little red chair, and
+somebody would have wondered why Willy did not come in, if the men had
+not all been so busy telling stories that they did not have time to
+think of anything else.
+
+It was now nearly nine, and Mrs. Parlin and Love were in the
+sitting-room sewing by the light of two tallow candles.
+
+"Isn't it the coldest night we've had this year, mother?"
+
+"Yes, dear, I think it is. You know what the old ditty says,--
+
+    'When the days begin to lengthen,
+    The cold begins to strengthen.'
+
+"I do wish dear little Willy would stay in his bed, nicely 'happed' in'"
+(_happed_ is the Scotch word for "tucked"), "but I suppose he is just as
+well off by the bar-room fire. It's lucky he doesn't take a fancy to
+wander anywhere else, and we can always tell where he is."
+
+"But, mother, I haven't heard him pass through the south entry,--have
+you? I always know when he goes into the bar-room by the quick little
+click of the latch."
+
+"So do I," replied her mother; "but now I think of it, I haven't heard
+him to-night. I can't help hoping he is going to lie still."
+
+There was nothing more said for a little while. They were both very busy
+finishing off a homespun suit for Willy. How should they suspect that a
+strange stupor was fast stealing over their little darling? Who was
+going to tell them that even now he was entering the valley of the
+shadow of death? _Who?_ I cannot answer that question; I only know that
+just then Mrs. Parlin, who was going to bed in about fifteen minutes,
+and did not like to leave her work yet, suddenly dropped the jacket,
+which was almost done, and said,--
+
+"Love, I guess I'll go in and look at that child. He may have tossed the
+clothes off and got a little chilly."
+
+Then she arose from her chair slowly,--she was so large that she always
+moved slowly,--took one of the candles, and went into the kitchen.
+
+As she opened the bedroom door--Well, I cannot tell you; you will have
+to imagine that white, white face, pressed close to the pillow, that
+limp little figure, stretched under the coverlet, in awful stillness.
+
+"O God, is it too late?" thought Mrs. Parlin. She saw the charcoal; she
+understood it all in an instant.
+
+"Lydia, come quick!"
+
+A low moan fell on her ear as she bent to listen. Thank Heaven, it was
+not too late! Willy could yet be saved!
+
+Happy mother, receiving her precious one as if from the dead! Bewildered
+Willy, coming back to life with no remembrance of the dark river which
+he had almost forded, without a thought of the pearly gates he had
+almost entered!
+
+Conscience-stricken "Liddy!" How she suffered when she found what she
+had done! Not that she made a scene by screaming and tearing her hair,
+as some ignorant people are apt to do at such a time. No; Liddy was a
+Quaker, and the Quaker blood is very quiet. She only pressed her hands
+together hard, and said to Mrs. Parlin,--
+
+"Thee knows I never _meant_ any harm to that sweet child."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+THE OX-MONEY.
+
+
+Perhaps the shock had some effect upon Willy's habits, for after this he
+did not walk in his sleep for some time.
+
+But one night, as the teamsters were drinking their cider, and talking
+about the well-beloved "Kellup," wondering why he should take it into
+his head to steal,--"as honest a man, they had always thought, as ever
+trod shoe-leather,"--the bar-room door softly opened, and in glided
+Willy, in his flannel night-dress.
+
+The men were really glad to see him, and nodded at one another, smiling,
+but, as usual, made no remark about the child. They knew he could not
+hear, but it seemed as if he could, and they were a little careful what
+they said before him.
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Parlin, going on to speak of Caleb, "I considered him an
+honest, God-fearing man, and trusted him as I would one of my own sons.
+If there was any other way to account for that money, I should be glad,
+I assure you,--as glad as any of you."
+
+"Where has Kellup gone to?" asked Mr. Griggs.
+
+"Gone to Bangor, they say."
+
+All this while Willy had not seated himself in his little chair, but was
+walking towards the bar. After muttering to himself a little while, he
+went in and took from the shelf the old account-book. Mr. Parlin looked
+at the teamsters, and put his finger on his lips as a hint for them to
+keep still, and see what the child would do.
+
+Willy felt in the account-book for the key, then glided along to the
+money-drawer and opened it.
+
+"There, now, it isn't here," said he, after he had fumbled about for a
+while with his chubby fingers; "the book isn't here that had the
+ox-money in it. Caleb mustn't have that money; it belongs to my father."
+
+The men grew very much interested, and began to creep up a little
+nearer, in order to catch every word.
+
+"Money all gone," sighed Willy; and then, appearing to think for a
+moment, added, "O, yes; but I know where I put it!"
+
+Breathless with surprise, Mr. Parlin and his guests watched the child as
+he pattered with bare feet across the floor to the west side of the
+room, climbed upon a high stool, and opening the "vial cupboard," took
+out from a chink in the wall, behind the bottles, a little old
+singing-book.
+
+It was only the danger of startling Willy too suddenly that prevented
+the amazed father from snatching the book out of his hand.
+
+"Yes, the ox-money is here," said Willy, patting the notes, which lay
+between the leaves.
+
+How _do_ you suppose he could see them, with his eyes fixed and vacant?
+
+Then he seemed to be considering for a space what to do; but at last put
+the singing-book back again in the chink behind the bottles, clambered
+down from the stool, and taking his favorite seat in the red chair,
+began to warm his little cold feet before the fire.
+
+"Well, that beats all!" exclaimed Dr. Hilton, before any one else could
+get breath to speak.
+
+Mr. Parlin went at once to the cupboard, and took down the singing-book.
+
+"The money is safe and sound," said he, as he looked it over,--"safe and
+sound; and Caleb Cushing is an honest man, thank the Lord!"
+
+"Three cheers for Caleb!" said Dr. Hilton.
+
+"Three cheers for Kellup!" cried one of the teamsters.
+
+And quite forgetting the sleeping child, the rest of the teamsters took
+up the toast, and shouted,--
+
+"Three cheers for Kellup Cushing! Hoo-ra-a-ay!"
+
+Of course that waked Willy, and frightened him dreadfully. Imagine
+yourself going to sleep in bed, and waking up in a chair in another
+room, in a great noise. It was the first time the little fellow had ever
+been roused from one of his "walking-spells," and they had to carry him
+away to his mother to be comforted.
+
+He did not know that night what had happened; but next morning they told
+him that Caleb did not steal the money, and that papa had written a
+letter to beg him to come back.
+
+"And how think we found out that Caleb didn't steal?" asked Stephen.
+
+Of course Willy had not the least idea.
+
+"Because you stole the money yourself!" replied the hectoring Stephen.
+
+"O, what a story!" exclaimed Willy, angrily. "'S if _I'd_ steal!"
+
+"Ah, but you did, little man! I'll leave it to father if you didn't!"
+
+Willy stamped and kicked. He had a high temper when it was aroused, and
+his sister Love had to come and quiet him.
+
+"You took the money in your sleep," said she. "You didn't mean to do it;
+you are not a thief, dear; and we love you just as well as we did
+before."
+
+They all thought Willy must have had a dream about Caleb and the
+ox-money, or he would never have gone and taken the singing-book out of
+the drawer; but from that day to this he has never been able to
+remember the dream.
+
+Caleb cried for joy when he received the letter, and fell on his
+knees,--so he afterwards told grandpa Cheever,--and thanked his heavenly
+Father for bringing him out of the greatest trial he had ever had in his
+life. He was very glad to go back to Mr. Parlin's, and everybody there
+received him like a prince. King George the Third, coming in his own
+ship from England, would not have been treated half so well; for the
+Parlins despised him,--poor crazy monarch,--whereas they now thought
+Caleb was the very pink of perfection. Even Seth begged pardon for his
+hasty judgment. Mrs. Parlin gave him "election cake," for supper, and
+some of her very best ginger preserves, and said she did not see how
+they could make up for the pain of mind he had suffered.
+
+Caleb confessed that he _had_ felt "kind o' bad; but it wasn't worth
+speaking of now."
+
+After this, when Willy told any improbable story, and insisted that it
+was true, as children often will, his mother had only to remark,--
+
+"Remember Caleb! You said he wanted your father's money. Is this story
+any more reasonable than that?" and Willy would blush, and stammer
+out,--
+
+"Well, _perhaps_ it isn't true, mamma. I won't tell it for certain; but
+I _think_ so, you know!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I believe this was the only time that Willy ever did anything in his
+sleep that is worth recording. The rest of his adventures occurred when
+he was wide awake; so, you see, if he did wrong there was not so much
+excuse for him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+THE BOY THAT WORE HOME THE MEDAL.
+
+
+The school-house was deep red, and shamed the Boston pinks, which could
+not blush to the least advantage near it. It stood on a sand-bank, with
+a rich crop of thistles on three sides, and an oak tree in one corner.
+There were plenty of beautiful places in town; but the people of
+Perseverance, District Number Three, had chosen this spot for their
+school-house, because it was not good for anything else.
+
+It was the middle of September, but the summer term was still in
+session, because school had not begun that year until after haying. It
+was Saturday noon, and the fourth class was spelling. The children were
+all toeing a chalk-mark in the floor, but Willy Parlin scowled and moved
+about uneasily.
+
+"Order there," said Miss Judkins, pounding the desk with her ruler.
+"What makes you throw your head back so, William Parlin?"
+
+"'Cause there's somebody trying to tell me the word, and I don't want
+anybody to tell me," answered Willy, with another toss of his dark
+locks.
+
+Fred Chase was sitting on a bench behind the class, with an open
+spelling-book before him, and was the "somebody" who had been whispering
+the word to Willy; but Willy was naturally as open as the day, and
+despised anything sly. More than that, he knew his lesson perfectly.
+
+Miss Judkins asked no more questions, for she was well aware that Fred
+Chase was constantly doing just such things. She smiled as she looked at
+Willy's noble face, and was well pleased soon after to hear him spell a
+word which had been missed by three boys above him, and march straight
+up to the head. She always liked to have Willy "Captain," for deep down
+in her heart he was her favorite scholar. There were only a few more
+words to be spelled; then Willy called out "Captain," the next boy said
+"Number One," the third "Number Two," and so on down the whole twenty;
+and after that the school was dismissed for the week.
+
+The "mistress" put on her blue gingham "calash,"--a big drawn bonnet
+shaped like a chaise-top,--and as she was leaving the house she
+whispered to Willy, "Don't forget what I told you to say to your
+mother."
+
+"No, marm; you told me to say you'd asked Mrs. Lyman _if it was so_, and
+Mrs. Lyman said, '_Yes, it is too true._'"
+
+"That is it, exactly, dear," replied Miss Judkins, smiling. "And be sure
+you don't lose your medal."
+
+She said that just for fun, and it was such a capital joke that Willy's
+eyes twinkled. Lose the quarter of a dollar dangling from his neck by a
+red string!--the medal which told as plainly as words can speak, that he
+had left off that day at the head of his class!
+
+As it was Saturday, he was to keep the medal till Monday morning--a
+great privilege, and one he had enjoyed two or three times before. But
+there was this drawback; he had to slip the medal under his jacket, out
+of sight, on Sunday. It was the more to be regretted, as he sat in one
+of the "amen pews," not far from the pulpit; and if the medal might only
+hang outside his jacket, where it ought, Elder Lovejoy would certainly
+catch sight of it when he turned round, and looked through his
+spectacles, saying, "And now, seventhly, my dear hearers."
+
+Willy would sit, to-morrow, swelling with secret pride, and wishing
+Elder Lovejoy's eyes were sharp enough to pierce through his jacket. But
+then, as he told his mother, he "liked the feeling of the medal, even
+if it _was_ covered up." I suppose there was some satisfaction in
+knowing he was more of a boy than people took him to be.
+
+"Wonder what it is that Mrs. Lyman says is too true," thought Willy,
+taking a piece of chalk out of his pocket, and drawing a profile of Miss
+Judkins on the door-sill, while that young lady tripped along the road,
+brushing the golden-rod and sweet-fern with the skirt of her dress.
+
+"Now stop that, Gid Noonin," said he, as a large boy came up behind him,
+and tickled him under the arms. "Stop that!" repeated he, making chalk
+figures, as he spoke, in the ample nose of Miss Judkins.
+
+"7ber 18001," scrawled he, slowly and carefully. "7ber" was short for
+September; and Gideon could find no fault with that, for people often
+wrote it so; but he could not help laughing at the extra cipher in the
+year 1801.
+
+"Give me that chalk," chuckled he; and then he wrote, in bold
+characters, "7ber the 15th, 1801."
+
+Willy dropped his head. He had not learned to write; but did he want to
+be taught by that great Gid Noonin, the stupidest boy in school? Why, he
+had gone above Gid long ago, just by spelling "exact." Gideon spelt it
+e, g, z! Did you ever hear of anything so silly? And he a fellow twelve
+years old! Willy was just eight, but he hoped he could spell! If you
+doubted it, there was the medal!
+
+Gideon was not only a poor scholar,--he was regarded as a bad boy, and
+many mothers warned their little sons not to play with him.
+
+"Look here, Billy, what you up to this afternoon? Going anywhere?"
+
+"Only up to the store, I guess. Why?"
+
+"O, nothing partic'lar. Just asked for fun."
+
+"Well, give back that piece of chalk," said Willy, "for it isn't mine.
+Steve keeps it in his pocket to rub his shoe-buckles with."
+
+Gideon laughed, but would not return the chalk till he had whitened
+Willy's jacket with it and the top of his hat. He never seemed to mean
+any harm, but just to be running over with good-natured, silly mischief.
+
+Willy ran home whistling; but when he saw his father standing in the
+front entry, his tune grew a little slower, and then stopped. Mr. Parlin
+was rather stern with his children, and did not like to have them make
+much noise in the house.
+
+"Well, my son, so you have brought home the medal again. That's
+right,--that's right."
+
+Willy took off his hat when his father spoke to him, and answered, "Yes,
+sir," with a respectful bow.
+
+There were two or three men standing in the doorway which led into the
+bar-room.
+
+"How d'ye do, my fine little lad?" said one of the men; "and what is
+your name?"
+
+Now, this was a question which Deacon Turner had asked over and over
+again, and Willy was rather tired of answering it. He thought the deacon
+might remember after being told so many times.
+
+"My name is just the same as it was the other day when you asked me,
+sir," said he.
+
+This pert speech called forth a laugh from all but Mr. Parlin, who
+frowned at the child, and exclaimed,--
+
+"You are an ill-mannered little boy, sir. Go to your mother, and don't
+let me see you here again till you can come back with a civil tongue in
+your head."
+
+Tears sprang to Willy's eyes. He really had not intended any rudeness,
+and was ashamed of being reproved before strangers. He walked off quite
+stiffly, wishing he was "a growed-up man, so there wouldn't anybody dare
+send him out to his mother."
+
+But when he reached the kitchen, he found it so attractive there that he
+soon forgot his disgrace. A roast of beef was sizzling before the fire
+on a string, and Siller Noonin was taking a steaming plum pudding out of
+the Dutch oven, while Mrs. Parlin stood near the "broad dresser," as it
+was called, cutting bread.
+
+"O, mother, mother! the mistress told me to tell you she asked Mrs.
+Lyman what you asked her to, and she told _her_ to ask _me_ to tell
+_you_ it was too true.--Now, _what_ is too true, mother?"
+
+"It is too true that you are right in my way, you dear little plague,"
+said Mrs. Parlin, stopping, in the very act of cutting bread, to hug the
+rosy-cheeked boy. She was a "business woman," and had many cares on her
+mind, but always found time to kiss and pet her children more than most
+people did, and much more than Siller Noonin thought was really
+necessary.
+
+"But, then," as Siller said, "their father never makes anything of them
+at all; so I suppose their mother feels obliged to do more than her part
+of the kissing."
+
+"Mother, mother! what is it that is too true? How can anything be too
+true?" asked Willy, dancing across the hearth, and almost upsetting the
+dripping-pan in which Liddy had just made the gravy.
+
+"You shall hear, by and by, all it is best for you to know," replied
+Mrs. Parlin. And after dinner was served, and Siller had gone home, she
+told him that Siller's nephew, Gideon Noonin, had been a very naughty
+boy--worse than people generally supposed him to be.
+
+She did not like to repeat the whole of the sad story,--how he had
+stolen money from Mr. Griggs, the toll-gatherer, and how poor Mr.
+Noonin, the father, had paid it back by selling some sheep, and begged
+Mr. Griggs not to send his bad son to jail. She did not wish Willy to
+know all this; but she told him she was more than ever convinced that
+Gideon was a wicked boy.
+
+"I don't know what makes you little children all like him so well," said
+she. "He may be funny and good-natured, but he is not a suitable
+playmate for anybody, especially for a small boy like you. Remember the
+old proverb, 'Eggs should not dance with stones.'"
+
+Willy looked deeply interested while his mother was talking, and said he
+would never speak to Gideon except to answer questions.
+
+"But he does ask so many questions! I tell you, mamma, he's always
+taking hold of you, and asking if you don't want to go somewhere, or do
+something. And then he makes you go right along and do it, 'cause he's
+so big. Why he's twice as big as me, mother; but he can't spell worth a
+cent."
+
+A little while after this, Willy ran off, whistling, to buy some
+mackerel and codfish at Daddy Wiggins's store. Before he reached the
+store, he heard a voice up in the air calling out to him,--
+
+"Hullo, Billy Button! what you crying about down there?"
+
+Willy stopped whistling, and looked up to see where the voice came from.
+Gideon Noonin was sitting on the bough of a great maple tree, eating
+gingerbread. The sight of his face filled Willy with strange feelings.
+What a naughty, dreadful face it was, with the purple scar across the
+left cheek! Willy had never admired that scar, but now he thought it was
+horrible. His mother was right: Gid must be a very bad boy.
+
+At the same time Gid's eyes danced in the most enticing manner, and
+laughing gleefully he threw down a great ragged piece of gingerbread,
+which Willy knew, from past experience, must be remarkably nice. It was
+glazed on the top as smooth as satin, and had caraway seeds in it, and
+another kind of spice of an unknown name. Willy intended to obey his
+mother, and beware of Gideon; but who had ever told him to beware of
+Gideon's gingerbread? Gid might be bad, but surely the gingerbread
+wasn't! Moreover, if nobody ate it, it would get stepped on in the road,
+and wasted. So to save it Willy opened his mouth and began to nibble. No
+harm in that--was there?
+
+"Wan't to go swimming, Billy?"
+
+Willy was walking along as fast as he could, but of course he must
+answer a civil question.
+
+"No. Don't know how to swim."
+
+"Who s'posed you did--a little fellow like you?" said Gid, in a
+warm-hearted tone, as he dropped nimbly down from the tree, and alighted
+on his head. "Come 'long o' me, and I'll show you how."
+
+Willy's eyes sparkled,--he didn't know it, but they did,--and he drew in
+his breath with a "Whew!" Not that he had the least idea of going with
+Gid; but the very thought of it was perfectly bewitching. How often he
+had teased his two brothers to teach him to swim! and they wouldn't. He
+was always too young, and they never could stop. They thought he was a
+baby; but Gid didn't think so. Ah, Gid knew better than that.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+THE BOY THAT MEANT TO MIND HIS MOTHER.
+
+
+"Come on, Billy Button."
+
+"O, Gid Noonin, I can't."
+
+"Why not? Got the cramp?"
+
+"Look here, Gid."
+
+"Well, I'm looking."
+
+"Now, Gid Noonin!"
+
+"Yes; that's my name!"
+
+"I shan't go a step!"
+
+"So I wouldn't," returned Gid, coolly. "I only asked you for fun."
+
+"O--h! H'm! Are you going to swim in the brook or the river?"
+
+"Brook, you goosie. Prime place down there by the old willow tree.
+Don't you wish I'd let you go?"
+
+"No; for my mother says--"
+
+"O, _does_ she, though?"
+
+"My mother says--"
+
+"Lor, now, Billy Button!"
+
+"Hush, Gid; my mother says--"
+
+"A pretty talking woman your mother is!" struck in Gid, squinting his
+eyes.
+
+What a witty creature Gid was! Willy could hardly keep from laughing.
+
+"Can't you let me speak, Gid Noonin? My mother says she won't--"
+
+"Says she _won't_? That's real wicked kind of talk! I'm ashamed of your
+mother!"
+
+Willy laughed. Gid did have _such_ a way of making up faces!
+
+"Come on, you little girl-baby! Guess I _will_ take you, if you won't
+cry."
+
+Willy laughed again. It was not at all painful, but extremely funny, to
+hear Gid call names, for he never did it in a provoking way at all.
+
+"Come along, you little tip end of a top o' my thumb."
+
+"No, _sir_. Shan't go a step!"
+
+Willy was a boy that meant to mind his mother.
+
+"But I s'pose you'll have to go if I take you."
+
+Willy caught himself by the left ear. He felt the need of holding on by
+something; still he was somehow afraid he should have to go in spite of
+his ears. Was there ever such a boy as Gid for teasing?
+
+"Why, Gid Noonin, I told you my mother said--"
+
+"No, you didn't! You haven't told me a thing! You stutter so I can't
+understand a word."
+
+At the idea of his stuttering, Willy laughed outright; and during that
+moment of weakness was picked up and set astride of Gid's shoulders.
+
+"You put me down! My mother says I shan't play with you; so there!"
+cried Willy, struggling manfully, yet a little pleased, I must confess,
+to think he couldn't possibly help himself.
+
+"Ride away, ride away. Billy shall ride," sang Gid, bouncing his burden
+up and down.
+
+Willy felt like a dry leaf in an eddy, which is whirled round and round,
+yet is all the while making faster and faster for the hungry dimple in
+the middle, where there is no getting out again.
+
+"O, dear, Gid's such a great big boy, and I'm _only_ just eight,"
+thought he, jolting up and down like a bag of meal on horseback. Well,
+it would be good fun, after all, to go in swimming,--splendid fun, when
+there was somebody to hold you up, and keep you from drowning. If you
+could forget that your mother had told you not to play with Gid Noonin!
+
+"If you get the string of that medal wet you'll catch it," said Gid.
+"Better take it off and put it in your pocket."
+
+"Just a-going to," said Willy. "D'you think I's a fool?"
+
+Well, wasn't it nice! The water feeling so ticklish all over you, and--
+
+Why, no, it wasn't nice at all; it was just frightful! After two or
+three dives, Gid had snapped his fingers in his face, and gone off and
+left him. Willy couldn't swim any more than a fish-hook. Where _was_
+Gid?
+
+"The water's up to my chin. Come, Gid, quick!"
+
+What would Seth and Stephen say if they knew how he was abused? No--his
+mother? No--Love, and Caleb, and Liddy? How they would feel! There
+wasn't any bottom to this brook, or if there ever had been it had
+dropped out.
+
+"O, Gid, I can't stand up."
+
+Gid was in plain sight now, on the bank, pretending to skip stones. Gid
+was like a Chinese juggler; he could make believe do one thing, while he
+was really doing another.
+
+"Quick! Quick! Quick! I shall dro--ow--own!"
+
+Gid took his own time; but as he swam slowly back to his trembling
+little playmate, he was "rolling a sweet morsel under his tongue," which
+tasted very much like a silver medal--with the string taken out.
+
+"What d'you go off for?" gasped Willy.
+
+"For fun, you outrageous little ninny!" mumbled Gid, tickling Willy
+under the arms. "I'm going to get you out, now, and dress you, and send
+you home to your mother."
+
+"Dress me, I guess!"
+
+"Well, you'd better scamper!" said Gid, hurriedly, as they got into
+their clothes. "Your mother'll have a fit about you."
+
+"My mother? No, she won't. She don't spect the codfish and mackerel till
+most supper-time. She said I might play, but she wasn't willing I should
+play with you, though, Gid Noonin," said little Willy, squeezing the
+water out of his hair.
+
+"But you did, you little scamp! Now run along home. I can't stop to
+talk. Got to saw wood."
+
+"Then what made you creep so awful slow when I called to you?" asked
+Willy, indignantly.
+
+"O, because I've got such a sore throat," wheezed Gideon. "Off with you!
+Scamper!"
+
+Upon that Gid took to his heels, and left Master Willy staring at him,
+and wondering what a sore throat had to do with swimming, and what made
+Gid in such a hurry all in a minute.
+
+"He's a queer fellow--Gid is! Can't spell worth a cent. Should think
+he'd be ashamed to see a little boy like me wear the medal. Glad I
+didn't wet it, for the color would have washed out of the string."
+
+With that Willy put his hand in his pocket.
+
+"Out here and show yourself, sir."
+
+This to the medal.
+
+"What! Why, what's this?"
+
+He felt in the other pocket.
+
+"Why! Why!"
+
+He drew out junks of blue clay, wads of twine, a piece of chalk, a
+fish-hook, and various other articles more or less wound up in a wad;
+but no medal.
+
+"Guess there's a hole in my pocket, and the medal fell through."
+
+And without stopping to examine the pocket, he ran back all the way to
+the brook. Nowhere to be found. Not in the grass on either side of the
+road; not on the bank.
+
+Then he remembered to look at his pockets; turned them all three inside
+out four times. No hole there.
+
+"Well, I never!--Look here, you Oze Wiggins; did you pick up anything in
+the grass?"
+
+"Noffin' but a toadstool," replied little Ozem, innocently; and Willy
+wondered if he wasn't a half-fool to make such an answer as that.
+
+"Where can that medal be?" said he, with a dry sob.
+
+He did not once suspect that Gideon Noonin had taken it.
+
+"I'll go home and tell my mother. O, dear! O, dear!"
+
+He was still at the tender age when little boys believe their mammas can
+help them out of any kind of trouble. True, he had been naughty and
+disobedient; but if he said he was sorry, wouldn't her arms open to take
+him in? He was sorry now,--no doubt of that,--and was running home with
+all speed, when the sight of his father in the distance reminded him of
+his errand, and he rushed back to the store for the codfish and
+mackerel.
+
+"What makes your hair so wet, bubby?" asked Daddy Wiggins, rolling the
+fish in brown paper. "Haven't been in swimming--have you?"
+
+"Don' know," stammered Willy, darting out of the store.
+
+If his hair was wet it wouldn't do to go home till it was dry; for his
+father would find out that he had been in the brook, and the next thing
+in order would be a whipping. It was hard enough to lose the medal;
+Willy thought a whipping would be more than he could bear, for it was
+always given with a horsewhip out in the barn; and the unlucky boy could
+never help envying the cows, as they looked on, chewing their cuds with
+such an air of content and unconcern. Cows never were punished, nor
+sheep either. Good times they had--that's a fact. _Sheep_ wouldn't mind
+a real heavy horse-whipping, they were done up so in wool; but when a
+little boy had to take off his jacket, why, there wasn't much over his
+skin to keep off the smart. Ugh! how it did hurt!
+
+There was another advantage in being a sheep, or a cow, or a hen;
+animals of that sort never lost anything--didn't have medals to lose.
+
+"And this wasn't mine," groaned Willy. "What'll the mistress do to me?
+Don' know; blister both hands, I s'pose!"
+
+Willy had intended to play ball with the little boys, but it was not to
+be thought of now. Putting his fish behind a tree, he ran to the brook
+again and poked with a stick as far as he could reach; then waded in up
+to his knees, for the medal might have rolled out of his pocket.
+
+"No, it couldn't; for my breeches were tucked in up there between two
+rocks."
+
+Suddenly he recollected Gideon's going back to the bank.
+
+"That wicked, mean boy!" almost screamed Willy. "He stole my medal! I'll
+go right off and tell mother!"
+
+Mrs. Parlin had on her afternoon cap, and was sitting alone in the
+well-sanded "fore-room," doing the mending, and singing,--
+
+    "While shepherds watched their flocks by night,
+      All seated on the ground,"--
+
+when Willy, with his pantaloons tucked up to his knees, and his head
+dripping with water, rushed wildly into the room.
+
+"My medal's gone! Gid Noonin stole it!"
+
+"My son! What do you mean?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am; Gid Noonin stole it! Made me go in swimming, and then he
+stole it!"
+
+"Gideon Noonin?" said Mrs. Parlin, with a meaning glance. "That boy?
+_Made_ you go swimming, my son?"
+
+Willy hung his head.
+
+"Yes, ma'am! Marched me off down to the brook pickaback,--he did!"
+
+"Poor, little baby!" said Mrs. Parlin, in the soft, pitiful tone she
+would have used to an infant. "Poor little baby!"
+
+Willy's head sank lower yet, and the blush of shame crept into his
+cheeks.
+
+"Why, mother, he's as strong's a moose; he could most lift _you_!"
+
+"'My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.'"
+
+"Well, but I--"
+
+"You consented in your heart, Willy, or Gideon could not have made you
+go swimming."
+
+What a very bright woman! Willy was amazed. How could she guess that
+while riding on Gid's back he had been a _little_ glad to think he could
+not help it? He had hardly known himself that he was glad, it was such a
+wee speck of a feeling, and so covered up with other feelings.
+
+"But I tried not to go, mother. I tell you I squirmed awf'ly!"
+
+"Well, you didn't try hard enough in the first place, Willy. Come here,
+and sit in my lap, and let us talk it over.--Do you know, my son, if you
+_had_ tried hard enough, the Lord would have helped you?"
+
+Willy raised his eyes wonderingly. Had God been looking on all the
+while, just ready to be spoken to? He had not thought of that.
+
+"O, mamma," said he solemnly, "I will mind, next time, see 'f I don't.
+But there's that medal; why, what'll I do?"
+
+"If Gideon will not return it, you must pay Miss Judkins a quarter of a
+dollar."
+
+"With a hole in," sighed Willy. "Why, I've only got two cents in this
+world."
+
+"O, well," said Mrs. Parlin, hopefully, "perhaps you can hire out to
+papa, and earn the rest."
+
+"O, if he'll _only_ let me! Won't you please ask him, mamma?" cried
+Willy, filled with a new hope. "Ask him, and get Love to ask him, too.
+_I_ shouldn't dare do it, you know."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE BOY THAT CHEATED.
+
+
+The next Monday Seth happened to go into the shed-chamber for a piece of
+leather to mend an old harness, and met Willy coming down the stairs
+with a basket full of old iron.
+
+"Stop a minute, Willy. What have you got there?"
+
+Willy would have obeyed at once, if it had not been for that lordly tone
+and air of Seth's, which always made him feel contrary.
+
+"Stop, I say!" repeated Seth. "What have you got there?"
+
+"Old iron."
+
+"Old iron? Did mother send you after it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, then, go carry it right back."
+
+Willy did not stir.
+
+"Old iron is worth money, little boy."
+
+"Yes; I know that."
+
+"And what business have you with it?"
+
+"Going to sell it."
+
+"What? Without asking mother, you naughty boy?"
+
+Willy set the heavy basket on the next lower stair.
+
+"So you went up stairs for that iron without leave? What a wicked boy!"
+
+Willy set the basket on another stair.
+
+"Bellows' nose, old tea-kettle, rusty nails," said Seth, examining the
+basket.
+
+"Willy Parlin, do you know this is stealing."
+
+"'Tisn't, neither!"
+
+"But I tell you it is! Just as much stealing as if you took money out of
+father's wallet."
+
+"I don't steal," said Willy, setting the basket on another stair.
+
+Seth was growing exasperated.
+
+"If you don't intend to mind me, Willy Parlin, and carry back that iron,
+I shall have to go and tell father."
+
+"Then you'll be a tell-tale, Mr. Seth."
+
+"Do you think I'll have my little brother grow up a thief?"
+
+"I wasn't a thief; but you're a tell-tale. You said, yesterday, little
+boys mustn't tattle, and I guess big boys mustn't tattle, neither,"
+chuckled the aggravating Willy, dragging his basket of iron into the
+kitchen.
+
+"Mother," said Seth, as Mrs. Parlin passed through the shed with a pan
+of sour milk, "there's got to be something done with Willy; he has taken
+to stealing."
+
+Mrs. Parlin set the pan upon a bench, and sank down on the meat-block,
+too weak to stand.
+
+"I caught him just now, mother, lugging off a great basket full of old
+iron; and if you don't go right in and stop him, he'll take it up to the
+store to sell."
+
+"Is that all?" exclaimed Mrs. Parlin, drawing a deep breath. "Why, how
+you frightened me! His father gave him leave to collect what old iron he
+could find, and sell it to make up for the medal he lost the other day."
+
+"Well there, mother, I'm glad to hear it--that's a fact! But why didn't
+the little rogue tell me? I declare, he deserves a good whipping for
+imposing upon me so."
+
+"He ought to have told you; but perhaps you spoke harshly to him, my
+son. You know Willy can't bear that."
+
+"I don't think I was very harsh, mother. You wouldn't have me see the
+child doing wrong, and not correct him--would you?"
+
+"His father and I are the ones to correct him," replied Mrs. Parlin.
+"Willy has too many masters and mistresses. Next time you see him doing
+what you think is wrong, let me know it, but don't scold him!"
+
+Mrs. Parlin had said this before, but it was something Seth never could
+remember.
+
+Willy sold the iron, returned a bright new quarter to Miss Judkins, and
+felt happy again, especially as there were ten cents left, which his
+father kindly allowed him to keep.
+
+Gideon Noonin never confessed his crime, and after this Willy was very
+careful to keep away from him. But there was another boy, nearer his own
+age, who had quite as bad an influence over him--Fred Chase. He
+afterwards became a worthless young man, and made his mother so wretched
+that Siller Noonin said, "Poor Mrs. Chase, she has everything heart can
+wish, except a bottle to put her tears in."
+
+Fred was a well-mannered, pretty little fellow, and no one thought ill
+of him, because he was so sly with his mischief. He did harm to Willy by
+making him think he had a very hard time. His work was to bring in a
+bushel basket of chips every morning, and fill the "fore-room"
+wood-box. Of course the "back-log" and "back-stick," and "fore-stick"
+were all too heavy for his little arms, and Caleb attended to those.
+Freddy had nothing whatever to do, and pretended to pity Willy.
+
+"They 'pose upon you," said he. "I never'd stand it."
+
+Until Freddy told him he was imposed upon, Willy had never suspected it;
+but, after that, he saw he had nearly all the work to do, and that Seth
+and Stephen did not help as much as they might. The more he reflected
+upon the subject, the more unhappy he grew, and the more he lingered
+over his wood and chips.
+
+"Did you ever hear of the little boy and the two pails of water?" said
+his mother.
+
+"O, what about him, mamma? Do tell me."
+
+"Why, the boy was told to draw two pails of water from the well; but
+instead of drawing them he sat down and dreaded it, till he pined away,
+and pined away, and finally died."
+
+Willy ran out with his basket, and never asked again to hear the story
+of the boy and the two pails. But the wood-pile seemed to be lying on
+top of his heart, crushing him, till he was relieved by a bright idea.
+
+Why not stand some sticks upright in the bottom of the box, and then lay
+the rest of the wood on top of them? It would look just the same as
+usual; but _what_ a help!
+
+The box was in the entry, and the "fore-room" door shut; he could cheat
+as well as not.
+
+"Now I'll have lots of time to play!"
+
+"What, you here yet, Willy?" said his mother, opening the door. She
+thought he had been an unusually long while filling the box; and so he
+had. It was new business, doing it in this way, and it took time.
+
+"I supposed you had gone, darling, for I didn't hear you whistle."
+
+Willy whistled faintly, as he laid on the last stick. How lucky his
+mother hadn't opened the door sooner!
+
+"That's a nice big box full, my son. You please your mother this
+morning. Come here and kiss me."
+
+Willy went, and then Mrs. Parlin, who was a fine singer, and knew a
+great many ballads, sang, smiling,--
+
+    "Ho! why dost thou shiver and shake,
+           Gaffer Gray?
+    And why doth thy nose look so blue?"
+
+She often sang that when he came into the house cold, and then he would
+sing in reply, with a voice almost as sweet as her own,--
+
+         "'Tis the weather that's cold,
+         'Tis I'm grown very old,
+    And my doublet is not very new,
+         Well-a-day!"
+
+But he was not in a musical mood this morning: he felt in a hurry to be
+off; and giving his mother a hasty kiss, he bounded away without his
+shingle-covered spelling-book, and had to come back after it.
+
+Foolish Willy! Did he think his mamma would not find out the deep-laid
+plot, which had cost him so much labor? Children have no idea how bright
+their parents are! It was a very cold day in December, and as Mrs.
+Parlin kept up a roaring fire, she came before noon to the upright
+sticks standing in the wood-box, as straight as soldiers on a march. She
+sighed a little, and smiled a little, but said not a word, for she was a
+wise woman, was Mrs. Parlin.
+
+"Well, Willy boy," said she, when he came home from school, and had had
+his supper of brown bread, baked apples, and milk, "come, let us have a
+sing."
+
+There was nothing Willy and his mother enjoyed better than a "sing," she
+holding him in her lap and rocking him the while. He put his whole soul
+into the music, miscalling the Scotch words sometimes so charmingly that
+it was a real delight to hear him. People often stopped at the
+threshold, I am told, or at the open window in summer, to listen to the
+clear childish voice in such ballads as,--
+
+    "Fy! let us a' to the wedding,
+      For they will be lilting there;
+    For Jock's to be married to Maggie,
+      The lass wi' the gowden hair."
+
+To-night it was "Colin's Come to Town;" and Willy's tones rang sweet and
+high,--
+
+    "His very step has music in't,
+    As he comes up the stair."
+
+"Did you ever hear the beat of that little chap for singing?" said
+Caleb, in the bar-room, to Dr. Hilton and Mr. Griggs.
+
+Since that sad affair of the ox-money Caleb had loved Willy better than
+ever, though it would be hard to tell why; perhaps because the child had
+been so glad to see him come back again.
+
+"Bless him!" said Love, bringing the brass warming-pan into the
+"fore-room," to fill it with coals at the fireplace. "Why, mother, I
+never hear the name 'Willy,' but it makes me think of music. It sounds
+as sweet as if you said 'nightingale.'"
+
+Mrs. Parlin answered by folding the singing-bird closer to her heart.
+
+"And do you know what the word 'Mother' makes me think of?--Of a great
+large woman, always just ready to hug somebody."
+
+Mrs. Parlin laughed.
+
+"Yes, indeed it does. And it doesn't seem as if a small woman is really
+fit to be called mother. There's Dorcas Lyman: when she says 'Mother' to
+that little woman, it sounds so queer to me; for Mrs. Lyman isn't big
+enough, you know."
+
+"_Course_ she isn't; not half big enough," said Willy. "I could 'most
+lift her with my little finger. But, then, that baby--she's got a real
+nice baby; wish she'd give Patty to me."
+
+Love smiled, and walked off, with her long-handled warming-pan, to heat
+a traveller's bed in the icy north chamber.
+
+Willy's heart was full of tenderness for his mother, whom he kept
+kissing fondly. Now was a good time to speak of the upright, deceitful
+sticks of wood, perhaps; but Mrs. Parlin did not do it. She began the
+Evening Hymn, and Willy sang with her:--
+
+    "Glory to Thee, my God, this night,
+    For all the blessings of the light;
+    Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,
+    Beneath thine own almighty wings.
+
+    "Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,
+    The ills which I this day have done,
+    That with the world, myself, and Thee,
+    I, ere I sleep, at peace may be."
+
+"Now, Willy," said Mrs. Parlin, pausing, "let us think a while, and try
+to remember what we have done to-day that is wrong. You think, and I
+will think, too."
+
+He looked up, and she knew by the cloud in his eyes that his conscience
+was troubled.
+
+"Well, I'll think. But _you_ haven't done anything wrong, mamma?"
+
+"O, yes, dear; many things."
+
+"Well, so've I, too. Want me to tell what?"
+
+"Not unless you choose, my child. Only be sure you tell God."
+
+They were silent a few moments.
+
+"There, that's the _last_ time I'll ever stand the sticks up on end in
+the wood-box," burst forth Willy.
+
+"I thought so," said his mother, kissing him.
+
+So she had known about it all the while!
+
+But not another word did she say; and they went on with the hymn:--
+
+    "Teach me to live, that I may dread
+    The grave as little as my bed.
+    Teach me to die, that so I may
+    Triumphing rise at the last day."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+"THE NEVER-GIVE-UPS."
+
+
+         "Now Christmas is come,
+          Let us beat up the drum,
+    And call our neighbors together;
+          And when they appear,
+          Let us make them good cheer,
+    As will keep out the wind and the weather."
+
+This is what the old song says; but it is not the way the people of the
+new colonies celebrated Christmas. Indeed, they thought it wrong to
+observe it at all,--because their forefathers had come away from England
+almost on purpose to get rid of the forms and ceremonies which hindered
+their worship in the church over there.
+
+The Parlins, however, saw no harm in celebrating the day of our
+Saviour's birth, and Mrs. Parlin, who was an Episcopalian, always
+instructed Love and the boys to trim the house with evergreens, and put
+cedar crosses in the windows.
+
+Willy was glad whenever his grandfather Cheever happened to be visiting
+them at "Christmas-tide," for then he was sure of a present. Mr. Cheever
+was an Englishman of the old school, and prayed for King George. He wore
+what were called "small clothes,"--that is, short breeches, which came
+only to the knee, and were fastened there with a buckle,--silk
+stockings, and a fine ruffled shirt. His hair was braided into a long
+queue behind, which served Willy for a pair of reins, when he went
+riding on the dear old gentleman's back.
+
+I am not sure that Mr. Parlin was always glad to see grandpa Cheever,
+for they differed entirely in politics, and that was a worse thing then
+than it is now, if you can believe it. Mr. Parlin loved George
+Washington, and grandpa said he was "only an upstart." Grandpa loved
+King George, and Mr. Parlin said he was "only a crazy man."
+
+But Willy adored his grandfather, especially at holiday times; for
+besides presents, they were sure to have games in the big dining-room,
+such as blindfold, or "Wood-man blind," bob-apple, and snap-dragon.
+
+Then they always had a log brought in with great ceremony, called the
+Yule log, the largest one that could be found in the shed; and when Seth
+and Stephen came staggering in with it, grandpa Cheever, and Mrs.
+Parlin, and Love, and Willy all struck up,--
+
+      "Come, bring with a noise,
+       My merry, merry boys,
+    The Christmas log to the firing,
+       While my good dame, she
+       Bids ye all be free,
+    And drink to your hearts' desiring."
+
+The "good dame," I suppose, was Mrs. Parlin; and she gave them to drink,
+it is true, but nothing stronger than metheglin, or egg nog, or flip. It
+seems to me I can almost see her standing by the table, pouring it out
+with a gracious smile. She was a handsome, queenly-looking woman, they
+say, though rather too large round the waist you might think.
+
+Her father was a famous singer, as well as herself; and for my part I
+should have enjoyed hearing some of their old songs, while the wind
+went whistling round the house:--
+
+    "Without the door let Sorrow lie,
+    And if for cold it hap to die,
+    We'll bury it in a Christmas pie,
+        And evermore be merry."
+
+Or this one:--
+
+    "Rejoice, our Saviour, he was born
+    On Christmas day in the morning."
+
+But these were family affairs, these Christmas meetings. No one else in
+Perseverance had anything to do with them, not even Caleb or Lydia.
+
+But the little boys in those days did not live without amusements, you
+may be sure. Perhaps their choicest and most bewitching sport was
+training. There had been one great war,--the war of the
+Revolution,--and as people were looking for another,--which actually
+came in 1812,--it was thought safe for men to be drilled in the practice
+of marching and carrying fire-arms.
+
+In Perseverance, and many other towns, companies were formed, such as
+the Light Infantry, or "String Bean Company," the Artillery, and the
+"Troop." These met pretty often, and marched about the streets to the
+sound of martial music.
+
+Of course the little boys could not see and hear of all this without a
+swelling of the heart and a prancing of the feet; for they were rather
+different from boys of these days! Hard indeed, thought they, if they
+couldn't form a company too! As for music, what was to hinder them from
+pounding it out of tin pans and pewter porringers? There is music in
+everything, if you can only get it out. Chickens' wind-pipes, when well
+dried, are very melodious, and so are whistles made of willow; and if
+you are fond of variety, there are always bones to be had, and
+dinner-horns, and jews-harps.
+
+Full of zeal for their country, the little boys on both sides of the
+river met together and formed quite a large company. They had two trials
+to begin with; firstly, they could not think of a name fine enough for
+themselves; and secondly, they could not get any sort of uniform to
+wear. Their mothers could not see the necessity of their having new
+suits just to play in; and it seemed for some time as if the little
+patriots would have to march forever in their old every-day clothes.
+
+"But they'll give us some new ones by and by, boys," said Willy. "My
+mother laughed last night, when I asked again, and that's a certain sure
+sign."
+
+"O, I thought we'd given that up," said Fred Chase.
+
+"Look here, boys," exclaimed Willy; "I've thought of a name; it's the
+'Never-Give-Ups.' All in favor say 'Ay'!"
+
+"Ay! ay!" piped all the lads; and it was a vote. Perhaps it was a year
+before the Never-Give-Ups got their uniforms; but at last their mammas
+saw the subject in a proper light, and stopped their work long enough to
+dye some homespun suits dark blue, and trim them gorgeously with red.
+
+Willy's regimentals were not home-made; they were cut down from his
+father's old ones; and he might have been too well pleased with them,
+only Fred Chase's were better yet, being new, with the first gloss on,
+just as they had come from a store in the city of Boston.
+
+Fred was captain of the company. The boys had felt obliged in the very
+beginning to have it so, on account of a beautiful instrument, given him
+by his father, called a flageolet. True, Fred could not play on it at
+all, and had to give it up to Willy; but it belonged to him all the
+same.
+
+"Something's the matter with my lungs," said Fred, coughing; "and that's
+why those little holes plague me so; it's too hard work to blow 'em."
+
+The boys looked at one another with wise nods and smiles. They did not
+like Fred very well; but he was always pushing himself forward: and when
+a boy has a great deal of self-esteem, and a brave suit of clothes
+right from Boston, how are you going to help yourselves, pray? So Fred
+was captain, and Willy only a fifer.
+
+There was one boy in the ranks who caused some trouble--Jock Winter. Not
+that Jock quarrelled, or did anything you could find fault with; but he
+was simple-minded and a hunchback, and some of the boys made fun of him.
+When Fred became captain he fairly hooted him out of the company. "No
+fair! no fair!" cried Willy, Joshua Potter, the Lyman twins, and two
+thirds of the other boys; but the captain had his way in spite of the
+underground muttering.
+
+Saturday afternoon was the time for training. The Never-Give-Ups met at
+the old red store kept by Daddy Wiggins, and paraded down the village
+street, and across the bridge, as far sometimes as the Dug Way, a
+beautiful spot three or four miles from home. They were a goodly sight
+to see,--the bright, healthy boys, straight as the "Quaker guns" they
+carried, and marching off with a firm and manly tread.
+
+Mothers take a secret pride in their sons, and many loving eyes watched
+this procession out of town; but the procession didn't know it, for the
+mothers were very much afraid of flattering the boys. I think myself it
+would have done the little soldiers no harm to be praised once in a
+while. Indeed, I wish they might have heard the ladies of the village
+talking about them, as they met to drink tea at Mrs. Parlin's. She never
+went out herself, but often invited company to what they called little
+"tea-junketings."
+
+"Well," said Mrs. Potter, the doctor's wife, "isn't it enough to do your
+eyes good to see such a noble set of boys?"
+
+"Yes, it is," said Mrs. Griggs; "and I am not afraid for our country, if
+they grow up as good men as they now bid fair to be."
+
+Mrs. Chase could not respond to this, for her boy Fred was a great
+trial; his father indulged him too much, and she had had strong fears
+that he might take to bad habits. But he was as handsome as any of the
+boys, and she spoke up quickly:--
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Potter; as you say, they _are_ a noble-looking set of boys;
+and don't they march well?"
+
+"They waste a great deal of time; but then they might be doing worse,
+and I like to see boys enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Lyman, the greatest
+worker in town.
+
+Her twins, George and Silas, ought to have heard that, for they thought
+their mother did not care to see them do anything but delve.
+
+"Ah, bless their little hearts, we are all as proud of them as we can
+be," said ruddy, fleshy Mrs. Parlin, brushing back her purple
+cap-strings as she poured the tea. "My Willy, now, is the very apple of
+my eye, and the little rogue knows it too."
+
+Yes, Willy did know it, for his mother was not afraid to tell him so.
+The other boys had love doled out to them like wedding cake, as if it
+were too rich and precious for common use; but Mrs. Parlin's love was
+free and plenteous, and Willy lived on it like daily bread.
+
+Kissing and petting were sure to spoil boys, so Elder Lovejoy's wife
+thought; and she longed to say so to Mrs. Parlin; but somehow she
+couldn't; for her little Isaac was not half as good as Willy, though he
+hadn't been kissed much since he was big enough to go to school.
+
+"Willy's grandpa Cheever has sent him a splendid present," said Mrs.
+Parlin; "it is a drum. His birthday will come next Wednesday; but when I
+saw him marching off with Freddy's flageolet under his arm, I really
+longed to give him the drum to-day."
+
+"I dare say you did," said Mrs. Lyman, warmly. "We mothers enjoy our
+children's presents more than they enjoy them themselves."
+
+Then she and Mrs. Parlin exchanged a pleasant smile, for they two
+understood each other remarkably well.
+
+Willy received his drum on the fifteenth of September, his tenth
+birthday, and was prouder than General Washington at the surrender of
+Lord Cornwallis. No more borrowed flageolets for him. He put so much
+soul into the drumsticks that the noise was perfectly deafening. He
+called the family to breakfast, dinner, and supper, to the tune of "Hail
+Columbia," or "Fy! let us a' to the wedding!" and nearly distracted
+Quaker Liddy by making her roll out her pie-crust to the exact time of
+"Yankee Doodle."
+
+"I don't see the sense of such a con-tin-oo-al thumping, you little
+dear," said she.
+
+"That's 'cause you're a Quaker," cried Willy. "But I tell you while my
+name's Willy Parlin this drum _shall_ be heard."
+
+Poor Liddy stopped her ears.
+
+"What you smiling for, mother?" said Willy. "Are you pleased to think
+you've got a little boy that can pound music so nice?"
+
+"Not exactly that, my son. I was wondering whether there is room enough
+out of doors for that drum."
+
+"Why, mother!" exclaimed the little soldier much chagrined. "Why,
+mother!"
+
+Everybody else had complained of the din; but he thought she, with her
+fine musical taste, must be delighted. After this pointed slight he did
+not pound so much in the house, and the animals got more benefit of the
+noise. Towler enjoyed it hugely; and the cows might have kept step to
+the pasture every morning, and the hens every night to the roost, if
+they had had the least ear for music. Siller Noonin, who believed in
+witches, began to think the boy was "possessed." Love laughed, and said
+she did not believe that; but she was afraid Willy spoke the truth every
+day when he said so stoutly,--
+
+"While my name is Willy Parlin, this drum _shall_ be heard."
+
+She wondered if parchment would ever wear out.
+
+He drummed with so much spirit that it had a strong effect on the little
+training company. They had always liked him much better than Fred, and
+were glad of an excuse now to make him their captain. A boy who could
+fife so well, and drum so well, ought to be promoted, they
+thought--"All in favor say Ay!"
+
+Poor Fred was dismayed. He had always known he was unpopular; still he
+had not expected this.
+
+"But how can _I_ be captain?" replied Willy, ready to shout with
+delight. "If I'm captain, who'll beat my drum?"
+
+"Isaac Lovejoy," was the quick reply.
+
+That settled it, and Willy said no more. He was now leader of the
+company, and Fred Chase was obliged to walk behind him as first
+lieutenant.
+
+But the moment Willy was promoted, and before they began to march, he
+"took the stump," and made a stirring speech in favor of Jock Winter.
+
+"Now see here, boys," said he, leaning on his wooden gun, and looking
+around him persuasively. "'All men are born free and equal.' I s'pose
+you know that? It's put down so in the Declaration of Independence!"
+
+"O, yes! Ay! Ay!"
+
+"Well, Jock Winter was born as free and equal as any of us; he wasn't
+born a hunchback. But see here: wouldn't you be a hunchback yourself,
+s'posing your father had let you fall down stairs when you was a baby? I
+put it to you--now wouldn't you?"
+
+"Ay, ay," responded the boys.
+
+"Well; and s'pose folks made fun of you just for that; how would you
+like it?"
+
+"Shouldn't like it at all."
+
+"But then Jock's just about half witted," put in Fred, faintly. He knew
+his power was gone, but he wanted to say something.
+
+"Well, what if he is half-witted? He thinks more of his country than you
+do; twice more, and risk it."
+
+"That's so," cried Joshua Potter. "Fred says if there's another war,
+_he_ won't go; he never'll stand up for a mark to be shot at, at eleven
+dollars a month!"
+
+"O, for shame!" exclaimed the captain.
+
+"Now you hush up," said Fred, reddening. "I was only in fun--of course I
+was! You needn't say anything, Will Parlin; a boy that has a _Tory
+drum_!"
+
+"It's a good Whig drum as ever lived!" returned Willy. "But come, now,
+boys; will we have Jock Winter?"
+
+It was a vote; and the Never-Give-Ups went over the river in a body to
+invite him. He lived in a log-house with his grandfather, and a negro
+servant known as Joe Whitehead. Old Mr. Winter was aroused from his
+afternoon nap by the terrific beating of the drum, and thought the
+British were coming down upon him.
+
+"Joe! Joe!" cried he. "Get your scythe, Joe, and mow 'em down as fast as
+they come!"
+
+When the little boys heard of this, it amused them greatly. Mistaken for
+the British army, indeed! Well, now, that was something worth while!
+
+A happier soul than little, simple, round-shouldered Jock you never saw,
+unless it was his poor old grandfather. He could keep step with the best
+of them; but unfortunately he had no decent clothes. This was a great
+drawback, but Mrs. Parlin and Mrs. Lyman took pity on the boy, and made
+him a nice suit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+THE MUSTER.
+
+
+Willy proved to have fine powers as a leader. Like the famous John
+Gilpin,
+
+    "A train-band captain eke was he,
+       Of credit and renown,"
+
+and the Never-Give-Ups became such an orderly, well-trained company,
+that some of the rich fathers made them the present of a small cannon.
+
+Do you know what a wonderful change that made in the condition of
+things? Well, I will tell you. They became at once an Artillery Company!
+Not poor little infantry any more, but great, brave artillery!
+
+Every man among them cast aside his Quaker gun with contempt, and wore a
+cut-and-thrust sword, made out of the sharpest kind of wood. An
+Artillery Company,--think of that! The boys threw up their caps, and
+Willy sang,--
+
+    "Come, fill up my cup, come, fill up my can;
+    Come, saddle your horses, and call up your men!
+    Come, open the west port, and let us gang free,
+    And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!"
+
+There was to be a General Muster that fall, and if you suppose the
+Perseverance boys had thought of anything else since the Fourth of July,
+that shows how little you know about musters.
+
+A muster, boys--Well, I never saw a muster, myself; but it must have
+been something like this:--
+
+A mixture of guns and gingerbread; men and music; horses and hard
+cider.
+
+It was very exciting,--I know that. There were plumes dancing, flags
+waving, cannons firing, men marching, boys screaming, dogs barking; and
+women looking on in their Sunday bonnets.
+
+The "Sharp-shooters" and the "String Beans" were there from Cross Lots;
+the Artillery from Harlow; the "Pioneers," in calico frocks, with wooden
+axes, from Camden; and all the infantry and cavalry from the whole
+country round about.
+
+Seth Parlin belonged to the cavalry, or "troop," and made a fine figure
+on horseback. Willy secretly wondered if he would look as well when _he_
+grew up.
+
+    "Saddled and bridled and booted rode he,
+    A plume at his helmet,
+    A sword at his knee."
+
+It seemed to be the general impression that the muster would do the
+country a great deal of good. The little artillery company, called the
+Never-Give-Ups, were on the ground before any one else, their cheeks
+painted with clear, cold air, and their hearts bursting with patriotism.
+As a rule, children were ordered out of the way; but as the little
+Never-Give-Ups had a cannon, they were allowed to march behind the large
+companies, provided they would be orderly and make no disturbance.
+
+"Boys," said Willy, sternly,--for he felt all the importance of the
+occasion,--"boys, remember, George Washington was the Father of his
+Country; so you've got to behave."
+
+The boys remembered "the father of his country" for a while, but before
+the close of the afternoon forgot him entirely. There were several
+stalls where refreshments were to be had,--such as cakes, apples,
+molasses taffy, sugar candy, and cider by the mugful, not to mention the
+liquors, which were quite too fiery for the little Never-Give-Ups.
+
+At every halt in the march the boys bought something to eat or drink.
+There had been a barrel of cider brought from Mr. Chase's for their
+especial use, and Fred sold it out to the boys for four cents a glass.
+This was a piece of extraordinary meanness in him, for his father had
+intended the cider as a present to the company. The boys did not know
+this, however, and paid their money in perfect good faith.
+
+"Hard stuff," said Willy, draining his mug. "I don't like it much."
+
+"Why, it's tip-top," returned Fred. "My father says it's the best he
+ever saw."
+
+Mr. Chase had never said anything of the sort. He had merely ordered his
+colored servant, Pompey, to put a barrel of cider on the wheelbarrow,
+and take it to the muster-ground. Whether Pompey and Fred had selected
+this one for its age I cannot tell, but the boys all declared it was "as
+hard as a stone wall."
+
+Dr. Hilton, who seemed to be everywhere at once, heard them say that,
+and exclaimed,--
+
+"Then I wouldn't drink any more of it, boys. Hard cider does make
+anybody dreadful cross. Better let it alone."
+
+I fear the boys did not follow this advice, for certain it is that they
+grew outrageously cross. The trouble began, I believe, with Abram
+Noonin, who suddenly declared he wouldn't march another step with Jock
+Winter. As the marching was all done for the day, Abram might as well
+have kept quiet.
+
+"Yes, you shall march with Jock Winter, too," said Captain Willy,
+exasperated with the throbbing pain in his head--the first he had ever
+felt in his life. "Pretty doings, if you are going to set up and say, 'I
+will' and 'I won't!'"
+
+While the captain and the private were shooting sharp words back and
+forth, and Fred was busy drawing cider, Isaac Lovejoy, the rogue of the
+company, was very busy with his own mischief.
+
+"Look here, Fred," said Joshua Potter, going up to the stall with a
+twinkle in his eye; "they don't ask but three cents a mug, round at the
+other end of the barrel!"
+
+"What do you mean by that?" cried the young cider merchant, looking up
+just in time to see Isaac Lovejoy marching off with the pitcher he had
+been filling from a hole in the barrel made with his jack-knife.
+
+"Stop thief! Stop thief!" cried Fred.
+
+"That's right," said one of the big boys from over the river. "Ike's
+selling your cider to the men for three cents a glass."
+
+Perhaps this was one of Isaac's jokes, and he intended to give back the
+money; we will hope so. But, be that as it may, Fred was terribly angry;
+as angry, mind you, as if he was an honest boy himself, and had a
+perfect right to all the coppers jingling in his own pockets!
+
+He ran after Ike, and caught him; and there was a scuffle, in which the
+pitcher was broken. Mr. Chase came up to inquire into it.
+
+"Tut, tut, Isaac!" said he; "aren't you ashamed? You know that cider was
+a present to the Never-Give-Ups."
+
+The boys were astonished, and Fred's face crimsoned with shame. As soon
+as Mr. Chase had gone away, Willy exclaimed, with a sudden burst of
+wrath,--
+
+"Well, boys, if you are going to stand such a mean lieutenant as that, I
+won't! If he stays in lieutenant, I won't stay captain--so there!"
+
+"Three cheers for the captain!" cried the boys; and there was another
+uproar.
+
+And how did Fred feel towards the fearless, out-spoken Willy? Very
+angry, of course; but, if you will believe me, he respected him more
+than ever. Pompous boys are often mean-spirited and cowardly; they will
+browbeat those who are afraid of them; but those who look down on them
+and despise them, they hold in the highest esteem. Willy had never
+scrupled to tell Fred just what he thought of his conduct; and for that
+very reason Fred liked him better than any other boy in town.
+
+But the Never-Give-Ups were growing decidedly noisy. After they learned
+that the cider was their own, they must drink more of it, whether they
+wanted it or not. The consequence was, they soon began to act
+disgracefully.
+
+"Can't you have peace there, you young scamps?" said one of the big boys
+from over the river.
+
+"Yes, we will have peace if we have to fight for it," replied the
+captain, who had drawn the little hunchback Jock to his side, and was
+darting glances at Abe Noonin as sharp as a cut-and-thrust sword.
+
+"Mr. Chase," said Dr. Hilton, struck with a new idea, "those boys act as
+if they were drunk."
+
+"Why, how can they be?" returned Mr. Chase; "they've had nothing to
+drink but innocent cider."
+
+"Any way," cried the doctor, "they are getting up a regular mob, and we
+shall have to _quail_ it!"
+
+Too true: it was necessary to quell the Never-Give-Ups, that orderly
+artillery company, the pride of the town! Quell it, and order it off the
+grounds!
+
+Dire disgrace! Their steps were unsteady and slow; their heads were
+bowed, but not with grief, for, to say the truth, they did not fully
+comprehend the situation.
+
+"The little captain is the furthest gone of any of them," said Dr.
+Hilton. Indeed, before he reached home he was unable to walk, and
+Stephen carried him into the house in his arms. Not that Willy had drunk
+so much as some of the others, but it had affected him more.
+
+Poor Mrs. Parlin! She had to know what was the matter with her boy; and
+the shock was so great that she went to bed sick, and Mr. Parlin sent
+for the doctor.
+
+When Willy came to his senses next morning, there was a guilty feeling
+hanging over him, and his head ached badly. He crept down stairs, and
+fixed his gaze first on the sanded floor of the kitchen, then on the
+dresser full of dishes; but to look any one in the face he was ashamed.
+His mother was not at the table, and they ate almost in silence.
+
+"Now, young man," said Mr. Parlin, after breakfast, "you may walk out to
+the barn with me." Willy had a dim idea that he had done something
+wrong; but exactly what it was he could not imagine. He remembered
+scolding Abe Noonin for hurting little Jock's feelings; was that what he
+was to be punished for?
+
+Willy did not know he had been intoxicated. He was sure he did not like
+that cider, yesterday, and had taken only a little of it. He supposed he
+had eaten too much, and that was what had made him sick.
+
+"Off with your jacket, young man!"
+
+Old Dick neighed, Towler growled, the sheep bleated; it seemed as if
+they were all protesting against Willy's being whipped.
+
+"Now, sir," said Mr. Parlin, after a dozen hearty lashes, "shall I ever
+hear of your getting drunk again?"
+
+"Why, father! I didn't--O, I didn't! I only took some cider--just two
+mugfuls!" gasped Willy; "that's all; and you know you always _let_ me
+drink cider."
+
+"Two mugfuls!" groaned Mr. Parlin, distressed at what he considered a
+wilful lie; and the blows fell heavier and faster, while Willy's face
+whitened, and his teeth shut together hard. Mr. Parlin had never acted
+from purer motives; still Willy felt that the punishment was not just,
+and it only served to call up what the boys termed his "Indian sulks."
+
+Angry and smarting with pain in mind and body, he walked off that
+afternoon to the old red store. Fred was sitting under a tree, chewing
+gum.
+
+"Had to take it, I guess, Billy?"
+
+"Yes, an awful whipping," replied Willy; "did you?"
+
+"Me? Of course not. Do you know how I work it? When father takes down
+the cowhide, I look him right in the eye, and that scares him out of it.
+He _darsn't_ flog me!"
+
+This was a downright lie. Fred was as great a coward as ever lived, and
+screamed at sight of a cowhide. He had been whipped for cheating about
+the cider, but would not tell Willy so.
+
+Willy looked at him with surprise and something like respect. He could
+never seem to learn that Freddy's word was not to be trusted.
+
+"Well, I'll do so next time," cried he, his eyes flashing fire.
+
+"Look here," said Fred, crossing his knees, and looking important;
+"let's run away."
+
+"Why, Fred Chase! 'Twould be wicked!"
+
+"'Twouldn't, either. Things ain't wicked when folks don't catch you at
+it; and we can go where folks won't catch us, now I promise you."
+
+Willy's heart leaped up with a strange joy. He would not run away, but
+if Fred had a plan he wanted to hear it.
+
+"Why, where could we go?"
+
+"To sea."
+
+"Poh! our Caleb got flogged going to sea."
+
+"O, well, Captain Cutter never flogs. He's a nice man,--lives down to
+Casco Bay. And of all the oranges that ever you saw, and the guava
+jelly, and the pine-apples! he's always sending them to mother."
+
+"I never ate a pine-apple."
+
+"Didn't you? Well, come, let's go; Captain Cutter will be real glad to
+see us; come, to-night; he'll treat us first rate."
+
+"'My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.'"
+
+It seemed as if Willy could hear his mother saying the words.
+
+"You and I are the best kind of friends, Willy. We'd have a real nice
+time, and come home when we got ready."
+
+Willy did not respond to this. He did not care very much about
+Fred,--nobody did,--and if he should be persuaded to go with him, it
+would not be from friendship, most certainly.
+
+"I wouldn't go off and leave mother; 'twould be real mean: but sometimes
+I don't like father one bit,--now, that's a fact," burst forth Willy,
+with a heaving breast. "I told him I didn't like your cider, and didn't
+take but two mugfuls; but he didn't believe a word I said."
+
+"You're a fool to stand it, Billy."
+
+"I won't stand it again--so there!"
+
+"There, that's real Injun grit," said Fred, approvingly; "stick to it."
+
+"Father thinks children are foolish; he hates to hear 'em talk," pursued
+Willy; "and then, when you don't talk, he says you're sulky."
+
+"Well, if you go off he won't get a chance to say it again."
+
+"O, but you see, Fred--"
+
+"Pshaw! you _darsn't_!"
+
+"Now, _you're_ not the one to call me a coward, Fred Chase."
+
+"Well, if you _dars_, then come on."
+
+Willy did not answer. He was deliberating; and I wish you to understand
+that in a case like this "the child that deliberates is lost."
+
+Without listening to any more of the boys' conversation, we will go
+right on to the next chapter, and see what comes of it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+GOING TO SEA.
+
+
+Seven o'clock was the time appointed to meet, and Willy watched the tall
+clock in the front entry with a dreadful sinking at the heart. His
+mother was not at the supper-table and he was glad of that. Ever since
+muster she had staid in her room, suffering from a bad toothache. As her
+face was tied up, and she could not talk, Willy was not quite sure how
+she felt.
+
+"How can I tell whether she has been crying or not? Her eyes are
+swelled, any way. Perhaps she doesn't care much. She used to love me,
+but she thinks I act so bad now that it's no use doing anything with
+me. I can't make her understand it at all."
+
+It was a pity he thought of his mother just then, for it was hard
+enough, before that, swallowing his biscuit.
+
+"She said to me, out in the orchard, one day,--says she, 'Willy, if a
+boy wants to do wrong, he'll find some way to do it;' and I s'pose she
+was thinking about me when she said it. S'pose she thinks I'm going to
+be bad--mother does. Well, then, I ought to go off out of the way; she
+doesn't want me here; what does she want of a bad boy? She'll be glad to
+get rid of me; so'll Love."
+
+You see what a hopeless tangle Willy's mind was in. What ailed his
+biscuit he could not imagine, but it tasted as dry as ashes.
+
+"Why, sonny," said Stephen, "what are you staring at your plate so for?
+That's honey. Ever see any before?"
+
+"This is the last chance Steve will have to pester me," thought the
+child; and he almost pitied him.
+
+"Guess he'll feel sorry he's been so hard on a little fellow like me."
+
+As for grown-up Seth, it was certain that _his_ conscience would prick,
+and on the whole Willy was rather glad of it, for Seth had no right to
+correct him so much. "Only eighteen, and not my father either!"
+
+Willy did not think much about himself, and how he would be likely to
+feel after he had left this dear old home--the home where every
+knot-hole in the floor was precious. It would not do to brood over that;
+and besides, there was sullen anger enough in his heart to crowd out
+every other feeling.
+
+There were circles in the wood of the shed-door which he had made with a
+two-tined fork; and after supper he made some more, while waiting for a
+chance to pocket a plate of doughnuts. Of course it wasn't wrong to take
+doughnuts, when it was the last morsel he should ever eat from his
+mother's cupboard. He had the whole of eighteen cents in his leathern
+wallet; but that sum might fail before winter, and it was best to take a
+little food for economy's sake.
+
+At quarter of seven he put on his cap, and was leaving the house, when
+his father said, severely,--
+
+"Where are you going, young man?"
+
+Mr. Parlin did not mean to be severe, but he usually called Willy a
+"young man" when he was displeased with him.
+
+"Going to the post-office, sir, just as I always do."
+
+Willy spoke respectfully,--he had never done otherwise to his
+father,--and Mr. Parlin little suspected the tempest that was raging in
+the child's bosom.
+
+"Very well; go! but don't be gone long."
+
+"'_Long?_' Don't know what he calls long," thought the little boy.
+"P'raps I'll be gone two years; p'raps I'll be gone ten. Calls me a
+'young man' after he has whipped me. Guess I _will_ be a young man
+before I get back! Guess there won't be any more horsewhippings then!"
+
+And, dizzy with anger, he walked fast to the post office, without
+turning his head.
+
+Fred was there, anxiously waiting for him. The two boys greeted each
+other with a meaning look, and soon began to move slowly along towards
+the guide-board at the turn of the road.
+
+To the people who happened to be looking that way, it seemed natural
+enough that Willy and Fred should be walking together. If anybody
+thought twice about the matter, it was Dr. Hilton; and I dare say he
+supposed they were swapping jack-knives.
+
+As soon as they were fairly out of sight of the village, Fred said,
+sneeringly,--
+
+"Well, I've been waiting most half an hour--I suppose you know. Began to
+think you'd sneaked out of it, Bill."
+
+There is an insult in the word 'sneak' that no boy of spirit can bear,
+and Willy was in no mood to be insulted.
+
+"Fred Chase," said he, bristling, "I'll give you one minute to take that
+back."
+
+"O, I didn't mean anything, Billy; only you was so awful slow, you
+know."
+
+"Slow, Fred Chase! You needn't call _me_ slow! Bet you I can turn round
+three times while you're putting out one foot."
+
+It is plain enough, from the tone of this conversation, that the boys
+had not started out with that friendly feeling, which two travellers
+ought to have for each other, who are intending to take a long journey
+in company. Fred saw it would not do for Willy to be so cross in the
+very beginning. He had had hard work to get the boy's consent to go, and
+now, for fear he might turn back, he suddenly became very pleasant.
+
+"Look here, Billy; you can beat me running; I own up to that; but we've
+got to keep together, you know. Don't you get ahead of me--now will
+you?"
+
+"I'll try not to," replied Willy, somewhat softened; "but you do get out
+of breath as easy as a chicken."
+
+"Most time to begin to run?" said Fred, after they had trudged on for
+some time at a moderate pace.
+
+"No; there's a man coming this way," replied the sharper-eyed Willy.
+
+"O, yes; I see him now. Who suppose it is?"
+
+"Why, Dr. Potter, of course. Don't you know him by his _shappo brar_?"
+
+The _chapeau bras_ was a three-cornered hat, the like of which you and I
+have never seen, except in very old pictures.
+
+As Dr. Potter met the boys, he shook his ivory-headed cane, and said,
+playfully, "Good evening, my little men."
+
+"Good evening, sir."
+
+But it was certainly a bad evening inside their hearts, sulky and dark.
+
+"What if Dr. Potter should tell where he met us?" exclaimed Fred. "Lucky
+'twasn't Dr. Hilton.--There, he's out of the way; now let's run."
+
+They were on the road to Cross Lots, a town about five miles from
+Perseverance. They had not as yet marked out their course very clearly,
+but thought after they should reach Cross Lots it would be time enough
+to decide what to do next.
+
+They ran with all their might, but did not make the speed they desired,
+for they jumped behind the fences whenever they heard a wagon coming,
+and were obliged to stop often, besides, for Freddy to take breath. By
+the time they reached Cross Lots--a thriving little town with a
+saw-mill--it was pretty late; and if it had not been for the bright
+light of the moon and stars, they might have been a little disheartened.
+
+They took a seat on a stump near the saw-mill, and prepared to talk over
+the situation. A lonesome feeling had suddenly come upon them, which
+caused them to gaze wistfully upon the "happy autumn fields" and the
+far-off sky.
+
+"Stars look kind o' shiny--don't they?" said Fred, heaving a sigh.
+
+Willy forced a gay tone.
+
+"What s'pose makes 'em keep up such a winking? Like rows of pins, you
+know,--gold pins; much as a million of 'em, and somebody sticking 'em
+into a great blue cushion up there, and keeps a-sticking 'em in, but out
+they come again."
+
+"I never heard of such a silly idea in my life," sneered Fred.
+"Pins!--H'm!"
+
+"Why, can't you tell when a fellow's in fun, Fred Chase? Thought I meant
+real pins--did you? The stars are worlds, and I guess I know it as well
+as you do."
+
+"Worlds? A likely story, Bill Parlin! Mother has said so lots of times,
+but you don't stuff such a story down _my_ throat."
+
+"Don't believe your mother!" exclaimed Willy, astonished. "Why, I always
+believe my mother. She never made a mistake in her life."
+
+Fred laughed.
+
+"She don't know any more'n anybody else, you ninny! only you think so
+because she makes such a baby of you."
+
+Willy reddened with sudden shame, but retorted sharply,--
+
+"Stop that! You shan't say a word against my mother."
+
+"But you let me talk about your father, though. What's the difference?"
+
+"Lots. You may talk about father as much as you've a mind to," said
+Willy, scowling; "for he no business to whip me so. He thinks boys are
+pretty near fools."
+
+"That's just what my father thinks," returned Fred.
+
+Whereupon the two boys were friends again, having got back to their one
+point of agreement.
+
+"If I had a boy I wouldn't treat him so,--now I tell you," said Willy,
+clinching his little fists. "I'd let him have a good time when he's
+young."
+
+"So'd I!"
+
+"For when he's old he won't want to have a good time."
+
+"That's so."
+
+"And I wouldn't be stingy to him; I'd let him have all the money he
+could spend."
+
+"So'd I," responded the ungrateful Fred, who had probably had more
+dollars given him to throw away than any other boy in the county.
+
+"I'd treat a boy real well. I wouldn't make him work as tight as he
+could put in," pursued Willy, overcome with dreadful recollections.
+
+"Nor I, neither! Guess I wouldn't!"
+
+"Poh! what do you know about it, Fred? Your father's rich, and don't
+keep a pig!"
+
+"What if he don't? What hurt does a pig do?"
+
+"Why, you have to carry out swill to 'em. Then there's the wood-box, and
+there's the corn to husk, and the cows to bring up! It makes a fellow
+ache all over."
+
+"No worse'n errands, Bill! Guess you never came any nearer blistering
+your feet than I did last summer, time we had so much company. Mother's
+a case for thinking up errands."
+
+"Well, Fred, we've started to run away."
+
+"Should think it's likely we had."
+
+"I'm going 'cause I can't stand it to be whipped any more; but you don't
+get whipped, Fred. What are _you_ going for?"
+
+"Why, to seek my fortune," replied Fred, spitting, in a manly fashion,
+into a clump of smartweed. "Always meant to, you know, soon's I got so I
+could take care of myself; and now I can cipher as far as
+_substraction_, what more does a fellow want?"
+
+"Don't believe you can spell 'phthisic,' though."
+
+As this remark had nothing to do with the case in point, Fred took no
+notice of it. What if he couldn't spell as well as Willy? He was a year
+and a half older, and had the charge of this expedition.
+
+"Which way you mean to point, Billy?"
+
+"Why, I thought we were going to sea. That's what you said; and I put a
+lot of nutcakes in my pocket to eat 'fore we got to the ship."
+
+"You did? Well, give us some, then, for I'm about starved."
+
+"So'm I, too."
+
+And one would hardly have doubted it, to see them both eat. The
+doughnuts were sweet and spicy, and cheering to the spirits; the young
+travellers did not once stop to consider that they might need them more
+by and by. Children are not, as a general rule, very deeply concerned
+about the future. Birds of the air may have some idea where to-morrow's
+dinner is coming from; but these boys neither knew nor cared.
+
+"First rate," remarked Fred, as the last doughnut disappeared. "But I
+don't know about going to sea. It's plaguy tough work climbing ropes,
+they say, and I heard of a boy that got whipped so hard he jumped
+overboard."
+
+"Let's not go, then," cried Willy.
+
+"Catch me!" said Fred. "I've been thinking of the lumb'ring business.
+They make money fast as you can wink up there to the Forks."
+
+"Let's go lumbering, then."
+
+"Guess we will, Billy. You see the trees don't cost anything,--they grow
+wild,--and all you've got to do is to chop 'em down."
+
+"Yes," said Willy, "and we need red shirts for that. I never chopped a
+tree's I know of. Could, though, if I had a sharp axe. Guess I could, I
+mean,--I mean if the tree wasn't _too_ big!"
+
+"O, we shan't chop 'em ourselves," said Fred, spitting grandly. "Wasn't
+my father a lumberman once, and got rich by it? But did _he_ ever cut
+down a tree? What's the use? Hire men, you know."
+
+"O!" exclaimed Willy. But a gleam of common sense striking him next
+moment, he added, "but the money; where'll we get that?"
+
+"O, we'll get it after a while," replied Fred, vaguely. "My father was a
+poor boy once. Fact! I've heard him tell about it. Nothing but tow-cloth
+breeches, and wale-cloth jacket, off there to Groton. And he made butter
+tubs and potash tubs, sir. And he took his pay in beaver skins. And then
+he went afoot to Boston, and he rolled a barrel of lime round the Falls,
+sir. I've heard him tell it five million times. And my aunt Tempy, she
+rode a-horseback three hundred miles to Concord.--O, poh! there's lots
+of ways to make money, if you try. And once he took his pay in
+potash,--my father did; and he sold tobacco. O, there's ways enough to
+make money if you keep your eyes open; that's what my father says."
+
+Willy's eyes were open enough, if that were all. At any rate, he was
+trying his very best to keep them open. Half of his mind was sleepy, and
+half of it very wide awake indeed. There was something so inspiring in
+Fred's confident tone. Rather misty his plans might be as yet; but
+hadn't Willy heard, ever since he could remember, that people were sure
+to succeed if they were only "up and doing?"
+
+"Come, let's start," said he, rising eagerly, as the bell rang for nine.
+"If we are going to the Forks we must go to Harlow first; I know that
+much."
+
+And turning the corner at the left, the two wise little pilgrims set out
+upon their travels,--
+
+    "Strange countries for to see."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+TO THE FORKS.
+
+
+Willy started upon the run; but Fred, as soon as he could overtake him,
+and speak for puffing, exclaimed,--
+
+"Now, Will Parlin, what's the use? We've got a good start, and let's
+take it fair and easy."
+
+This was the most sensible remark Fred had made for the evening. Lazy
+and good-for-nothing as he was, he had spoken the truth for once. If
+they were ever to arrive at the Forks, they were likely to do it much
+sooner by walking than running. Willy did not understand this. Being as
+lithe as a young deer, he preferred "bounding over the plains" to
+lagging along with such a slow walker as Fred.
+
+The town of Harlow was twelve miles away, and it was Fred's opinion that
+they should reach it in season for an early breakfast.
+
+"I've got two dollars in my pocket," said he, "and I guess we shan't
+starve _this_ fall."
+
+Willy thought of the eighteen cents he had been six weeks in saving, but
+was ashamed to speak of such a small sum.
+
+"Well, we shan't get to Harlow, or any where else, till day after
+to-morrow afternoon, if you don't hurry up," said he, impatiently. "You
+say you can't run, but I should think you might do as much as to march.
+Now, come,--left, foot out,--while I whistle."
+
+Fred tried his best, but he was one of the few boys born with "no music
+in his soul," and he could not keep step.
+
+"What's the matter with you, Fred Chase?"
+
+"Don't know. Guess you haven't got the right tune."
+
+Willy stopped short in "Come, Philander," and turned it into "Hail,
+Columbia;" but it made no difference. "Roy's Wife," or "Fy! let us a' to
+the wedding," was as good as anything else. Fred took long steps or
+short steps, just as it happened, and Willy never had understood, and
+could not understand now, what did ail Fred's feet; it was very
+tiresome, indeed.
+
+"Look here: what tune have I been whistling now? See if you know?"
+
+"Why, that's--that's--some kind of a dancing tune. Can't think. O, yes;
+'Old Hundred.'"
+
+"Fred Chase!" thundered Willy; "that's _'Yankee Doodle_!' Anybody that
+don't know Yankee Doodle _must_ be a fool!"
+
+"Why, look here now: I know Yankee Doodle as well as you do, Will
+Parlin, only you didn't whistle it right!"
+
+At another time Willy would have been quick to laugh at such an absurd
+remark; but now, tired as he was, it made him downright angry. He
+stopped whistling, and did not speak again for five minutes. Meanwhile
+he began to grow very sleepy.
+
+"Wish we were going to battle," said Fred at last, for the sake of
+breaking the silence. "I'd like to be in a good fight; that is, if they
+had decent music. I could march to a fife and drum first rate."
+
+"Could, hey! Then why didn't you ever do it?"
+
+"Do you mean to say I don' know how to march? Know how as well as you
+do."
+
+"Think's likely," snarled Willy, "for _I_ can't march if I have _you_ to
+march with. Can't keep step with anybody that ain't bright!"
+
+"Nor I can't, either, Will Parlin; that's why I can't keep step with
+you."
+
+"Well, then, go along to the other side of the road--will you? I won't
+have you here with your hippity-hop, hippity-hop."
+
+"Go to the other side of the road your own self, and see how you like
+it," retorted Fred. "I won't have _you_ here, with your tramp, tramp,
+tramp."
+
+Was ever anybody so provoking as Fred? Willy had an impulse to give him
+a hard push; but before he could extend his arm to do it, he had
+forgotten what they were quarrelling about. That strange sleepiness had
+drowned every other feeling, and Fred's "tramp, tramp, tramp," spoken in
+such drawling tones, had fairly caused his eyes to draw together.
+
+"Guess I'll drop down here side of the road, and rest a minute," said
+he.
+
+"So'll I," said Fred, always ready for a halt if not for a march.
+
+But it was a cold night. As soon as they had thrown themselves upon the
+faded grass they began to feel the pinchings of the frost.
+
+"None of your dozing yet a while," said Fred, who, though tired, was not
+as sleepy as Willy. "We must push along till we get to a barn or
+something."
+
+Willy rose to his feet, promptly.
+
+"Look up here and show us your eyes, Billy. I've just thought of
+something. How do I know but you're sound asleep this minute? Generally
+sleep with your eyes open--don't you--and walk round too, just the
+same?"
+
+Fred said this with a cruel laugh. He knew Willy was very sensitive on
+the subject of sleep-walking, and he was quite willing to hurt his
+feelings. Why shouldn't he be? Hadn't Willy hurt _his_ feelings by
+making those cutting remarks in regard to music? As for the Golden Rule,
+Master Fred was not the boy to trouble himself about that; not in the
+least.
+
+"I haven't walked in my sleep since I was a small boy," said Willy,
+trying his best to force back the tears; "and I don't think it's fair
+to plague me about it now."
+
+"Well, then, you needn't plague me for not keeping step to your old
+whistling. If you want to know what the reason is I can't keep step,
+I'll tell you; it's because my feet are sore. They've been tender ever
+since I blistered 'em last summer."
+
+Willy was too polite this time, or perhaps too sleepy, to contradict.
+
+It did seem as if the road to Harlow was the longest, and the hills the
+steepest, ever known.
+
+"Call it twelve miles--it's twenty!" said Fred, beginning to limp.
+
+"Would be twenty-five," said Willy, "if the hills were rolled out
+smooth."
+
+They trudged on as bravely as they could, but, in spite of the cold, had
+to stop now and then to rest, and by the time they had gone eight miles
+it seemed as if they could hold out no longer.
+
+"I shouldn't be tired if I were in your place," said Fred; "it's my
+feet, you know."
+
+"Here's a barn," exclaimed Willy, joyfully.
+
+"Hush!" whispered cautious Fred; "don't you see there's a house to it,
+and it wouldn't do to risk it? Folks would find us out, sure as guns."
+
+A little farther on there was a hayrack at the side of the road, filled
+with boards; and after a short consultation the boys decided to climb
+into it, and "camp down a few minutes."
+
+"It won't do to stay long," said Fred, "for it must be 'most sunrise;
+and we should be in a pretty fix if anybody should go by and catch us."
+
+It was only one o'clock! The boards were not as soft as feathers, by any
+means, but the boys thought they wouldn't have minded that if they could
+only have had a blanket to spread over them. More forlorn than the
+"babes in the wood," they had not even the prospect that any birds would
+come and cover them with leaves.
+
+As they stretched themselves upon the boards, Willy thought of his
+prayer. "Now I lay me down to sleep." Never, since he could remember,
+had he gone to bed without that. Would it do to say it now? Would God
+hear him? Ah, but would it do _not_ to say it? So he breathed it softly
+to himself, lest Fred should hear and laugh at him.
+
+It was so cold that Fred declared he couldn't shut his eyes, and
+shouldn't dare to, either; but in less than a minute both the boys were
+fast asleep.
+
+They had slept about three hours, without stirring or even dreaming,
+when they were suddenly wakened by the glare of a tin lantern shining in
+their eyes, and a gruff voice calling out,--
+
+"Who's this? How came you here?"
+
+Willy stared at the man without speaking. Was it to-night, or last
+night, or to-morrow night?
+
+Fred had not yet opened his eyes, and the worthy farmer was obliged to
+shake him for half a minute before he was fairly aroused.
+
+"Who are you? What are you here for?" repeated he.
+
+Then the boys sat upright on the boards and looked at each other. They
+were both covered with a thick coating of frost, as white as if they had
+been out in a snowstorm. What should they say to the man? It would never
+do to tell him their real names, for then he would very likely know who
+their fathers were, and send them straight home. Dear! dear! What a pity
+they happened to fall asleep! And why need the man have come out there
+in the night with a lantern?--a man who probably had a bed of his own to
+sleep in.
+
+"I--I--" said Willy, brushing the frost off his knees; and that is
+probably as far as he would have gone with his speech, for his tongue
+failed him entirely; but Fred, being afraid he might tell the whole
+truth,--which was a bad habit of Willy's,--gave him a sly poke in the
+side, as a hint to stop. Willy couldn't and wouldn't make up a wrong
+story; but Fred could, and there was nothing he enjoyed more.
+
+"Well, sir," said he, clearing his throat, and looking up at the farmer
+with a face of baby-like innocence, "I guess you don't know me--do you?
+My name's Johnny Quirk, and this boy here's my brother, Sammy Quirk."
+
+Willy drew back a little. It seemed as if he himself had been telling a
+lie. Ah! and wasn't it next thing to it?
+
+"Quirk? Quirk? I don't know any Quirks round in these parts," said the
+farmer.
+
+"O, we live up yonder," said Fred, pointing with his finger. "We live
+two miles beyond Harlow, and we were down to Cross Lots to aunt
+Nancy's, you see, and they sent for us to come home,--mother did. Our
+father's dreadful sick: they don't expect he'll get well."
+
+"You don't say so! Poor little creeturs! And here you are out doors,
+sleeping on the rough boards. Come right along into the house with me,
+and get warm. What's the matter with your father?"
+
+"Some kind of a fever; and he don't know anything; he's awful sick,"
+replied Fred, running his sleeve across his eyes.
+
+The good farmer's heart was touched. He thought of his own little boys,
+no older than these, and how sad it would be if they should be left
+fatherless.
+
+"Come in and get warm," said he. "It's four o'clock, and you shall sleep
+in a good bed till six, and then I'll wake you up, and give you some
+breakfast."
+
+"O, I don't know as we can; we ought to be going," said Fred, wiping his
+eyes; "father may be dead."
+
+"Yes, but you shall come in," persisted the farmer; "you're all but
+froze. If 'twas my little boys, I should take it kindly in anybody that
+made 'em go in and get warm. Besides, you can travel as fast again if
+you start off kind of comfortable."
+
+A good bed was so refreshing to think of that the boys did not need much
+urging; but Willy entered the house with downcast eyes and feelings of
+shame, whereas Fred could look their new friend in the face, and answer
+all his questions without wincing.
+
+Mr. Johonnet thought himself a shrewd man, but he could not see into the
+hearts of these young children. He liked the appearance of "Johnny
+Quirk," an "open-hearted, pretty-spoken little chap, that any father
+might be proud of;" but "Sammy" did not please him as well; he was not
+so frank, or so respectful,--seemed really to be a little sulky. There
+are some boys who pass off finely before strangers, because they are not
+in the least bashful, and have a knack of putting on any manner they
+choose; and Fred was one of these. Willy, a far nobler boy, was
+naturally timid before his betters; but even if he had been as bold as
+Fred, his conscience would never have let him say and do such untrue
+things.
+
+Willy suffered. Although he had told no lies himself, he had stood by
+and heard them told without correcting them. How much better was that?
+Still it seemed as if, as things were, he could not very well have
+helped himself. So much for falling into bad company. "Eggs should not
+dance with stones."
+
+"Well; I never'd have come with Fred Chase if father hadn't whipped me
+'most to death."
+
+And, soothed with this flimsy excuse, Willy was soon asleep again.
+
+At six o'clock Mr. Johonnet called the little travellers to breakfast.
+The coffee was very dark-colored, with molasses boiled in it, and there
+were fried pork, fried potatoes swimming in fat, and clammy "rye and
+indian bread." None of these dishes were very inviting to the boys, who
+both had excellent fare at home; and they would have made but a light
+meal, if it had not been for the pumpkin pie and cheese, which Mr.
+Johonnet asked his wife to set on the table.
+
+"Poor children, they must eat," said he; "for they've got to get home to
+see their sick father."
+
+There were so many questions to be asked, that the boys made quick work
+of their breakfast and hurried away.
+
+"There, glad we're out of that scrape," said Fred.
+
+"But _didn't_ you lie? Why, Fred, how could you lie so?"
+
+"H'm! Did it up handsome--didn't I, though? Wouldn't give a red cent for
+you. You haven't the least gumption about lying."
+
+Willy shivered and drew away a little. His fine nature was shocked by
+Fred's coarseness and lack of principle; still, this was the boy he had
+chosen for an intimate friend!
+
+"If it hadn't been for me you'd have let the cat out of the bag,"
+chuckled Fred. "You hung your head down as if you'd been stealing a
+sheep."
+
+It was three miles farther to Harlow, and Fred grumbled all the way
+about his sore feet.
+
+"See that yellow house through the trees?" said he. "That's my uncle
+Diah's; wish we could go there and rest."
+
+"But what's the use to wish?" returned Willy. "Look here, Fred; isn't
+there a ford somewhere near here?"
+
+To be sure there was. They had forgotten that; and sometimes the ford
+was not fordable, and it was necessary to go round-about in order to
+cross a ferry. While they were puzzling over this new dilemma, a
+stage-horn sounded.
+
+"That's the Harlow driver; he knows us," cried Fred; "let's hide quick."
+
+They concealed themselves behind some aspen trees on the bank, and
+"peeking" out, could see the stage-coach and its four sleek horses,
+about an eighth of a mile away, driving down the ferry-hill into the
+river.
+
+"Good!" said Willy; "there's the ford, and now we know. And the water
+isn't up to the horses' knees; so _we_ can cross well enough."
+
+"Yes, and get our breeches wet," groaned Fred.
+
+"O, that's nothing. Lumbermen don't mind wet breeches," said Willy,
+cheerily.
+
+"Lumbermen? Who said we were lumbermen? I shan't try it yet a while; my
+feet are too plaguy sore!"
+
+"Shan't try what?"
+
+"Well, nothing, I guess," yawned Fred; "lumber nor nothing else."
+
+The stage had passed, by this time, and they were walking towards the
+ford. When they reached it, Willy, nothing daunted, drew off his
+stockings and shoes, and began to roll up his pantaloons.
+
+"Look here, Billy; if you see any fun in this business, _I_ don't!"
+
+"Fun? O, but we don't spect that, you know," said heroic Willy, stepping
+into the stream.
+
+"Cold as ice, I know by the way you cringe," said lazy Fred, who had not
+yet untied his shoes.
+
+"Come on, Fred; who minds the cold?"
+
+"Now wait a minute, Billy. I hadn't got through talking. I'm not going
+to kill myself for nothing; I want some fun out of it."
+
+"Do come on and behave yourself," called back Willy; "when we get rich
+we'll have the fun."
+
+"Well, go and get rich then," cried Fred; "I shan't stir another step!
+My father's got money enough, and I needn't turn my hand over."
+
+Willy stopped short.
+
+"But you are going to the Forks with me?"
+
+"Who said I was?"
+
+"Why, you said so, yourself. You were the one that put it in my head."
+
+"O, that was only talk. I didn't mean anything."
+
+Willy turned square round in the water, and glared at Fred, with eyes
+that seemed to shoot sparks of fire.
+
+[Illustration: DESERTED.--Page 195.]
+
+"Yes--well, yes, I did kind of mean to, too," cried Fred, shrinking
+under the gaze; "but I've got awful sick of it."
+
+"Who called me a SNEAK?" exclaimed Willy, his voice shaking with wrath.
+"Who called me my mamma's cry-baby? Who said he spected I'd back out?"
+
+"But you see, Billy, my feet!"
+
+Willy, whose own feet were nearly freezing, replied by a sniff of
+contempt. He planted himself on a rock in the middle of the river, and
+awaited the rest of Fred's speech.
+
+"You know I've got folks living this side, back there a piece--my uncle
+Diah. That's where I'll go. They'll let me make a visit, and carry me
+home: they did it last spring."
+
+"And what about _me_, Fred Chase?"
+
+"You? Why, you may go where you're a mind to."
+
+"What? Me, that you coaxed so to come?"
+
+Fred quailed before the look and the tone.
+
+"Well, I'd take you to uncle Diah's, Willy, only--well--I can't very
+well, that's all."
+
+Willy suddenly turned his back, and cleared the stream with one bound.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+"I HA'E NAEBODY NOW."
+
+
+Standing on the bank, Willy looked back over his shoulder at Fred, and
+saw him dart off into a shady cow-path. No doubt he was going to his
+uncle Diah's. When he was fairly out of sight, and Willy comprehended at
+last that he had really left him, and did not mean to come back, he sat
+down on a stone by the wayside, and began to rave.
+
+"The tormentable, mean, naughty boy! I'd be ashamed to treat a _skeeter_
+the way he's treated me! Did I ever coax a boy to go anywhere with me,
+and then run off and leave him right in the middle of the river? No,
+_sir_. Sore feet, hey? Didn't anybody ever have sore feet 'fore now, I
+wonder? Why, I had chilblains last winter so deep they dug a hole into
+my heels, and,--well, it's no use to make a great fuss,--I didn't cry
+but two or three times. Blisters! what's that? Nothing but little puffs
+of water! Perhaps that wasn't why he stopped, though. Just as likely as
+not he meant all the time to stop, and come a-purpose to see Mr. Diah.
+How can you tell? A boy that lies so! There, there, come to think of it,
+shouldn't wonder if his feet weren't sore a bit! Wish I'd looked at 'em!
+
+"Well, he's backed out, Fred Chase has! I should think he'd feel so mean
+he never'd want to show _his_ head anywhere again! 'Fore I'd _sneak
+out_ when I got started! Eh, for shame!"
+
+Willy tore up a handful of grass, and threw it into the road, and the
+action served to relieve him a little.
+
+"Well, what'll _I_ do? now let's think. If a tiger should come right
+down this ferry-hill, and tear me all to pieces, Fred wouldn't care.
+'Course not. All he cares is to get enough to eat, and not make his feet
+sore. He don't care what comes of me. I've got to think it out for
+myself, what I'd better do. Got to do it myself, too, all alone, and
+there won't be anybody to help me. Pretty scrape, I should think! Might
+have known better'n to come!
+
+"Well; will I be a lumberman and go up to the Forks? Let's see; I don'
+know the way up there. That makes it bad, 'cause I guess there isn't
+much of any road to it 'cept spotted trees; that's what I heard once.
+Most likely I'd get lost. Fred wouldn't care if I did; be glad, I
+s'pose. But, then, there's bears. Ugh! Pshaw! who's afraid of bears? And
+then there's mother--O, I didn't mean to think about mother!"
+
+Willy sighed, but soon roused himself.
+
+"Well, what'll I do? O, wasn't that a real poor breakfast the woman gave
+us? Don't see how I swallowed it! Makes me sick to think of it. Didn't
+taste much like mother's breakfasts! I don't want to go where I'll have
+to drink molasses in my coffee, and eat fatty potatoes too.
+
+"And who'd take a little boy like me? Folks laugh at little boys--think
+they don't know a thing. And folks always ask so many questions. They
+want to know where you come from, and who your father is, and if he's
+got any cows. And I _won't_ lie. And next thing they'd be sending me
+home. They'd say home was the best place for little boys. H'm! So it is,
+if you don't have to get whipped!
+
+"O, my! Didn't I have to take it that last time? Father never hurt so
+before. Made all the bad come up in my throat, and I can't swallow it
+down yet. It would be good enough for him if I was dead; for then every
+time he went out to the barn there'd be that horsewhip hanging up on the
+nail; and he'd think to himself--'Where's that little boy I used to
+whip?' And then the tears will come into his eyes, I pretty much know
+they will. I saw the tears in his eyes once when I was sick. He felt
+real bad; but when I got well, first thing he did was to whip me again.
+Whippings don't do any good. All that does any good is when mother talks
+to me; and that don't do any good, either. She made me learn this
+verse:--
+
+"'And thou, Solomon, my son, know thou the God of thy fathers, and serve
+him with a perfect heart and a willing mind. If thou seek him, he will
+be found of thee, but if thou forsake him, he will cast thee off
+forever.'
+
+"There, I know that straight as a book. She prays to God to make me
+better, but He doesn't do it yet, and I should think she'd get
+discouraged. 'Heart like a stone,' she said. That made me want to laugh,
+for I could feel it beating all the time she spoke, and it couldn't if
+it was a stone! Bad heart, though, or I wouldn't be so bad myself.
+
+"Well, it's no use to think about badness or goodness now," said Willy,
+flinging another handful of grass into the road. "_What'll I do?_ That's
+the question.
+
+"You see, now, folks have such a poor opinion of boys," added he, his
+thoughts spinning round the same circle again. "Most wish I was a girl.
+O, my stars, what an idea!"
+
+And completely disgusted with himself, he jumped up and turned a
+somerset.
+
+"Better be whipped three times a day than be a girl!
+
+"But father felt real bad that time I was sick, for I saw him. Not so
+bad as mother, though. Poor mother! I no business to gone off and left
+her. What you s'pose she thought last night, when I didn't come back
+from the post office?"
+
+This question had tried to rise before, but had always been forced back.
+
+"She waited till nine o'clock, and didn't think much queer. But after
+that she come out of the bedroom, with her face tied up, and said she,
+'Hasn't Willy got home yet?' Then they told her 'No,' and father
+scowled. And she sat up till ten o'clock, and then do you s'pose anybody
+went out doors to hunt? She didn't sleep a wink all night. Don't see how
+folks can lie awake so. I couldn't if I should try; but I'm not a woman,
+you know, and I don't believe I should care much about my boys, if I
+was. Would _I_ mend their trousis for 'em, when they tore 'em on a nail,
+going where I told 'em not to? For, says I, I can't bear the sight of a
+child that won't mind. But you see, mother--
+
+"Poor mother, what'll she do without me? She said there wasn't anybody
+she could take in her arms to hug but just me. Stephen's too big to sit
+in her lap, and Love's too big; and there wouldn't anybody think of
+hugging Seth, if he was ever so little.
+
+"Yes, mother wants _me_. I remember that song she sings about the Scotch
+woman that lost her baby, and she cries a little before she gets
+through."
+
+The words were set to a plaintive air, and Willy hummed it over to
+himself,--
+
+    "I ha'e naebody now, I ha'e naebody now
+       To clasp at my bosom at even,
+    O'er his calm sleep to breathe out a vow,
+       And pray for the blessing of Heaven."
+
+"Poor mother, how that makes her cry! Why, I declare, I'm crying too!
+Somehow seems's if I couldn't get along without mother. But there, I
+won't be a cry-baby! Hush up, Willy Parlin!
+
+"WHAT'LL I DO? Wish I hadn't come. Wish I'd thought more about
+mother--how she's going to feel.
+
+"What if I should turn right round now, and go home? Why, father'd whip
+me worse'n ever--_that's_ what. Well, who cares? It'll feel better after
+it's done smarting. Guess I can stand it. Look here, Will Parlin, I'm
+going."
+
+Bravo, Willy! With both feet he plunged into the river, and waded slowly
+across. Very slowly, for his mind was not fully made up yet. There was a
+great deal of thinking to be done first; but he might as well be moving
+on while he thought. Every now and then rebellious pride, or anger, or
+shame would get the better of him, and he would wheel round, with the
+impulse to strike off into the unknown _Somewhere_, where boys lived
+without whippings. But the thought of his mother always stopped him.
+
+Was there an invisible cord which stretched from her heart to his--a
+cord of love, which drew him back to her side? He could see her
+sorrowful face, he could hear her pleading voice, and the very tremble
+in it when she sang,--
+
+    "I ha'e naebody now, I ha'e naebody now."
+
+"But I'd never go back and take that whipping, if it wasn't for mother!"
+
+He no longer felt obliged to hide from the approach of every human
+being; and when a pedler, driving a "cart of notions," called out, "Want
+a lift, little youngster?" he was very glad to accept the offer. To be
+sure, he only rode two or three miles, but it was a great help.
+
+It was noon, by that time, "high noon too," and the smell of nice
+dinners floated out to him from the farm-houses, as he trudged by; but
+to beg a meal he was ashamed. When he reached Cross Lots it was the
+middle of the afternoon. He went up to the stump near the mill, where he
+and Freddy had sat the night before; and, as he seated himself, he
+thought with a pang of that pocket full of doughnuts, so freely made way
+with.
+
+He had eighteen cents in his wallet; but what good did it do, when there
+was no store at hand where a body could buy so much as a sheet of
+gingerbread? He was starving in the midst of plenty, like that
+unfortunate man whose touch turned all the food he put in his mouth into
+gold.
+
+Beginning to think he would almost be willing to be whipped for the sake
+of a good supper, he rose and walked on.
+
+When he reached the Noonin farm, a mile and a half from home, the night
+shadows were beginning to fall, but he could see in the distance a horse
+and wagon coming that made his heart thump loud. The horse was old
+Dolly; and what if one of the men in the wagon should be his father?
+
+No, it was only Seth and Stephen; but Seth was almost as much to be
+dreaded as Mr. Parlin himself.
+
+"You here, you young rogue?" called out Stephen, in a tone between
+laughing and scolding, for he would not have Willy suspect how relieved
+they were at finding him. "You here? And where's Fred?"
+
+"Up to Harlow, to Mr. Diah's," replied Willy, and coolly climbed into
+the wagon.
+
+"Better wait for an invitation. How do you know we shall let you ride?"
+said Stephen, turning the horse's head towards home.
+
+"First, we'd like to know what you've got to say for yourself," put in
+Seth, in that cold, hard tone, which always made Willy feel as if he
+didn't care how he had acted, and as if he would do just so again.
+
+"I suppose you are aware that you have been a very wicked, deceitful,
+disobedient boy?"
+
+Willy made no reply, but lay down on the floor of the wagon, and curled
+himself up like a caterpillar.
+
+"Don't be too hard on him, Seth," said Stephen, who could not help
+pitying the poor little fellow in his shame and embarrassment; "I don't
+believe you meant to run away--now did you, Willy?"
+
+The child was quite touched by this unexpected kindness. So they were
+not sure he did mean to run away? If he said "No," they would believe
+him, and then perhaps he wouldn't have to be whipped. But next instant
+his better self triumphed, and he scorned the lie. Uncurling himself
+from his caterpillar ball, he stammered,--
+
+"Yes, I did mean to, too."
+
+A little more, and he would have told the whole story. He longed to
+tell it--how life had seemed a burden on account of his whippings, and
+how he and Fred had planned to set up in business for themselves, but
+Fred had backed out. But before he had time to speak, Seth said,
+sternly,--
+
+"You saucy child!"
+
+He had taken Willy's quick "Yes, I did mean to, too," for impertinence;
+whereas it was one of the bravest speeches the boy ever made, and did
+him honor.
+
+After this rebuke from Seth, Willy could not very well go on with his
+confessions; the heart was gone out of him, and he curled up, limp and
+quiet, like a caterpillar again.
+
+"Meant to run away--did you?" went on Seth, who ought to have known
+better than to pursue the subject; "to run away like a little dirty
+vagabond! You've nearly killed mother, I wish you to understand. You'll
+get a severe thrashing for this. I shall tell father not to show you any
+mercy."
+
+"Come, now, don't kick a fellow when he's down," said Stephen. "Willy
+will be ashamed enough of this."
+
+"Well, he ought to be ashamed! If he'd had a teaspoonful of brains he'd
+have known better than to cut up such a caper as this. Did you think you
+could run off so far but that we could find you, child?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"What did you little goslings mean to do with yourselves? Live on
+acorns? And what did Fred's uncle say when he saw him coming into the
+house in that shape?"
+
+No answer.
+
+Stephen looked down at the curled-up bunch on the floor of the wagon,
+and as it did not move, he gently touched it with his foot.
+
+"Poor little thing," said he, "I guess he's had a pretty hard cruise of
+it; he's sound asleep."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+CONCLUSION.
+
+
+Mrs. Parlin saw the wagon driving up to the porch door, and came out
+trembling and too much frightened to speak. She supposed at first that
+Willy had not come, for she did not see him till Seth and Stephen lifted
+him out of the wagon, a dead weight between them.
+
+O, her baby--her baby; what had happened to her dear wee Willie?
+
+"There, there, mother, don't be frightened," said Stephen, cheerily;
+"his tramp has been too much for him; that's all. I guess we'll carry
+him right up stairs to bed."
+
+"I--want--some--supper," moaned the little rebel, waking up just as they
+were laying him on his bed in the pink chamber.
+
+His mother and Love watched him with real pleasure, as he devoured cold
+meat and bread, all they dared let him have, but not half as much as he
+craved. Then he fell asleep again, and did not wake till noon of the
+next day. His mother was bending over him with the tenderest love, just
+as if he had never given her a moment's trouble in his life. That was
+just like his dear mother, and it was more than Willy could bear; he
+threw his arms round her neck, and buried his face in her bosom,
+completely subdued.
+
+"O, mother, mother, I'll never do so again."
+
+"My darling, I am sure you never will."
+
+"Where's father?"
+
+"Down stairs in the dining-room, I think."
+
+"Well, I'm ready; will you tell him I'm ready," cried Willy, drawing a
+quick breath.
+
+"Ready for what, dear?"
+
+"Well, he is going to whip me, I suppose, and I want it over with."
+
+"And how do you feel about it, my son? Don't you think you deserve to be
+whipped?"
+
+"Yes'm, I do," replied Willy, with a sudden burst of candor; "I don't
+see how anybody can help whipping a boy that's acted the way I have."
+
+"That's nobly said, my child," exclaimed Mr. Parlin, stepping out of the
+large clothes-press. "I happened to be in there over-hauling the trunk
+that has my Freemason clothes in it, and I couldn't but overhear what
+you've been saying."
+
+Willy buried his face in the pillow. He was willing his mother should
+know his inmost thoughts, but he had always been afraid of his father.
+
+"And, Willy, since you take so kindly to the idea of another whipping, I
+don't know but I shall let you off this time."
+
+Willy opened his eyes very wide.
+
+"I'll tell you why," went on Mr. Parlin. "You didn't deserve the last
+whipping you had; so that will go to offset this one, which you do
+deserve."
+
+Willy's eyes sparkled with delight; still there was a look in them of
+question and surprise. The idea of his ever having a whipping that his
+father thought he didn't deserve!
+
+"You were in a shameful state that night, Willy; I can't call it
+anything else but _drunk_; but I know now how it happened; there was
+brandy in the cider."
+
+"Brandy, papa?"
+
+"Yes. Dr. Potter and I examined the barrel yesterday, and the mixture in
+it was at least one third brandy."
+
+"O, papa, was that why it tasted so bad? I drank one mugful, and didn't
+like it; and then by and by I drank another mugful; but that was all."
+
+"Yes, Willy; so you told me when I talked with you; and I didn't believe
+you then; but I believe you now."
+
+"O, father, I'm so glad!" cried Willy, with a look such as he had never
+before given his father--a beaming look of gratitude and love. I think
+he was happier at that moment to know that his father trusted him, than
+to know he would not be punished.
+
+He little thought then that he should never have another whipping as
+long as he lived; but so it proved. Not that Mr. Parlin ever changed his
+mind about the good effects of the rod; but when he saw that Willy was
+really trying to be a better boy, he had more patience with him.
+
+And Willy was trying. He continued to be rather hasty and headstrong,
+but the "Indian sulks" gradually melted out of his disposition like ice
+in a summer river. This exploit of running away had a humbling effect,
+no doubt; but more than that, as he grew older he learned to understand
+and love his father better. He found that those dreadful whippings had
+been given "more in sorrow than in anger,"--given as a help to make him
+better; and the time came when he thanked his father for them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And this is all I have to tell of his younger days. When he was
+twenty-seven years old, and pretty Patience Lyman was twenty, they were
+married in Squire Lyman's parlor, by Elder Lovejoy, then a very old man.
+
+After the wedding they rode at once to Willowbrook, where they have both
+lived to this day; she, the dearest of old ladies, and he, a large,
+beautiful, white-headed old man, whom no one would now think of calling
+the _Little Grandfather_.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Grandfather, by Sophie May
+
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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
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+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #25481 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25481)