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+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Captain Horace, by Sophie May..
+    </title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Captain Horace, 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: Captain Horace
+
+Author: Sophie May
+
+Release Date: May 16, 2008 [EBook #25484]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPTAIN HORACE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Josephine Paolucci and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
+(This file was produced from images generously made
+available by The Internet Archive.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 374px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="374" height="500" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><br /><br /></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 364px;">
+<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="364" height="500" alt="Captain Horace." title="" />
+<span class="caption">Captain Horace.</span>
+</div>
+<p><br /><br /></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 329px;">
+<img src="images/seriestitle.jpg" width="329" height="500" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+<p><br /><br /></p>
+
+<h3>LITTLE PRUDY SERIES.</h3>
+
+
+<h1>CAPTAIN HORACE.</h1>
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h2>SOPHIE MAY.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">
+BOSTON 1893<br />
+LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS<br />
+10 MILK STREET NEXT "THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE"<br />
+</p>
+
+
+<p class="center">
+Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by<br />
+LEE &amp; SHEPARD,<br />
+In the Clerk's Office of the District Court<br />
+of the District of Massachusetts.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1892, by Rebecca S. Clarke.</span><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Little Prudy's Captain Horace.</span><br />
+</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">TO<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">MY LITTLE NEPHEW<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">WILLY WHEELER.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">FROM HIS AFFECTIONATE<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">AUNT.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>PREFACE.</h2>
+
+
+<p>You wide-awake little boys, who make whistles of willow, and go fishing
+and training,&mdash;Horace is very much like you, I suppose. He is by no
+means perfect, but he is brave and kind, and scorns a lie. I hope you
+and he will shake hands and be friends.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+<p>
+CHAPTER                            <span class="tocnum">PAGE</span><br />
+<br />
+I. <span class="smcap">Making Candy</span>,                 <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></span><br />
+<br />
+II. <span class="smcap">Camping Out</span>,                <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></span><br />
+<br />
+III. <span class="smcap">Taking a Journey</span>,          <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></span><br />
+<br />
+IV. <span class="smcap">At Grandpa Parlin's</span>,        <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></span><br />
+<br />
+V. <span class="smcap">Captain of a Company</span>,        <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></span><br />
+<br />
+VI. <span class="smcap">Susy and Prudy</span>,             <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></span><br />
+<br />
+VII. <span class="smcap">In the Woods</span>,              <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></span><br />
+<br />
+VIII. <span class="smcap">Captain Clifford</span>,        <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></span><br />
+<br />
+IX. <span class="smcap">The Blue Book</span>,             <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></span><br />
+<br />
+X. <span class="smcap">Trying to get rich</span>,         <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></span><br />
+<br />
+XI. <span class="smcap">The Little Indian</span>,         <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></span><br />
+<br />
+XII. <span class="smcap">A Pleasant Surprise</span>,      <span class="tocnum"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></span><br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CAPTAIN HORACE.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<h3>MAKING CANDY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Grace and Horace Clifford lived in Indiana, and so were called
+"Hoosiers."</p>
+
+<p>Their home, with its charming grounds, was a little way out of town, and
+from the front windows of the house you could look out on the broad
+Ohio, a river which would be very beautiful, if its yellow waters were
+only once settled. As far as the eye could see, the earth was one vast
+plain, and, in order to touch it, the sky seemed to stoop very low;
+whereas, in New England, the gray-headed mountains appear to go up part
+way to meet the sky.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>One fine evening in May, brown-eyed Horace and blue-eyed Grace stood on
+the balcony, leaning against the iron railing, watching the stars, and
+chatting together.</p>
+
+<p>One thing is very sure: they never dreamed that from this evening their
+sayings and doings&mdash;particularly Horace's&mdash;were to be printed in a book.
+If any one had whispered such a thing, how dumb Horace would have grown,
+his chin snuggling down into a hollow place in his neck! and how
+nervously Grace would have laughed! walking about very fast, and
+saying,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"O, it's too bad, to put Horace and me in a book! I say it's too bad!
+Tell them to wait till my hair is curled, and I have my new pink dress
+on! And tell them to make Horace talk better! He plays so much with the
+Dutch boys. O, Horace isn't fit to print!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>This is what she might have said if she had thought of being "put in a
+book;" but as she knew nothing at all about it, she only stood very
+quietly leaning against the balcony-railing, and looking up at the
+evening sky, merry with stars.</p>
+
+<p>"What a shiny night, Horace! What do the stars look like? Is it diamond
+rings?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you, Gracie; it's cigars they look like&mdash;just the ends of
+cigars when somebody is smoking."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment the cluster called the "Seven Sisters" was drowned in a
+soft, white cloud.</p>
+
+<p>"Look," said Grace; "there are some little twinkles gone to sleep, all
+tucked up in a coverlet. I don't see what makes you think of dirty
+cigars! They look to me like little specks of gold harps ever so far
+off, so you can't hear the music. O, Horace, don't you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> want to be an
+angel, and play on a beautiful harp?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said her brother, knitting his brows, and thinking a
+moment; "when I can't live any longer, you know, then I'd like to go up
+to heaven; but now, I'd a heap sooner be a <i>soldier</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"O, Horace, you'd ought to rather be an angel! Besides, you're too
+little for a soldier!"</p>
+
+<p>"But I grow. Just look at my hands; they're bigger than yours, this
+minute!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace Clifford, what makes them so black?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, <i>that's</i> no account! I did it climbin' trees. Barby tried to scour
+it off, but it sticks. I don't care&mdash;soldiers' hands ain't white, are
+they, Pincher?"</p>
+
+<p>The pretty dog at Horace's feet shook his ears, meaning to say,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I should think not, little master; soldiers have very dirty hands, if
+you say so."</p>
+
+<p>"Come," said Grace, who was tired of gazing at the far-off star-land;
+"let's go down and see if Barbara hasn't made that candy: she said she'd
+be ready in half an hour."</p>
+
+<p>They went into the library, which opened upon the balcony, through the
+passage, down the front stairs, and into the kitchen, Pincher following
+close at their heels.</p>
+
+<p>It was a very tidy kitchen, whose white floor was scoured every day with
+a scrubbing-brush. Bright tin pans were shining upon the walls, and in
+one corner stood a highly polished cooking-stove, over which Barbara
+Kinckle, a rosy-cheeked German girl, was stooping to watch a kettle of
+boiling molasses. Every now and then she raised the spoon with which she
+was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> stirring it, and let the half-made candy drip back into the kettle
+in ropy streams. It looked very tempting, and gave out a delicious odor.
+Perhaps it was not strange that the children thought they were kept
+waiting a long while.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Grace," muttered Horace, loud enough for Barbara to hear;
+"don't you think she's just the slowest kind?"</p>
+
+<p>"It'll sugar off," said Grace, calmly, as if she had made up her mind
+for the worst; "don't you know how it sugared off once when ma was
+making it, and let the fire go 'most out'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Now just hear them childers," said good-natured Barbara; "where's the
+little boy and girl that wasn't to speak to me one word, if I biled 'em
+some candies?"</p>
+
+<p>"There, now, Barby, I wasn't speaking to you," said Horace; "I mean I
+wasn't talking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> to <i>her</i>, Grace. Look here: I've heard you spell, but
+you didn't ask me my Joggerphy."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Geography</i>, you mean, Horace."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Ge-ography, then. Here's the book: we begin at the Mohammedans."</p>
+
+<p>Horace could pronounce that long name very well, though he had no idea
+what it meant. He knew there was a book called the Koran, and would have
+told you Mr. Mohammed wrote it; but so had Mr. Colburn written an
+Arithmetic, and whether both these gentlemen were alive, or both dead,
+was more than he could say.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold up your head," said Grace, with dignity, and looking as much as
+possible like tall Miss Allen, her teacher. "Please repeat your verse."</p>
+
+<p>The first sentence read, "They consider Moses and Christ as true
+prophets, but Mohammed as the greatest and last."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you," said Horace: "they think that Christ and Moses was good
+enough prophets, but Mohammed was a heap better."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace, it doesn't say any such think in the book! It begins,
+'<i>They consider</i>.'"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care," said the boy, "Miss Jordan tells us to get the sense of
+it. Ma, musn't I get the sense of it?" he added, as Mrs. Clifford
+entered the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>"But, mamma," broke in Grace, eagerly, "our teacher wants us to commit
+the verses: she says a great deal about committing the verses."</p>
+
+<p>"If you would give me time to answer," said Mrs. Clifford, smiling, "I
+should say both your teachers are quite right. You should 'get the sense
+of it,' as Horace says, and after that commit the verses."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But, ma, do you think Horace should say 'heap,' and 'no account,' and
+such words?"</p>
+
+<p>"It would certainly please me," said Mrs. Clifford, "if he would try to
+speak more correctly. My little boy knows how much I dislike some of his
+expressions."</p>
+
+<p>"There, Horace," cried Grace, triumphantly, "I always said you talked
+just like the Dutch boys; and it's very, very improper!"</p>
+
+<p>But just then it became evident that the molasses was boiled enough, for
+Barbara poured it into a large buttered platter, and set it out of doors
+to cool. After this, the children could do nothing but watch the candy
+till it was ready to pull.</p>
+
+<p>Then there was quite a bustle to find an apron for Horace, and to make
+sure that his little stained hands were "spandy clean,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> and "fluffed"
+all over with flour, from his wrists to the tips of his fingers. Grace
+said she wished it wasn't so much trouble to attend to boys; and, after
+all, Horace only pulled a small piece of the candy, and dropped half of
+that on the nice white floor.</p>
+
+<p>Barbara did the most of the pulling. She was quite a sculptor when she
+had plastic candy in her hands. Some of it she cut into sticks, and some
+she twisted into curious images, supposed to be boys and girls, horses
+and sheep.</p>
+
+<p>After Grace and Horace had eaten several of the "boys and girls," to say
+nothing of "handled baskets," and "gentlemen's slippers," Barbara
+thought it high time they were "sound abed and asleep."</p>
+
+<p>So now, as they go up stairs, we will wish them a good night and
+pleasant dreams.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<h3>CAMPING OUT.</h3>
+
+
+<p>"What is the matter with my little son?" said Mr. Clifford, one morning
+at breakfast; for Horace sat up very stiffly in his chair, and refused
+both eggs and muffins, choosing instead a slice of dry toast and a glass
+of water.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sick, Horace?" asked his mother, tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, ma'am," replied the boy, blushing; "but I want to get to be a
+soldier!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Clifford and his wife looked at each other across the table, and
+smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"O, papa," said Grace, "I shouldn't want<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> to be a soldier if I couldn't
+have anything nice to eat. Can't they get pies and canned peaches and
+things? Will they go without buckwheat cakes and sirup in the winter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! my little daughter, men who love their country are willing to make
+greater sacrifices than merely nice food."</p>
+
+<p>Horace put on one of his lofty looks, for he somehow felt that his
+father was praising <i>him</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Pa," said Grace, "please tell me what's a sacrifice, anyhow?"</p>
+
+<p>"A sacrifice, my daughter, is the giving up of a dear or pleasant thing
+for the sake of duty: that is very nearly what it means. For instance,
+if your mamma consents to let me go to the war, because she thinks I
+ought to go, she will make what is called a sacrifice."</p>
+
+<p>"Do not let us speak of it now, Henry," said Mrs. Clifford, looking
+quite pale.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"O, my dear papa," cried Grace, bursting into tears, "we couldn't live
+if you went to the war!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace looked at the acorn on the lid of the coffee-urn, but said
+nothing. It cost his little heart a pang even to think of parting from
+his beloved father; but then wouldn't it be a glorious thing to hear him
+called General Clifford? And if he should really go away, wasn't it
+likely that the oldest boy, Horace, would take his place at the head of
+the table?</p>
+
+<p>Yes, they should miss papa terribly; but he would only stay away till he
+"got a general;" and for that little while it would be pleasant for
+Horace to sit in the arm-chair and help the others to the butter, the
+toast, and the meat.</p>
+
+<p>"Horace," said Mr. Clifford, smiling, "it will be some years before you
+can be a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> soldier: why do you begin now to eat dry bread?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want to get used to it, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"That indeed!" said Mr. Clifford, with a good-natured laugh, which made
+Horace wince a little. "But the eating of dry bread is only a small part
+of the soldier's tough times, my boy. Soldiers have to sleep on the hard
+ground, with knapsacks for pillows; they have to march, through wet and
+dry, with heavy muskets, which make their arms ache."</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Barby," said Horace, that evening; "I want a knapsack, to
+learn to be a soldier with. If I have 'tough times' now, I'll get used
+to it. Can't you find my carpet-bag, Barby?"</p>
+
+<p>"Carpet-bag? And what for a thing is that?" said Barbara, rousing from a
+nap, and beginning to click her knitting-needles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> "Here I was asleep
+again. Now, if I did keep working in the kitchen, I could sit up just
+what time I wants to; but when I sits down, I goes to sleep right off."</p>
+
+<p>And Barbara went on knitting, putting the yarn over the needle with her
+left hand, after the German fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"But the carpet-bag, Barby: there's a black one 'some place,' in the
+trunk-closet or up-attic. Now, Barby, you know I helped pick those
+quails yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, dear, when I gets my eyes open."</p>
+
+<p>"I would sleep out doors, but ma says I'd get cold; so I'll lie on the
+floor in the bathing-room. O, Barby, I'll sleep like a trooper!"</p>
+
+<p>But Horace was a little mistaken. A hard, unyielding floor makes a poor
+bed; and when, at the same time, one's neck is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> almost put out of joint
+by a carpet-bag stuffed with newspaper, it is not easy to go to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>In a short time the little boy began to feel tired of "camping out;" and
+I am sorry to say that he employed some of the moon-light hours in
+studying the workmanship of his mother's watch, which had been left, by
+accident, hanging on a nail in the bathing-room.</p>
+
+<p>He felt very guilty all the while; and when, at last, a <i>chirr-chirr</i>
+from the watch told that mischief had been done, his heart gave a quick
+throb of fright, and he stole off to his chamber, undressed, and went to
+bed in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning he did not awake as early as usual, and, to his great
+dismay, came very near being late to breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning, little buzzard-lark," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> his sister, coming into his
+room just as he was thrusting his arms into his jacket.</p>
+
+<p>"Ho, Gracie! why didn't you wake me up?"</p>
+
+<p>"I spoke to you seven times, Horace."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, why didn't you pinch me, or shake me awake, or something?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace, then you'd have been cross, and said, 'Gracie Clifford,
+let me alone!' You know you would, Horace."</p>
+
+<p>The little boy stood by the looking-glass finishing his toilet, and made
+no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you mean to behave?" said he, talking to his hair. "There, now,
+you've parted in the middle! Do you 'spose I'm going to look like a
+girl? Part the way you ought to, and lie down smooth! We'll see which
+will beat!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what in the world is this?" exclaimed Grace, as something heavy
+dropped at her feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was her mother's watch, which had fallen out of Horace's pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you get this watch?"</p>
+
+<p>No answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace, it doesn't tick: have you been playing with it?"</p>
+
+<p>Still no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, that's just like you, Horace, to shut your mouth right up tight,
+and not speak a word when you're spoken to. I never saw such a boy! I'm
+going down stairs, this very minute, to tell my mother you've been
+hurting her beautiful gold watch!"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!" cried the boy, suddenly finding his voice; "I reckon I can fix
+it! I was meaning to tell ma! I only wanted to see that little thing
+inside that ticks. I'll bet I'll fix it. I didn't go to hurt it, Grace!"</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes, you feel like you could mend<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> watches, and fire guns, and be
+soldiers and generals," said Grace, shaking her ringlets; "but I'm going
+right down to tell ma!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace's lips curled with scorn.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, Gracie; run and <i>tell</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, Horace, I ought to tell," said Grace, meekly; "it's my duty! Isn't
+there a little voice at your heart, and don't it say, you've done
+wicked?"</p>
+
+<p>"There's a voice there," replied the boy, pertly; "but it don't say what
+you think it does. It says, 'If your pa finds out about the watch, won't
+you catch it?'"</p>
+
+<p>To do Horace justice, he did mean to tell his mother. He had been taught
+to speak the truth, and the whole truth, cost what it might. He knew
+that his parents could forgive almost anything sooner than a falsehood,
+or a cowardly concealment. Words cannot tell how Mr. Clifford hated
+deceit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"When a <i>lie</i> tempts you, Horace," said he, "scorn it, if it looks ever
+so white! Put your foot on it, and crush it like a snake!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace ate dry toast again this morning, but no one seemed to notice it.
+If he had dared look up, he would have seen that his father and mother
+wore sorrowful faces.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast, Mr. Clifford called him into the library. In the first
+place, he took to pieces the mangled watch, and showed him how it had
+been injured.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you any right to meddle with things which belong to other people,
+my son?"</p>
+
+<p>Horace's chin snuggled down into the hollow place in his neck, and he
+made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Answer me, Horace."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"It will cost several dollars to pay for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> repairing this watch: don't
+you think the little boy who did the mischief should give part of the
+money?"</p>
+
+<p>Horace looked distressed; his face began to twist itself out of shape.</p>
+
+<p>"This very boy has a good many pieces of silver which were given him to
+buy fire-crackers. So you see, if he is truly sorry for his fault, he
+knows the way to atone for it."</p>
+
+<p>Horace's conscience told him, by a twinge, that it would be no more than
+just for him to pay what he could for mending the watch.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you nothing to say to me, my child?"</p>
+
+<p>For, instead of speaking, the boy was working his features into as many
+shapes as if they had been made of gutta percha. This was a bad habit of
+his, though, when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> was doing it, he had no idea of "making up faces."</p>
+
+<p>His father told him he would let him have the whole day to decide
+whether he ought to give up any of his money. A tear trembled in each of
+Horace's eyes, but, before they could fall, he caught them on his thumb
+and forefinger.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," continued Mr. Clifford, "I have something to tell you. I decided
+last night to enter the army."</p>
+
+<p>"O, pa," cried Horace, springing up, eagerly; "mayn't I go, too?"</p>
+
+<p>"You, my little son?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, pa," replied Horace, clinging to his father's knee. "Boys go to
+wait on the generals and things! I can wait on you. I can comb your
+hair, and bring your slippers. If I could be a waiter, I'd go a
+flyin'."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Poor child," laughed Mr. Clifford, stroking Horace's head, "you're such
+a very little boy, only eight years old!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going on nine. I'll be nine next New Year's Gift-day," stammered
+Horace, the bright flush dying out of his cheeks. "O, pa, I don't want
+you to go, if I can't go too!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Clifford's lips trembled. He took the little boy on his knee, and
+told him how the country was in danger, and needed all its brave men.</p>
+
+<p>"I should feel a great deal easier about leaving my dear little family,"
+said he, "if Horace never disobeyed his mother; if he did not so often
+fall into mischief; if he was always sure to <i>remember</i>."</p>
+
+<p>The boy's neck was twisted around till his father could only see the
+back of his head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Look here, pa," said he, at last, throwing out the words one at a time,
+as if every one weighed a whole pound; "I'll give ma that money; I'll do
+it to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, my boy! that's honest! You have given me pleasure.
+Remember, when you injure the property of another, you should always
+make amends for it as well as you can. If you do not, you're unjust and
+dishonest."</p>
+
+<p>I will not repeat all that Mr. Clifford said to his little son. Horace
+thought then he should never forget his father's good advice, nor his
+own promises. We shall see whether he did or not.</p>
+
+<p>He was a restless, often a very naughty boy; but when you looked at his
+broad forehead and truthful eyes, you felt that, back of all his faults,
+there was nobleness in his boyish soul. His father often said, "He will
+either make something or nothing;" and his mother answered, "Yes, there
+never will be any half-way place for Horace."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 346px;">
+<img src="images/image34.jpg" width="346" height="500" alt="Mr. Clifford and his Son." title="" />
+<span class="caption">Mr. Clifford and his Son. <i>Page <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Now that Mr. Clifford had really enlisted, everybody looked sad. Grace
+was often in tears, and said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"We can't any of us live, if pa goes to the war."</p>
+
+<p>But when Horace could not help crying, he always said it was because he
+"had the earache," and perhaps he thought it was.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clifford tried to be cheerful, for she was a patriotic woman; but
+she could not trust her voice to talk a great deal, or sing much to the
+baby.</p>
+
+<p>As for Barbara Kinckle, she scrubbed the floors, and scoured the tins,
+harder than ever, looking all the while as if every one of her friends
+was dead and buried. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> family were to break up housekeeping, and
+Barbara was very sorry. Now she would have to go to her home, a little
+way back in the country, and work in the fields, as many German girls do
+every summer.</p>
+
+<p>"O, my heart is sore," said she, "every time I thinks of it. They will
+in the cars go off, and whenever again I'll see the kliny (little)
+childers I knows not."</p>
+
+<p>It was a sad day when Mr. Clifford bade good by to his family. His last
+words to Horace were these: "Always obey your mother, my boy, and
+remember that God sees all you do."</p>
+
+<p>He was now "Captain Clifford," and went away at the head of his company,
+looking like, what he really was, a brave and noble gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>Grace wondered if he ever thought of the bright new buttons on his coat;
+and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> Horace walked about among his school-fellows with quite an air,
+very proud of being the son of a man who either was now, or was going to
+be, the greatest officer in Indiana!</p>
+
+<p>If any body else had shown as much self-esteem as Horace did, the boys
+would have said he had "the <i>big</i> head." When Yankee children think a
+playmate conceited, they call him "stuck up;" but Hoosier children say
+he has "the <i>big</i> head." No one spoke in this way of Horace, however,
+for there was something about him which made everybody like him, in
+spite of his faults.</p>
+
+<p>He loved his play-fellows, and they loved him, and were sorry enough to
+have him go away; though, perhaps, they did not shed so many tears as
+Grace's little mates, who said, "they never'd have any more good times:
+they didn't mean to try."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clifford, too, left many warm friends, and it is safe to say, that
+on the morning the family started for the east, there were a great many
+people "crying their hearts out of their eyes." Still, I believe no one
+sorrowed more sincerely than faithful Barbara Kinckle.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<h3>TAKING A JOURNEY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was a great effort for Mrs. Clifford to take a journey to Maine with
+three children; but she needed the bracing air of New England, and so
+did Grace and the baby.</p>
+
+<p>To be sure they had the company of a gentleman who was going to Boston;
+but he was a very young man indeed, who thought a great deal more of his
+new mustache than he did of trunks, and checks, and tickets.</p>
+
+<p>Twenty times a day Mrs. Clifford wished her husband could have gone with
+her before he enlisted, for she hardly knew what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> to do with restless
+little Horace. As for sitting still, it was more than the boy could do.
+He would keep jerking his inquisitive little head out of the window, for
+he never remembered a caution five minutes. He delighted to run up and
+down the narrow aisle, and, putting his hands on the arms of the seats,
+swing backward and forward with all his might. He became acquainted with
+every lozenge-boy and every newspaper-boy on the route, and seemed to be
+in a high state of merriment from morning till night.</p>
+
+<p>Grace, who was always proper and well-behaved, was not a little
+mortified by Horace's rough manners.</p>
+
+<p>"He means no harm," Mrs. Clifford would say, with a smile and a sigh;
+"but, Mr. Lazelle, if you will be so kind as to watch him a little, I
+will be greatly obliged."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lazelle would reply, "O, certainly, madam; be quite easy about the
+child; he is not out of my sight for a moment!"</p>
+
+<p>So saying, perhaps he would go in search of him, and find him under a
+seat playing with Pincher, his clothes covered with dust, and his cap
+lying between somebody's feet.</p>
+
+<p>At such times Mr. Lazelle always said,&mdash;"Upon my word, you're a pretty
+little fellow!" and looked as if he would like to shake him, if it were
+not for soiling his gloves.</p>
+
+<p>Horace laughed when Mr. Lazelle called him "a pretty little fellow," and
+thought it a fine joke. He laughed, too, when the young man told him to
+"come out," for there was something in the pettish tone of his voice
+which Horace considered very amusing.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll wait till he gets through scolding,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> and goes to coaxing," thought
+the boy: "he's a smart man! can't make such a little fellow mind!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lazelle was very much vexed with Horace, and firmly resolved that he
+would never again take charge of a lady travelling with children. At one
+time he flew into a passion, and boxed the boy's ears. Horace felt very
+much like a wounded wasp. He knew Mr. Lazelle would not have dared
+strike him before his mother, and from that moment he despised him as a
+"sneak."</p>
+
+<p>Whenever Mr. Lazelle was looking for him in great haste, he was very
+likely to be missing; and when that sorely tried young gentleman was
+almost in despair, a saucy little head would appear at the car-window,
+and a small voice would shout,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Ho, Mr. Lazelle! why don't you come ahead? I beat you <i>in</i>!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Horace," said Mrs. Clifford, wearily, "you don't know how you tire me!
+Here is this dear baby that I have to hold in my arms; isn't it enough
+that I should have the care of him, without being all the while anxious
+about you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," chimed in Grace, pushing back her beautiful curls, "you don't
+know how ma and I fret about you. You'll kill poor ma before ever we can
+get you east!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace hung his head for shame, and decided that it didn't "pay" to
+punish Mr. Lazelle, if his mother must suffer too. He meant, for her
+sake, to "turn over a new leaf," though he did not say so.</p>
+
+<p>On the afternoon of their second day's ride, they reached the beautiful
+city of Cleveland. Here they were to rest for a few hours. Their clothes
+were sadly tumbled, their collars dust-color, and their faces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> and hair
+rough with cinders. A thorough washing and brushing, and some fresh
+ruffles and laces, gave a much tidier appearance to the whole party.</p>
+
+<p>After Grace and Horace were ready, Mrs. Clifford thought they might as
+well go down stairs while she tried to rock little Katie to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Be sure not to go away from the house," said she. "Grace, I depend upon
+you to take care of Horace, for he may forget."</p>
+
+<p>The children had been standing on the piazza for some time, watching the
+people passing, while Mr. Lazelle lounged near by, talking politics with
+some gentlemen. In a little while Mrs. Clifford sent for Grace to go up
+stairs and amuse the poor baby, who could not be rocked to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>For a few moments after she had gone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> Horace stood near the door, still
+gazing into the street, when, suddenly, he heard a faint sound of
+martial music: a brass band was turning the corner. Soon they were in
+sight, men in handsome uniform, drawing music from various instruments,
+picking, blowing, or beating it out, as the case might be.</p>
+
+<p>It was glorious, Horace thought. He could not keep still. He ran out,
+and threw up his cap before he knew it almost, shouting with delight,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Ho, Mr. Lazelle! ain't that jolly? Ho, Mr. Lazelle! where <i>are</i> you,
+anyhow?"</p>
+
+<p>Probably, if the boy had stopped to think, he might have remembered that
+Mr. Lazelle was in the parlor; but no, Horace was sure he must have
+crossed the street to look at the band.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going, too," said he to himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> "Of course, where Mr. Lazelle
+goes, I can go, for he has the care of me!"</p>
+
+<p>With that he dashed headlong into the crowd, looking here, there, and
+everywhere for Mr. Lazelle.</p>
+
+<p>But, O, that music! Did a little boy's boots ever stand still when a
+drum was playing, "March, march away"? No doubt his father was keeping
+step to just such sounds, on his path to martial glory! The fife and
+bugle whistled with magical voices, and seemed to say,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Follow, follow, follow on!"</p>
+
+<p>And Horace followed; sometimes thinking he was in search of Mr. Lazelle,
+sometimes forgetting it altogether. He knew he was doing very wrong, but
+it seemed as if the music almost drowned the voice of his conscience.</p>
+
+<p>In this way they turned street after street,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> till, suddenly, the band
+and the crowd entered a large public building. Then the music died out,
+and with it the fire of eagerness in the little boy's soul.</p>
+
+<p>Where <i>was</i> Mr. Lazelle? If he could see him now, he would forgive the
+boxed ears. How could he ever find his way back to the hotel? It had not
+as yet entered his head to ask any one.</p>
+
+<p>He darted off at great speed, but, as it happened, in precisely the
+wrong direction. The houses grew smaller and farther apart, and
+presently he came to a high, sandy cliff overlooking the lake. Now the
+shades of night began to fall, and his stout heart almost failed him.
+The longing grew so strong to see mother, and Grace, and baby, that the
+tears would start, in spite of himself.</p>
+
+<p>At last, just as he was wondering which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> way to turn next, somebody
+touched his shoulder, and a rough voice said,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, my little man! What you doin' in this ward? Come; don't you pull
+away from me: I'm a city officer. Got lost, hey?"</p>
+
+<p>Horace shook with fright. O dear, was it a crime, then, to get lost? He
+remembered all the stories he had ever heard of lock-ups, and
+state-prisons, and handcuffs.</p>
+
+<p>"O, I didn't mean any harm, sir," cried he, trying to steady his voice:
+"I reckon I ain't lost, sir; or, if I am, I ain't lost <i>much</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"So, so," laughed the policeman, good-naturedly; "and what was your
+name, my little man, before you got lost, and didn't get lost <i>much</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"My name is Horace Clifford, sir," replied the boy, wondering why a
+cruel policeman should want to laugh.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," said the man, not unkindly, "I'm glad I've come across ye,
+for your mother's in a terrible taking. What set ye out to run off?
+Come, now; don't be sulky. Give us your hand, and I guess, seein' it's
+you, we won't put you in the lock-up this time."</p>
+
+<p>Horace was very grateful to the officer for not handcuffing him on the
+spot; still he felt as if it was a great disgrace to be marched through
+the city by a policeman.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clifford, Grace, and Mr. Lazelle met them on the way.</p>
+
+<p>"O, my dear, dear son," cried Mrs. Clifford, as soon as she could speak;
+"do you know how you've frightened us all?"</p>
+
+<p>"I followed the band," stammered Horace. "I was looking for Mr.
+Lazelle."</p>
+
+<p>"You're a naughty, mean little boy," cried Grace, when she had made sure
+he was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> hurt anywhere. "It would have been good enough for you if
+you'd drowned in the lake, and the bears had ate you up!"</p>
+
+<p>Still she kissed her naughty brother, and it was to be noticed that her
+eyelids were very red from crying.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll never let go your hand again, Horace," said she, "till we get to
+grandma's. You're just as <i>slippery</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lazelle looked as if it would be an immense relief to him if Miss
+Grace would keep her word; he thought he was undergoing a great trial
+with Horace.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a shame," said he to himself, "that a perfect lady, like Mrs.
+Clifford, should have such a son! I'd enjoy whipping him&mdash;for her sake!
+Why in the world don't she <i>train</i> him?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lazelle did not know of the faithful talk Mrs. Clifford had with
+Horace that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> night, nor how the boy's heart swelled with grief, and
+love, and new resolutions.</p>
+
+<p>This adventure caused a day's delay, for it made the party too late for
+the boat. Horace was so sorry for his foolish conduct, that he spent the
+next day in the most subdued manner, and walked about the chamber on
+tiptoe, while Grace tried to soothe little Katie.</p>
+
+<p>But, in crossing the lake, he "forgot" again. His mother allowed him to
+go up on the hurricane deck with Mr. Lazelle, just for ten minutes; and
+there he became acquainted with the pilot, who was struck with his
+intelligence, and freely answered all the questions he asked about the
+engine, "the whistle," and the steering.</p>
+
+<p>"O, pshaw!" said Horace; "I'll make a steamboat myself, and give it to
+Grace for a present!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Full of this new plan, he left the pilot without so much as a "thank
+you," running down the steps, two at a time, unobserved by Mr. Lazelle,
+who was playing the flute. He wanted to see how the "rigging" was made,
+and stopped to ask leave of nobody.</p>
+
+<p>Down another flight of stairs, out across trunks, and bales, and ropes,
+he pushed his way to get a good sight of the deck. He paid no heed to
+people or things, and nearly ran over an Irish boy, who was drawing up
+water in buckets for washing. Somebody shouted, "He's trying to kill
+hisself, I do believe!"</p>
+
+<p>Somebody rushed forward to seize the daring child by the collar of his
+jacket, but too late; he had fallen headlong into the lake!</p>
+
+<p>A scream went up from the deck that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> pierced the air,&mdash;"Boy overboard!
+Help! help! help!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clifford heard, and knew, by instinct, that it was Horace. She had
+just sent Grace to call him, not feeling safe to trust him longer with
+Mr. Lazelle. She rushed through the door of the state-room, and followed
+the crowd to the other side of the boat, crying,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"O, can't somebody save him!"</p>
+
+<p>There was no mistaking the mother's voice; the crowd made way for her.</p>
+
+<p>"Safe! safe and sound!" was the shout now. "All right!"</p>
+
+<p>The Irish lad, at Horace's first plunge, had thrown him his bucket&mdash;it
+was a life-preserver; that is, it would not sink&mdash;and the drowning boy
+had been drawn up by means of a rope attached to the bail.</p>
+
+<p>"Ma," said Grace, when they were all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> safely in the cars at Buffalo, and
+Horace as well as ever, though a little pale, "I do believe there never
+was anybody had such an awful journey! <i>Do</i> you suppose we'll ever get
+Horace home to grandma's?"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<h3>AT GRANDPA PARLIN'S.</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was over at last&mdash;the long, tedious journey, which Horace spoiled for
+everybody, and which nobody but Horace enjoyed.</p>
+
+<p>When they drove up to the quiet old homestead at Willowbrook, and
+somebody had taken the little baby, poor Mrs. Clifford threw herself
+into her mother's arms, and sobbed like a child. Everybody else cried,
+too; and good, deaf grandpa Parlin, with smiles and tears at the same
+time, declared,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what the matter is; so I can't tell whether to laugh or
+cry."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Then his daughter Margaret went up and said in his best ear that they
+were just crying for joy, and asked him if that wasn't a silly thing to
+do.</p>
+
+<p>Grace embraced everybody twice over; but Horace was a little shy, and
+would only give what his aunties called "canary kisses."</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, I want you to give me that darling baby this minute," said
+Mrs. Parlin, wiping her eyes. "Now you can bring the butter out of the
+cellar: it's all there is to be done, except to set the tea on the
+table."</p>
+
+<p>Then grandma Parlin had another cry over little Katie: not such a
+strange thing, for she could not help thinking of Harry, the baby with
+sad eyes and pale face, who had been sick there all the summer before,
+and was now an angel. As little Prudy had said, "God took him up to
+heaven, but the tired part of him is in the garden."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Yes, under a weeping-willow. Everybody was thinking just now of tired
+little Harry, "the sweetest flower that ever was planted in that
+garden."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Maria," said Mrs. Clifford, as soon as she could speak, "how did
+you ever travel so far with this little, little baby?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, mother," replied Mrs. Clifford; "I think I could never
+have got here without Grace: she has been my little waiter, and Katie's
+little nurse."</p>
+
+<p>Grace blushed with delight at this well-deserved praise.</p>
+
+<p>"And Horace is so large now, that he was some help, too, I've no doubt,"
+said his grandmother.</p>
+
+<p>"I would have took the baby," cried Horace, speaking up very quickly,
+before any one else had time to answer,&mdash;"I would have took the baby,
+but she wouldn't let me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clifford might have said that Horace himself had been as much
+trouble as the baby; but she was too kind to wound her little boy's
+feelings.</p>
+
+<p>It was certainly a very happy party who met around the tea-table at Mr.
+Parlin's that evening. It was already dusk, and the large globe lamp,
+with its white porcelain shade, gave a cheery glow to the pleasant
+dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>First, there was cream-toast, made of the whitest bread, and the
+sweetest cream.</p>
+
+<p>"This makes me think of Mrs. Gray," said Mrs. Clifford, smiling; "I hope
+she is living yet."</p>
+
+<p>"She is," said Margaret, "but twelve years old."</p>
+
+<p>Grace looked up in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that's only a little girl, aunt Madge!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"My dear, it's only a cow!"</p>
+
+<p>"O, now I remember; the little blue one, with brass knobs on her horns!"</p>
+
+<p>"Let's see; do you remember Dr. Quack and his wife?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes'm! they were white ducks; and how they did swim! It was a year
+ago. I suppose Horace doesn't remember."</p>
+
+<p>"Poh! yes, I do; they were <i>spin-footed</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace," said Grace, laughing; "you mean <i>web-footed</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace bent his eyes on his plate, and did not look up again for some
+time.</p>
+
+<p>There was chicken-salad on the table. Margaret made that&mdash;putting in new
+butter, because she knew Mrs. Clifford did not like oil.</p>
+
+<p>There was delicious looking cake, "some that had been touched with
+frost, and some that hadn't," as grandpa said, when he passed the
+basket.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But the crowning glory of the supper was a dish of scarlet strawberries,
+which looked as if they had been drinking dew-drops and sunshine till
+they had caught all the richness and sweetness of summer.</p>
+
+<p>"O, ma!" whispered Grace, "I'm beginning to feel so happy! I only wish
+my father was here."</p>
+
+<p>After tea, grandpa took Horace and Grace on each knee, large as they
+were, and sang some delightful evening hymns with what was left of his
+once fine voice. He looked so peaceful and happy, that his daughters
+were reminded of the Bible verse, "Children's children are the crown of
+old men."</p>
+
+<p>"I think now," said Mrs. Clifford, coming back from putting the baby to
+sleep, "it's high time my boy and girl were saying, 'Good-night, and
+pleasant dreams.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Madge is going up stairs with us; aren't you, auntie?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Horace; your other auntie wouldn't do, I suppose," said Louise.
+"That makes me think of the way this same Horace used to treat me when
+he was two years old. '<i>Her</i> can't put me to bed,' he would say; 'her's
+too <i>little</i>.'"</p>
+
+<p>"I remember," said Margaret, "how he dreaded cold water. When his mother
+called him to be washed, and said, 'Ma doesn't want a little dirty boy,'
+he would look up in her face, and say, 'Does mamma want 'ittle <i>cold</i>
+boy?'"</p>
+
+<p>The happy children kissed everybody good-night, and followed their aunt
+Madge up stairs. Now, there was a certain small room, whose one window
+opened upon the piazza, and it was called "the green chamber." It
+contained a cunning little bedstead, a wee bureau, a dressing-table, and
+washing-stand, all pea-green. It was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> room which seemed to have been
+made and furnished on purpose for a child, and it had been promised to
+Grace in every letter aunt Madge had written to her for a year.</p>
+
+<p>Horace had thought but little about the room till to-night, when his
+aunt led Grace into it, and he followed. It seemed so fresh and sweet in
+"the green chamber," and on the dressing-table there was a vase of
+flowers.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Madge bade the children look out of the window at a bird's nest,
+which was snuggled into one corner of the piazza-roof, so high up that
+nobody could reach it without a very tall ladder.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," said aunt Madge, "the very first thing Grace hears in the morning
+will probably be bird-music."</p>
+
+<p>Grace clapped her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"And where am <i>I</i> going to sleep?" said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> Horace, who had been listening,
+and looking on in silence. His aunt had forgotten that he was sometimes
+jealous; but she could not help knowing it now, for a very disagreeable
+expression looked out at his eyes, and drew down the corners of his
+mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace dear, we have to put you in one of the back chambers, just
+as we did when you were here before; but you know it's a nice clean
+room, with white curtains, and you can look out of the window at the
+garden."</p>
+
+<p>"But it's over the kitchen!"</p>
+
+<p>"There, Horace," said Grace, "I'd be ashamed! You don't act like a
+little gentleman! What would pa say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why couldn't I have the big front chamber?" said the little boy,
+shuffling his feet, and looking down at his shoes.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," said aunt Madge, smiling, "that is for your mother and the
+baby."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But if I could have this little cunning room, I'd go a flyin'. Grace
+ain't company any more than me."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Madge remembered Horace's hit-or-miss way of using things, and
+thought of the elephant that once walked into a china shop.</p>
+
+<p>Grace laughed aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace Clifford, you'd make the room look like everything; you
+know you would! O, auntie, you ought to see how he musses up my cabinet!
+I have to hide the key; I do <i>so</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace took the room which was given him, but he left his sister without
+his usual good-night kiss, and when he repeated his prayer, I am afraid
+he was thinking all the while about the green chamber.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning the children had intended to go into the garden bright
+and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> early. Grace loved flowers, and when she was a mere baby, just able
+to toddle into the meadow, she would clip off the heads of buttercups
+and primroses, hugging and kissing them like friends.</p>
+
+<p>Horace, too, had some fancy for flowers, especially flaring ones, like
+sunflowers and hollyhocks. Dandelions were nice when the stems would
+curl without bothering, and poppies were worth while for little girls,
+he thought, because, after they are gone to seed, you can make them into
+pretty good teapots.</p>
+
+<p>He wanted to go out in the garden now for humming-birds, and to see if
+the dirt-colored toad was still living in his "nest," in one of the
+flower-beds.</p>
+
+<p>But the first thing the children heard in the morning was the pattering
+of rain or the roof. No going out to-day. Grace was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> too tired to care
+much. Horace felt cross; but remembering how many messages his
+grandmother had sent to her "good little grandson," and how often aunt
+Madge had written about "dear little Horace, the nephew she was so proud
+of," he felt ashamed to go down stairs scowling. If his good-morning
+smile was so thin that you could see a frown through it, still it was
+better than no smile at all.</p>
+
+<p>The breakfast was very nice, and Horace would have enjoyed the hot
+griddle-cakes and maple sirup, only his aunt Louise, a handsome young
+lady of sixteen, watched him more than he thought was quite polite,
+saying every now and then,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't he the image of his father? Just such a nose, just such a mouth!
+He eats fast, too; that is characteristic!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace did not know what "characteristic"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> meant, but thought it must be
+something bad, for with a child's quick eye he could see that his pretty
+aunt was inclined to laugh at him. In fact, he had quite an odd way of
+talking, and his whole appearance was amusing to Miss Louise, who was a
+very lively young lady.</p>
+
+<p>"Horace, you were telling me last night about Mr. Lazelle: what did you
+say was the color of his coat?"</p>
+
+<p>"I said it was <i>blueberry</i> color," replied Horace, who could see, almost
+without looking up, that aunt Louise was smiling at aunt Madge.</p>
+
+<p>"He is a <i>musicianer</i> too, I think you said, and his hair <i>crimps</i>. Dear
+me, what a funny man!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace was silent, and made up his mind that he should be careful
+another time what he said before aunt Louise.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Soon after breakfast he and Pincher went "up-attic" to see what they
+could find, while Grace followed her grandmother and aunties from parlor
+to kitchen, and from kitchen to pantry. She looked pale and tired, but
+was so happy that she sang every now and then at the top of her voice,
+forgetting that little Katie was having a nap.</p>
+
+<p>Pretty soon Horace came down stairs with an old, rusty gun much taller
+than himself. Mrs. Clifford was shocked at first, but smiled the next
+moment, as she remembered what an innocent thing it was, past its
+"prime" before she was of Horace's age.</p>
+
+<p>The little boy playfully pointed the gun towards Grace, who screamed
+with fright, and ran away as fast as she could.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care," cried she, coming back, a little ashamed at being
+laughed at; "how did <i>I</i> know it wasn't loaded? Do you think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> 'twould
+look well for a little girl <i>not</i> to be afraid of a gun?"</p>
+
+<p>This speech amused everybody, particularly Horace, who was glad to have
+Grace say a foolish thing once in a while. It raised his self-esteem
+somehow; and, more than that, he liked to remember her little slips of
+the tongue, and tease her about them.</p>
+
+<p>It was not long before he had seen all there was to be seen in the
+house, and wanted to "<i>do</i> something." As for reading, that was usually
+too stupid for Horace. Grace kindly offered to play checkers with him;
+but she understood the game so much better than he did, that she won at
+every trial.</p>
+
+<p>This was more than he could bear with patience; and, whenever he saw
+that she was gaining upon him, he wanted to "turn it into a
+<i>give-game</i>."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But that isn't fair, Horace."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, ma, just you see how mean Grace is! There, she wants me to jump
+that man yonder, so she'll take two of mine, and go right in the
+king-row!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, Horace," said Grace, gently, "what do I play for if I don't try to
+beat?"</p>
+
+<p>"There now," cried he, "chase my men up to the king-row, so I can't
+crown 'em, do!"</p>
+
+<p>"Just what I'm doing," replied Grace, coolly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I should think you'd better take 'em all, and be done with it!
+Before I'd be so mean as to set <i>traps</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"Look, Horace," said Grace; "you didn't jump when you ought to, and I'm
+going to <i>huff</i> your man. See, I blow it, just this way; old Mr. Knight
+calls it <i>huffing</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Huff away then! but you stole one of those kings. I'll bet you stole it
+off the board after I jumped it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Now, Horace Clifford," cried Grace, with tears in her eyes, "I never
+did such a thing as to steal a king; and if you say so I won't play!"</p>
+
+<p>"Horace," said Mrs. Clifford, who had been trying for some time to
+speak, "what do you play checkers for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ma'am? Why, to beat, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, do you consider it work, or play?"</p>
+
+<p>"Work, or play? Why, it's a game, ma; so it's play."</p>
+
+<p>"But Grace was so obliging that she wished to amuse you, my son. <i>Does</i>
+it amuse you? Doesn't it make you cross? Do you know that you have
+spoken a great many sharp words to your kind sister?</p>
+
+<p>"Shut the board right up, my child; and remember from this time never to
+play checkers, or any other game, when you feel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> yourself growing
+fretful! As you sometimes say, 'It doesn't pay.'"</p>
+
+<p>Horace closed the board, looking ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>"That's sound advice for everybody," said aunt Madge, stroking her
+little nephew's hair. "If children always remembered it, they would get
+along more pleasantly together&mdash;I know they would."</p>
+
+<p>Grace had been looking ill all the morning, and her mother now saw
+symptoms of a chill. With all her tender anxiety she had not known how
+tired her little daughter was. It was two or three weeks before the
+child was rested; and whenever she had a chill, which was every third
+day for a while, she was delirious, and kept crying out,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"O, do see to Horace, mamma! Mr. Lazelle will forget! O, Horace, now
+<i>don't</i> let go my hand! I've got the bundles, mamma, and the milk for
+the baby."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And sometimes Mrs. Clifford would call Horace to come and take his
+sister's hand, just to assure her that he was not lying cold and dead in
+the waters of Lake Erie. It was really touching to see how heavily the
+cares of the journey had weighed on the dear girl's youthful spirits.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<h3>CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>At first Mrs. Clifford thought she did not care about having the
+children go to school, as they had been kept at their studies for nearly
+nine months without a vacation, except Christmas holidays.</p>
+
+<p>But what was to be done with Horace? Aunt Louise, who was not
+passionately fond of children, declared her trials were greater than she
+could bear. Grace was a little tidy, she thought; but as for Horace, and
+his dog Pincher, and the "calico kitty," which he had picked up for a
+pet!&mdash;Louise disliked dogs and despised kittens. Sometimes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> as she told
+Margaret, she felt as if she should certainly fly; sometimes she was
+sure she was going crazy; and then again it seemed as if her head would
+burst into a thousand pieces.</p>
+
+<p>None of these dreadful accidents happened, it is true; but a great many
+other things did. Hammers, nails, and augers were carried off, and left
+to rust in the dew. A cup of green paint, which for months had stood
+quietly on an old shelf in the store-room, was now taken down and
+stirred with a stick, and all the toys which Horace whittled out were
+stained green, and set in the sun to dry. A pair of cheese-tongs, which
+hung in the back room, a boot-jack, the washing-bench, which was once
+red,&mdash;all became green in a very short time: only the red of the bench
+had a curious effect, peeping out from its light and ragged coat of
+green.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The blue sled which belonged to Susy and Prudy was brought down from the
+shed-chamber, and looked at for some time. It would present a lovely
+appearance, Horace thought, if he only dared cross it off with green.
+But as the sled belonged to his little cousins, and they were not there
+to see for themselves how beautiful he could make it look, why, he must
+wait till they came; and then, very likely, the paint would be gone.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, Horace soiled his clothes sadly: "that was always just like
+him," his aunt Louise said.</p>
+
+<p>This was not all. A little neighbor, Gilbert Brown, came to the house at
+all hours, and between the two boys there was a noise of driving nails,
+firing pop-guns, shouting and running from morning till night.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>They built a "shanty" of the boards which grandpa was saving to mend the
+fence, and in this shanty they "kept store," trading in crooked pins,
+home-made toys, twine, and jackknives.</p>
+
+<p>"Master chaps, them children are," said Abner, the good-natured hired
+man.</p>
+
+<p>"Hard-working boys! They are as destructive as army-worms," declared
+grandpa, frowning, with a twinkle in his eye.</p>
+
+<p>Horace had a cannon about a foot long, which went on wheels, with a box
+behind it, and a rammer lashed on at the side&mdash;not to mention an
+American flag which floated over the whole. With a stout string he drew
+his cannon up to the large oilnut tree, and then with a real bayonet
+fixed to a wooden gun, he would lie at full length under the shade,
+calling himself a sharpshooter guarding the cannon. At these times woe
+to the "calico<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> kitty," or Grace, or anybody else who happened to go
+near him! for he gave the order to "charge," and the charge was made
+most vigorously.</p>
+
+<p>Upon the whole, it was decided that everybody would feel easier and
+happier if Horace should go to school. This plan did not please him at
+all, and he went with sulky looks and a very bad grace.</p>
+
+<p>His mother sighed; for though her little boy kept the letter of the law,
+which says, "Children, obey your parents," he did not do it in the
+<i>spirit</i> of the commandment, "<i>Honor</i> thy father and thy mother."</p>
+
+<p>In a thousand ways Mrs. Clifford was made unhappy by Horace, who should
+have been a comfort to her. It was sad, indeed; for never did a kind
+mother try harder to "train up a child" in the right way.</p>
+
+<p>It did not take Horace a great while to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> renew his acquaintance with the
+schoolboys, who all seemed to look upon him as a sort of curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>"I never knew before," laughed little Dan Rideout, "that my name was
+Dan-yell!"</p>
+
+<p>"He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper a <i>tin-kup</i>," said Gilbert
+Brown.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," chimed in Willy Snow, "and he asks, 'Is school <i>took up</i>?' just
+as if it was knitting-work that was on needles."</p>
+
+<p>"How he rolls his r's!" said Peter Grant. "You can't say hor-r-se the
+way he does! I'll bet <i>the ain't</i> a boy can do it, unless it's a
+Cahoojack." Peter meant <i>Hoosier</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I wouldn't be seen saying <i>hoss</i>," returned Horace, with some
+spirit; "that's <i>Yankee</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess the Yankees are as good as the Cahoojacks: wasn't your mother a
+Yankee?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," faltered Horace; "she was born up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> north here, in the Frigid
+Zone; but she isn't so much relation to me as my father is, for her name
+wasn't Clifford. She wouldn't have been <i>any</i> relation to me if she
+hadn't married my father!"</p>
+
+<p>One or two of the larger boys laughed at this speech, and Horace, who
+could never endure ridicule, stole quietly away.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, boys, you behave," said Edward Snow, Willy's older brother; "he's
+a smart little fellow, and it's mean to go to hurting his feelings. Come
+back here, Spunky Clifford; let's have a game of <i>hi spy</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace was "as silent as a stone."</p>
+
+<p>"He don't like to be called Spunky Clifford," said Johnny Bell; "do you,
+Horace?"</p>
+
+<p>"The reason I don't like it," replied the boy, "is because it's not my
+name."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then," said Edward Snow, winking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> to the other boys, "won't you
+play with us, <i>Master Horace</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll not go back to be laughed at," replied he, stoutly: "when I'm home
+I play with Hoosier boys, and they're politer than Yankees."</p>
+
+<p>"'Twas only those big boys," said Johnny Bell; "now they've gone off.
+Come, let's play something."</p>
+
+<p>"I should think you'd be willing for us to laugh," added honest little
+Willy Snow; "we can't help it, you talk so funny. We don't mean
+anything."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Horace, quite restored to good humor, and speaking with
+some dignity, "you may laugh at me one kind of a way, but if you mean
+<i>humph</i> when you laugh, I won't stand it."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Woon't</i> stand it!" echoed Peter Grant; "ain't that Dutch?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Dutch?" replied Horace: "I'll show you what <i>Dyche</i> is! We have a
+<i>Dyche</i> teacher come in our school every day, and he stamps his foot and
+tears round! 'Sei ruhig,' he says: that means, 'hush your mouth and keep
+still.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Is he a Jew, and does he stay in a synagogue?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, he is a German <i>Luteran</i>, or a Dutch <i>Deformed</i>, or something that
+way."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you learn in?" said Johnny Bell.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, in little German Readers: what else would they be?"</p>
+
+<p>"Does it read like stories and verses?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. He keeps hitting the books with a little switch, and
+screamin' out as if the house was afire."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, say over some Dutch; <i>woon't</i> you, Horace?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>So the little boy repeated some German poetry, while his schoolmates
+looked up at him in wonder and admiration. This was just what Horace
+enjoyed; and he continued, with sparkling eyes,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I s'pose you can't any of you <i>count</i> Dutch?"</p>
+
+<p>The boys confessed that they could not.</p>
+
+<p>"It's just as easy," said Horace, telling over the numbers up to twenty,
+as fast as he could speak.</p>
+
+<p>"You can't any of you <i>write</i> Dutch; can you? You give me a slate now,
+and I'll write it all over so you couldn't read a word of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't it very hard to make?" asked the boys in tones of respectful
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon you'd think 'twas hard, it's so full of little quirls, but <i>I</i>
+can write it as easy as English."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>This was quite true, for Horace made very hard work of any kind of
+writing.</p>
+
+<p>It was not two days before he was at the head of that part of the school
+known as "the small boys," both in study and play; yet everybody liked
+him, for, as I have said before, the little fellow had such a strong
+sense of justice, and such kindness of heart, that he was always a
+favorite, in spite of his faults.</p>
+
+<p>The boys all said there was nothing "mean" about Horace. He would
+neither abuse a smaller child, nor see one abused. If he thought a boy
+was doing wrong, he was not afraid to tell him so, and you may be sure
+he was all the more respected for his moral courage.</p>
+
+<p>Horace talked to his schoolmates a great deal about his father, Captain
+Clifford, who was going to be a general some day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"When I was home," said he, "I studied pa's book of <i>tictacs</i>, and I
+used to drill the boys."</p>
+
+<p>There was a loud cry of "Why can't you drill us? Come, let's us have a
+company, and you be cap'n!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace gladly consented, and the next Saturday afternoon a meeting was
+appointed at the "Glen." When the time came, the boys were all as joyful
+as so many squirrels suddenly let out of a cage.</p>
+
+<p>"Now look here, boys," said Horace, brushing back his "shingled hair,"
+and walking about the grove with the air of a lord. "First place, if I'm
+going to be captain, you must mind; will you? <i>say</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Horace was not much of a public speaker; he threw words together just as
+it happened; but there was so much meaning in the twistings of his face,
+the jerkings of his head,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> and the twirlings of his thumbs, that if you
+were looking at him you must know what he meant.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, ay!" piped the little boys in chorus.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll muster you in," said Horace, grandly. "Has everybody brought
+their guns?&mdash;I mean <i>sticks</i>, you know!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, ay!"</p>
+
+<p>"I want to be corporal," said Peter Grant.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be major," cried Willy Snow.</p>
+
+<p>"There, you've spoke," shouted the captain. "I wish there was a tub or
+bar'l to stand you on when you talk."</p>
+
+<p>After some time an empty flour barrel was brought, and placed upright
+under a tree, to serve as a dunce-block.</p>
+
+<p>"Now we'll begin 'new," said the captain. "Those that want to be
+mustered, rise up their hands; but don't you snap your fingers."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The caution came too late for some of the boys; but Horace forgave the
+seeming disrespect, knowing that no harm was intended.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, boys, what are you fighting about?&mdash;Say, For our country!"</p>
+
+<p>"For our country," shouted the soldiers, some in chorus, and some in
+solo.</p>
+
+<p>"And our flag," added Horace, as an after-thought.</p>
+
+<p>"And our flag," repeated the boys, looking at the little banner of stars
+and stripes, which was fastened to the stump of a tree, and faintly
+fluttered in the breeze.</p>
+
+<p>"Long may it wave!" cried Horace, growing enthusiastic, and pointing
+backward to the flag with a sweep of his thumb.</p>
+
+<p>"There ain't a 'Secesh' in this company; there ain't a man but wants our
+battle to beat! If there is, we'll muster him out double-quick."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A few caps were flourished in the air, and every mouth was set firmly
+together, as if it would shout scorn of secession if it dared speak. It
+was a loyal company; there was no doubt of that. Indeed, the captain was
+so bitter against the South, that he had asked his aunt Madge if it was
+right to let <i>southernwood</i> grow in the garden.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," said Horace, "Forward! March! 'Ploy column!&mdash;No, form a line
+first. Ten<i>tion</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>A curved, uncertain line, not unlike the letter S, gradually
+straightened itself, and the boys looked down to their feet as if they
+expected to see a chalk-mark on the grass.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, when I say, 'Right!' you must look at the buttons on my jacket&mdash;or
+on yours, I've forgot which; on yours, I reckon. Right! Right at 'em!
+Right at the buttons!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Obedient to orders, every boy's head drooped in a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!" said Horace, knitting his brows; "that's enough!" For there
+seemed to be something wrong, he could not tell what.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you may ''bout face;' that means whirl round. Now march! one, two,
+quick time, double-quick!"</p>
+
+<p>"They're stepping on my toes," cried barefooted Peter Grant.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush right up, private, or I'll stand you on the bar'l."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish't you would," groaned little Peter; "it hurts."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, I shan't," said the captain, decidedly, "for 'twouldn't be
+any punishin'.&mdash;Can't some of you whistle?"</p>
+
+<p>Willy Snow struck up Yankee Doodle, which soon charmed the wayward feet
+of the little volunteers, and set them to marching in good time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Afterward their captain gave instructions in "groundin' arms," "stackin'
+arms," "firin'," and "countin' a march," by which he meant
+"countermarching." He had really read a good many pages in Infantry
+Tactics, and had treasured up the military phrases with some care,
+though he had but a confused idea of their meaning.</p>
+
+<p>"Holler-square!" said he, when he could think of nothing else to say. Of
+course he meant a "hollow square."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we holler all together?" cried a voice from the midst of the
+ranks.</p>
+
+<p>The owner of the voice would have been "stood on the barrel," if Horace
+had been less busy thinking.</p>
+
+<p>"I've forgot how they holler, as true as you live; but I reckon it's all
+together, and open your mouths wide."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 415px;">
+<img src="images/image92.jpg" width="415" height="500" alt="Stand by the Flag." title="" />
+<span class="caption">Stand by the Flag.&mdash;<i>Page <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.</i></span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At this the young volunteers, nothing loath, gave a long, deafening
+shout, which the woods caught up and echoed.</p>
+
+<p>Horace scratched his head. He had seen his father drill his men, but he
+could not remember that he had ever heard them scream.</p>
+
+<p>A pitched battle came off next, which would have been a very peaceful
+one if all the boys had not wanted to be Northerners. But the feeling
+was greatly changed when Horace joined the Southern ranks, saying "he
+didn't care how much he played Secesh when everybody knew he was a good
+Union man, and his father was going to be a general." After this there
+was no trouble about raising volunteers on the rebel side.</p>
+
+<p>The whole affair ended very pleasantly, only there was some slashing
+right and left with a few bits of broken glass, which were used as
+swords; and several mothers had wounds to dress that night.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clifford heard no complaint from her little son, although his
+fingers were quite ragged, and must have been painful. Horace was really
+a brave boy, and always bore suffering like a hero. More than that, he
+had the satisfaction of using the drops of blood for red paint; and the
+first thing after supper he made a wooden sword and gun, and dashed them
+with red streaks.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<h3>SUSY AND PRUDY.</h3>
+
+
+<p>The Clifford children were very anxious to see Susy and Prudy, and it
+seemed a long while to wait; but the Portland schools had a vacation at
+last, and then it was time to expect the little cousins.</p>
+
+<p>The whole family were impatient to see them and their excellent mother.
+Grandma lost her spectacles very often that afternoon, and every time
+she went to the window to look out, the ball of her knitting-work
+followed her, as Grace said, "like a little kitten."</p>
+
+<p>There was great joy when the stage really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> drove up to the door. The
+cousins were rather shy of each other at first, and Prudy hid her face,
+all glowing with smiles and blushes, in her plump little hands. But the
+stiffness wore away, and they were all as well acquainted as ever they
+had been, in about ten minutes.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't that a bumpin' stage, though?" cried Horace; "just like a
+baby-jumper."</p>
+
+<p>"We came in it, you know, Susy," said Grace; "didn't it shake like a
+corn-popper?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want to go and see the piggy and ducks," said Prudy.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," whispered Susy, "wait till after supper."</p>
+
+<p>The Cliffords were delighted with their little cousins. When they had
+last seen Prudy, which was the summer before, they had loved her dearly.
+Now she was past five, and "a good deal cunninger than ever;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> or so
+Horace thought. He liked her pretty face, her gentle ways, and said very
+often, if he had such a little sister he'd "go a lyin'."</p>
+
+<p>To be sure Susy was just his age, and could run almost as fast as he
+could; still Horace did not fancy her half as much as Prudy, who could
+not run much without falling down, and who was always sure to cry if she
+got hurt.</p>
+
+<p>Grace and Susy were glad that Horace liked Prudy so well, for when they
+were cutting out dolls' dresses, or playing with company, it was
+pleasant to have him take her out of the way.</p>
+
+<p>Prudy's mouth was not much larger than a button-hole, but she opened it
+as wide as she could when she saw Horace whittle out such wonderful
+toys.</p>
+
+<p>He tried to be as much as possible like a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> man; so he worked with his
+jacket off, whistling all the while; and when he pounded, he drew in his
+breath with a whizzing noise, such as he had heard carpenters make.</p>
+
+<p>All this was very droll to little Prudy, who had no brothers, and
+supposed her "captain cousin" must be a very remarkable boy, especially
+as he told her that, if he hadn't left his tool-box out west, he could
+have done "a heap better." It was quite funny to see her standing over
+him with such a happy, wondering little face, sometimes singing snatches
+of little songs, which were sure to be wrong somewhere, such as,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Little kinds of <i>deedness</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Little words of love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make this <i>earthen needn't</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Like the heaven above."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>She thought, as Horace did, that her sled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> would look very well "crossed
+off with green;" but Susy would not consent. So Horace made a doll's
+sled out of shingles, with turned-up runners, and a tongue of string.
+This toy pleased Prudy, and no one had a right to say it should not be
+painted green.</p>
+
+<p>But as Captain Horace was just preparing to add this finishing touch, a
+lady arrived with little twin-boys, four years old. Aunt Madge came into
+the shed to call Horace and Prudy. "O, auntie," said Horace, "I don't
+believe I care to play with those little persons!"</p>
+
+<p>His aunt smiled at hearing children called "little persons," but told
+Horace it would not be polite to neglect his young visitors: it would be
+positively rude. Horace did not wish to be considered an ill-mannered
+boy, and at last consented to have his hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> and garments cleansed with
+turpentine to erase the paint, and to go into the nursery to see the
+"little persons."</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to him and Prudy that the visit lasted a great while, and that
+it was exceedingly hard work to be polite.</p>
+
+<p>When it was well over, Prudy said, "The next lady that comes here, I
+hope she won't bring any little <i>double boys</i>! What do I love little
+boys for, 'thout they're my cousins?"</p>
+
+<p>After the sled was carefully dried, Horace printed on it the words "Lady
+Jane," in large yellow letters. His friend Gilbert found the paint for
+this, and it was thought by both the boys that the sled could not have
+been finer if "Lady Jane" had been spread on with gold-leaf by a
+sign-painter.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Prudy," said Horace, "it isn't, everybody can make such a sled as
+that!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> It's right strong, too; as strong as&mdash;why, it's strong enough to
+'bear up an egg'!"</p>
+
+<p>If Horace had done only such innocent things as to "drill" the little
+boys, make sleds for Prudy, and keep store with Gilbert, his mother
+might have felt happy.</p>
+
+<p>But Horace was growing careless. His father's parting words, "Always
+obey your mother, my son, and remember that God sees all you do," did
+not often ring in his ears now. Mr. Clifford, though a kind parent, had
+always been strict in discipline, and his little son had stood in awe of
+him. Now that he had gone away, there seemed to be some danger that
+Horace might fall into bad ways. His mother had many serious fears about
+him, for, with her feeble health, and the care of little Katie, she
+could not be as watchful of him as she wished to be. She remembered how
+Mr. Clifford had often<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> said, "He will either make something or
+nothing," and she had answered, "Yes, there'll never be any half-way
+place for Horace." She sighed now as she repeated her own words.</p>
+
+<p>In his voyages of discovery Horace had found some gunpowder. "Mine!"
+said he to himself; "didn't aunt Madge say we could have everything we
+found up-attic?"</p>
+
+<p>He knew that he was doing wrong when he tucked the powder slyly into his
+pocket. He knew he did wrong when he showed it to Gilbert, saying,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Got any matches, Grasshopper?"</p>
+
+<p>They dug holes in the ground for the powder, and over the powder crossed
+some dry sticks. When they touched it off they ran away as fast as
+possible; but it was a wonder they were not both blown up. It was
+pleasant, no doubt, to hear the popping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> of the powder; but they dared
+not laugh too loud, lest some one in the house should hear them, and
+come out to ask what they could be playing that was so remarkably funny.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clifford little thought what a naughty thing Horace had been doing,
+when she called him in one day, and said, with a smiling face,&mdash;for she
+loved to make him happy,&mdash;"See, my son, what I have bought for you! It
+is a present from your father, for in his last letter he asked me to get
+it."</p>
+
+<p>Horace fairly shouted with delight when he saw the beautiful Zouave
+suit, gray, bordered with red, and a cap to match. If he had any twinges
+of conscience about receiving this present, nobody knew it.</p>
+
+<p>Here is the letter of thanks which he wrote to his father:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry to say I have not seen you since you went to the
+war. Grandpa has two pigs. I want a drum so much!</p>
+
+<p>"We have lots of squirrels: they chip. We have orioles: they
+say, 'Here, here, <i>here</i> I be!'</p>
+
+<p>"I want the drum because I am a <i>captain</i>! We are going to
+train with paper caps.</p>
+
+<p>"I get up the cows and have a good time.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by. From your son,</p>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Horace P. Clifford</span>.</p>
+
+<p>"P.S. Ma bought me the soldier-clothes. I thank you."</p></div>
+
+<p>About this time Mrs. Clifford was trying to put together a barrel of
+nice things to send to her husband. Grandma and aunt Madge baked a great
+many loaves of cake and hundreds of cookies, and put in cans of fruit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
+and boxes of jelly wherever there was room. Aunt Louise made a nice
+little dressing-case of bronze kid, lined with silk, and Grace made a
+pretty pen-wiper and pin-ball. Horace whittled out a handsome steamboat,
+with <i>green</i> pipes, and the figure-head of an old man's face carved in
+wood. But Horace thought the face looked like Prudy's, and named the
+steamboat "The Prudy." He also broke open his savings-bank, and begged
+his mother to lay out all the money he had in presents for the sick
+soldiers.</p>
+
+<p>"Horace has a kind and loving heart," said Margaret to Louise. "To be
+sure he won't keep still long enough to let anybody kiss him, but he
+really loves his parents dearly."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he's a terrible try-patience," said Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a while! He is wilful and naughty,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> but he never tells wrong
+stories. I think there's hope of a boy who <i>scorns a lie</i>! See if he
+doesn't come out right, Louise. Why, I expect to be proud of our Horace
+one of these days!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+<h3>IN THE WOODS.</h3>
+
+
+<p>"O, ma," said Horace, coming, into the house one morning glowing with
+excitement, "mayn't I go in the woods with Peter Grant? He knows where
+there's heaps of boxberries."</p>
+
+<p>"And who is Peter Grant, my son?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is a little boy with a bad temper," said aunt Louise, frowning
+severely at Horace.&mdash;If she had had her way, I don't know but every
+little boy in town would have been tied to a bed-post by a clothes-line.
+As I have already said, aunt Louise was not remarkably fond of children,
+and when they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> were naughty it was hard for her to forgive them.</p>
+
+<p>She disliked little Peter; but she never stopped to think that he had a
+cross and ignorant mother, who managed him so badly that he did not care
+about trying to be good. Mrs. Grant seldom talked with him about God and
+the Saviour; she never read to him from the Bible, nor told him to say
+his prayers.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clifford answered Horace that she did not wish him to go into the
+woods, and that was all that she thought it necessary to say.</p>
+
+<p>Horace, at the time, had no idea of disobeying his mother; but not long
+afterwards he happened to go into the kitchen, where his grandmother was
+making beer.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you make it of, grandma?" said he.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Of molasses and warm water and yeast."</p>
+
+<p>"But what gives the taste to it?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, I put in spruce, or boxberry, or sarsaparilla."</p>
+
+<p>"But see here, grandma: wouldn't you like to have me go in the woods
+'someplace,' and dig roots for you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed, my dear," said she innocently; "and if you should go, pray
+get some wintergreen, by all means."</p>
+
+<p>Horace's heart gave a wicked throb of delight. If some one wanted him to
+go <i>after</i> something, of course he <i>ought</i> to go; for his mother had
+often told him he must try to be useful. Strolling into the woods with
+Peter Grant, just for fun, was very different from going in soberly to
+dig up roots for grandma.</p>
+
+<p>He thought of it all the way out to the gate. To be sure he might go and
+ask his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> mother again, but "what was the use, when he knew certain sure
+she'd be willing? Besides, wasn't the baby crying, so he mustn't go in
+the room?"</p>
+
+<p>These reasons sounded very well; but they could be picked in pieces, and
+Horace knew it. It was only when the baby was asleep that he must keep
+out of the chamber; and, as for being sure that his mother would let him
+go into the woods, the truth was, he dared not ask her, for he knew she
+would say, "No."</p>
+
+<p>He found Peter Grant lounging near the school-house, scribbling his name
+on the clean white paint under one of the windows.</p>
+
+<p>Peter's black eyes twinkled.</p>
+
+<p>"Going, ain't you, cap'n! dog and all? But where's your basket? Wait,
+and I'll fetch one."</p>
+
+<p>"There," said he, coming back again, "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> got that out of the stable
+there at the tavern; Billy Green is hostler: Billy knows me."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Peter, come ahead."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe you know your way in these ere woods," returned Peter,
+with an air of importance. "I'll go fust. It's a mighty long stretch,
+'most up to Canada; but I could find <i>my</i> way in the dark. I never got
+lost anywheres yet!"</p>
+
+<p>"Poh! nor I either," Horace was about to say; but remembering his
+adventure in Cleveland, he drowned the words in a long whistle.</p>
+
+<p>They kept on up the steep hill for some distance, and then struck off
+into the forest. The straight pine trees stood up solemn and stiff.
+Instead of tender leaves, they bristled all over with dark green
+"needles." They had no blessings of birds' nests in their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> branches; yet
+they gave out a pleasant odor, which the boys said was "nice."</p>
+
+<p>"But they aren't so splendid, Peter, as our trees out west&mdash;don't begin!
+<i>They</i> grow so big you can't chop 'em down. I'll leave it to Pincher!"</p>
+
+<p>"Chop 'em down? I reckon it can't be done!" replied Pincher&mdash;not in
+words, but by a wag of his tail.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, how <i>do</i> you get 'em down then, cap'n?"</p>
+
+<p>"We cut a place right 'round 'em: that's girdlin' the tree, and then,
+ever so long after, it dies and drops down itself."</p>
+
+<p>"O, my stars!" cried Peter, "I want to know!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, you <span class="smcap">don't</span> want to know, Peter, for I just told you! You may say, 'I
+wonder,' if you like; that's what we say out west."</p>
+
+<p>"Wait," said Peter. "I only said, '<i>I</i> want<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> to know what other trees
+you have;' that's what I meant, but you <i>shet</i> me right up."</p>
+
+<p>"O, there's the butternut, and tree of heaven, and papaw, and 'simmon,
+and a 'right smart sprinkle' of wood-trees."</p>
+
+<p>"What's a 'simmon?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, it looks like a little baked apple, all wrinkled up; but it's right
+sweet. Ugh!" added Horace, making a wry face; "you better look out when
+they're green: they pucker your mouth up a good deal worse'n
+choke-cherries."</p>
+
+<p>"What's a papaw?"</p>
+
+<p>"A papaw? Well, it's a curious thing, not much account. The pigs eat it.
+It tastes like a custard, right soft and mellow. Come, let's go to
+work."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what's a tree of heaven?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, Peter, for pity's sakes how do I know? It's a tree of heaven, I
+suppose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> It has pink hollyhocks growing on it. What makes you ask so
+many questions?"</p>
+
+<p>Upon that the boys went to work picking boxberry leaves, which grew at
+the roots of the pine trees, among the soft moss and last year's cones.
+Horace was very anxious to gather enough for some beer; but it was
+strange how many it took to fill such "<i>enormous</i> big baskets."</p>
+
+<p>"Now," said Horace, "I move we look over yonder for some wintergreen.
+You said you knew it by sight."</p>
+
+<p>"Wintergreen? wintergreen?" echoed Peter: "O, yes, I know it well
+enough. It spangles 'round. See, here's some; the girls make wreaths of
+it."</p>
+
+<p>It was <i>moneywort</i>; but Horace never doubted that Peter was telling the
+truth, and supposed his grandmother would be delighted to see such
+quantities of wintergreen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>After some time spent in gathering this, Horace happened to remember
+that he wanted sarsaparilla.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon," thought he, "they'll be glad I came, if I carry home so many
+things."</p>
+
+<p>Peter knew they could find sarsaparilla, for there was not a root of any
+sort which did not grow "in the pines;" of that he was sure. So they
+struck still deeper into the woods, every step taking them farther from
+home. Pincher followed, as happy as a dog can be; but, alas! never
+dreaming that serious trouble was coming.</p>
+
+<p>The boys dug up various roots with their jackknives; but they both knew
+the taste of sarsaparilla, and could not be deceived.</p>
+
+<p>"We hain't come to it yet," said Peter; "but it's round here somewheres,
+I'll bet a dollar."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm getting hungry," said Horace: "isn't it about time for the
+dinner-bell to ring?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Pretty near," replied Peter, squinting his eyes and looking at the sky
+as if there was a noon-mark up there, and he was the boy to find it.
+"That bell will ring in fifteen minutes: you see if it don't."</p>
+
+<p>But it did not, though it was high noon, certainly. Hours passed. Horace
+remembered they were to have had salt codfish and cream gravy for
+dinner. Aunt Madge had said so; also a roly-poly with foaming sauce. It
+must now be long ago since the sugar and butter were beaten together for
+that sauce. He wondered if there would be any pudding left. He was sure
+he should like it cold, and a glass of water with ice in it.</p>
+
+<p>O, how many times he could have gone to the barrel which stood by the
+sink, and drunk such deep draughts of water, when he didn't care
+anything about it! But now he was so thirsty, and there was not so much
+as a teaspoonful of water to be found!</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 334px;">
+<img src="images/image118.jpg" width="334" height="500" alt="Captain Horace Lost." title="" />
+<span class="caption">Captain Horace Lost. <i>Page <a href="#Page_42">42</a></i>.</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I motion we go home," said Horace, for at least the tenth time.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," replied Peter, sulkily, "ain't we striking a bee-line?"</p>
+
+<p>"We've got turned round," said Horace: "Canada is over yonder, <i>I</i>
+know."</p>
+
+<p>"Pshaw! no, it ain't, no such a thing."</p>
+
+<p>But they were really going the wrong way. The village bell had rung at
+noon, as usual, but they were too far off to hear it. It was weary work
+winding in and out, in and out, among the trees and stumps. With torn
+clothes, bleeding hands, and tired feet, the poor boys pushed on.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course we're right," said Peter, in a would-be brave tone: "don't
+you remember that stump?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't, Peter Grant," replied Horace,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> who was losing his
+patience: "I never was here before. Humph! I thought you could find your
+way with your eyes shut."</p>
+
+<p>"Turn and go t'other way, then," said Peter, adding a wicked word I
+cannot repeat.</p>
+
+<p>"I will," replied Horace, coolly: "if I'd known you used such swearing
+words I never'd have come!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hollo, there!" shouted Peter, a few moments after, "I'll keep with you,
+and risk it, cap'n."</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, then," returned Horace, who was glad of Peter's company just
+now, little as he liked him. "Where's our baskets?" said he, stopping
+short.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure enough," cried Peter; "but we can't go back now."</p>
+
+<p>They had not gone far when they were startled by a cry from Pincher, a
+sharp cry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> of pain. He stood stock still, his brown eyes almost starting
+from their sockets with agony and fear. It proved that he had stumbled
+upon a fox-trap which was concealed under some dry twigs, and his right
+fore-paw was caught fast.</p>
+
+<p>Here was a dilemma. The boys tried with all their might to set poor
+Pincher free; but it seemed as if they only made matters worse.</p>
+
+<p>"What an old nuisance of a dog!" cried Peter; "just as we'd got to goin'
+on the right road."</p>
+
+<p>"Be still, Peter Grant! Hush your mouth! If you say a word against my
+dog you'll catch it. Poor little Pincher!" said Horace, patting him
+gently and laying his cheek down close to his face.</p>
+
+<p>The suffering creature licked his hands, and said with his eloquent
+eyes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Dear little master, don't take it to heart. You didn't know I'd get
+hurt! You've always been good to poor Pincher."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd rather have given a dollar," said Horace; "O, Pincher! I wish 'twas
+my foot; I tell you I do!"</p>
+
+<p>They tried again, but the trap held the dog's paw like a vice.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you what," said Peter; "we'll leave the dog here, and go home
+and get somebody to come."</p>
+
+<p>"You just behave, Peter Grant," said Horace, looking very angry. "I
+shouldn't want to be <i>your</i> dog! Just you hold his foot still, and I'll
+try again."</p>
+
+<p>This time Horace examined the trap on all sides, and, being what is
+called an ingenious boy, did actually succeed at last in getting little
+Pincher's foot out.</p>
+
+<p>"Whew! I didn't think you could," said Peter, admiringly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<i>You</i> couldn't, Peter; you haven't sense enough."</p>
+
+<p>The foot was terribly mangled, and Pincher had to be carried home in
+arms.</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to know, Peter, who set that trap. If my father was here,
+he'd have him in the lock-up."</p>
+
+<p>"Poh! it wasn't set for dogs," replied Peter, in an equally cross tone,
+for both the boys were tired, hungry, and out of sorts. "Don't you know
+nothin'? That's a bear-trap!"</p>
+
+<p>"A bear-trap! Do you have bears up here?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes, dear me, suz: hain't you seen none since you've been in the
+State of Maine? I've ate 'em lots of times."</p>
+
+<p>Peter had once eaten a piece of bear-steak, or it might have been
+moose-meat, he was not sure which; but at any rate it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> had been brought
+down from Moosehead Lake.</p>
+
+<p>"Bears 'round here?" thought Horace, in a fright.</p>
+
+<p>He quickened his pace. O, if he could only be sure it was the right
+road! Perhaps they were walking straight into a den of bears. He hugged
+little Pincher close in his arms, soothing him with pet names; for the
+poor dog continued to moan.</p>
+
+<p>"O, dear, dear!" cried Peter, "don't you feel awfully?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't stop to think of my feelings," replied Horace, shortly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I wish we hadn't come&mdash;I do."</p>
+
+<p>"So do I, Peter. I won't play 'hookey' again; but I'm not a-goin' to
+cry."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll never go anywheres with you any more as long as I live, Horace
+Clifford!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody wants you to, Pete Grant!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Then they pushed on in dignified silence till Peter broke forth again
+with wailing sobs.</p>
+
+<p>"I dread to get home! O, dear, I'll have to take it, I tell you. I guess
+you'd cry if you expected to be whipped."</p>
+
+<p>Horace made no reply. He did not care about telling Peter that he too
+had a terrible dread of reaching home, for there was something a great
+deal worse than a whipping, and that was, a mother's sorrowful face.</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't care if she'd whip me right hard," thought Horace; "but
+she'll talk to me about God and the Bible, and O, she'll look so white!"</p>
+
+<p>"Peter, you go on ahead," said he aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"What for?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, I want to rest a minute with Pincher."</p>
+
+<p>It was some moments before Peter would go, and then he went grumbling.
+As soon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> as he was out of sight, Horace threw himself on his knees and
+prayed in low tones,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"O God, I do want to be a good boy; and if I ever get out of this woods
+I'll begin! Keep the bears off, please do, O God, and let us find the
+way out, and forgive me. Amen."</p>
+
+<p>Horace had never uttered a more sincere prayer in his life. Like many
+older people, he waited till he was in sore need before he called upon
+God; but when he had once opened his heart to him, it was wonderful how
+much lighter it felt.</p>
+
+<p>He rose to his feet and struggled on, saying to Pincher, "Poor fellow,
+poor fellow, don't cry: we'll soon be home."</p>
+
+<p>"Hollo there, cap'n!" shouted Peter: "we're comin' to a clearin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Just as I expected," thought Horace: "why didn't I pray to God
+before?"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/image128.jpg" width="500" height="396" alt="In the Woods." title="" />
+<span class="caption">In the Woods.&mdash;Page <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>CAPTAIN CLIFFORD.</h3>
+
+
+<p>When Horace entered the yard, holding the poor dog in his arms, he felt
+wretched indeed. At that moment all the sulkiness and self-will were
+crushed out of his little heart. It seemed to him that never, never had
+there lived upon the earth another boy so wicked as himself.</p>
+
+<p>He forgot the excuses he had been making up about going into the woods
+because his grandmother wanted him to: he scorned to add falsehood to
+disobedience, and was more than willing to take his full share of
+blame.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"If ma would whip me like everything," thought the boy, "I know I'd feel
+better."</p>
+
+<p>It was a long, winding path from the gate. The grounds looked very
+beautiful in the golden light of the afternoon sun. The pink
+clover-patch nodded with a thousand heads, and sprinkled the air with
+sweetness.</p>
+
+<p>Everything was very quiet: no one was on the piazza, no one at the
+windows. The blinds were all shut, and you could fancy that the house
+had closed its many eyes and dropped asleep. There was an awe about such
+perfect silence. "Where could Grace be, and those two dancing girls,
+Susy and Prudy?"</p>
+
+<p>He stole along to the back door, and lifted the latch. His grandmother
+stopped with a bowl of gruel in her hand, and said, "O, Horace!" that
+was all; but she could say no more for tears. She set down the bowl,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
+and went up to him, trying to speak; but the words trembled on her lips
+unspoken.</p>
+
+<p>"O, grandma!" said Horace, setting little Pincher down on a chair, and
+clutching the skirt of her dress, "I've been right bad: I'm sorry&mdash;I
+tell you I am."</p>
+
+<p>His grandmother had never heard him speak in such humble tones before.</p>
+
+<p>"O, Horace!" she sobbed again, this time clasping him close to her
+heart, and kissing him with a yearning fondness she had hardly ever
+shown since he was a little toddling baby. "My darling, darling boy!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace thought by her manner they must all have been sadly frightened
+about him.</p>
+
+<p>"I got lost in the woods, grandma; but it didn't hurt me any, only
+Pincher got his foot caught."</p>
+
+<p>"Lost in the woods?" repeated she: "Grace thought you went home to
+dinner with Willy Snow."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>So it seemed they had not worried about him at all: then what was
+grandma crying about?</p>
+
+<p>"Don't go up stairs, dear," said she, as he brushed past her and laid
+his hand on the latch of the chamber door.</p>
+
+<p>"But I want to see ma."</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a little," said Mrs. Parlin, with a fresh burst of tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what is the matter, grandma; and where's Grace, and Susy, and
+Prudy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Grace is with your mother, and the other children are at aunt Martha's.
+But if you've been in the woods all day, Horace, you must be very
+hungry."</p>
+
+<p>"You've forgot Pincher, grandma."</p>
+
+<p>The boy would not taste food till the dog's foot had been bandaged,
+though, all the while his grandmother was doing up the Wound, it seemed
+to Horace that she must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> be thinking of something else, or she would
+pity Pincher a great deal more.</p>
+
+<p>The cold dinner which she set out on the table was very tempting, and he
+ate heartily; but after every mouthful he kept asking, "What could be
+the matter? Was baby worse? Had anybody took sick?"</p>
+
+<p>But his grandmother stood by the stove stirring gruel, and would answer
+him nothing but, "I'll let you know very soon."</p>
+
+<p>She wanted the little boy to be rested and refreshed by food before she
+told him a very painful thing. Then she took him up stairs with her into
+her own chamber, which was quite shady with grape-vines, and so still
+that you could only hear the buzzing of two or three flies.</p>
+
+<p>She had brought a bowl of hot gruel on a little waiter. She placed the
+waiter on the top of her washing-stand, and seated herself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> on the bed,
+drawing Horace down beside her.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear little grandson," said she, stroking his bright hair, "God has
+been very good to you always, always. He loves you better than you can
+even think."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, grandma," answered Horace, bewildered.</p>
+
+<p>"He is your dear Father in heaven," she added, slowly. "He wants you to
+love him with all your heart, for now&mdash;you have no other father!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace sprang up from the bed, his eyes wild with fear and surprise, yet
+having no idea what she meant.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, my father's captain in the army! He's down South!"</p>
+
+<p>"But have you never thought, dear, that he might be shot?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I never," cried Horace, running to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> the window and back again in
+great excitement. "Mr. Evans said they'd put him in colonel. He was
+coming home in six months. He couldn't be shot!"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear little boy!"</p>
+
+<p>"But O, grandma, is he killed? Say quick!"</p>
+
+<p>His grandmother took out of her pocket a Boston Journal, and having put
+on her spectacles, pointed with a trembling finger to the list of
+"killed." One of the first names was "Captain Henry S. Clifford."</p>
+
+<p>"O, Horace!" said Grace, opening the door softly, "I just thought I
+heard you. Ma wants you to come to her."</p>
+
+<p>Without speaking, Horace gave his hand to his sister, and went with her
+while their grandmother followed, carrying the bowl of gruel.</p>
+
+<p>At the door of Mrs. Clifford's room they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> met aunt Louise coming out.
+The sight of Horace and Grace walking tearfully, hand in hand, was very
+touching to her.</p>
+
+<p>"You dear little fatherless children," she whispered, throwing her arms
+around them both, and dropping tears and kisses on their faces.</p>
+
+<p>"O, I can't, I can't bear it," cried Grace; "my own dear papa, that I
+love best of any one in all the world!"</p>
+
+<p>Horace ran to his mother, and throwing himself on the bed beside her,
+buried his face in the pillows.</p>
+
+<p>"O, ma! I reckon 'tisn't true. It's another Captain Clifford."</p>
+
+<p>His mother lay so very white and still that Horace drew away when he had
+touched her: there was something awful in the coldness of her face. Her
+beautiful brown eyes shone bright and tearless; but there were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> dark
+hollows under them, deep enough to hold many tears, if the time should
+ever come when she might shed them.</p>
+
+<p>"O, little Horace," whispered she, "mother's little Horace!"</p>
+
+<p>"Darling mamma!" responded the boy, kissing her pale lips and smoothing
+the hair away from her cheeks with his small fingers, which meant to
+move gently, but did not know how. And then the young, childish heart,
+with its little load of grief, was pressed close to the larger heart,
+whose deep, deep sorrow only God could heal.</p>
+
+<p>They are wrong who say that little children cannot receive lasting
+impressions. There are some hours of joy or agony which they never
+forget. This was such an hour for Horace. He could almost feel again on
+his forehead the warm good-by kisses of his father; he could almost hear
+again the words,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Always obey your mother, my son, and remember that God sees all you
+do."</p>
+
+<p>Ah, he had not obeyed, he had not remembered.</p>
+
+<p>And that dear father would never kiss him, never speak to him again! He
+had not thought before what a long word Never was.</p>
+
+<p>O, it was dreadful to shut his eyes and fancy him lying so cold and
+still on that bloody battle-field! Would all this awful thing be true
+to-morrow morning, when he waked up?</p>
+
+<p>"O, mamma," sobbed the desolate child, "I and Grace will take care of
+you! Just forgive me, ma, and I'll be the best kind of a boy. I will, I
+will!"</p>
+
+<p>Grandma had already led Grace away into the green chamber, where aunt
+Madge sat with the baby. The poor little girl would not be comforted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"O, grandma," she cried, "if we could know who it was that shot pa our
+mayor would hang him! I do wish I could die, grandma. I don't want to
+keep living and living in this great world, without my father!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BLUE BOOK.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Days passed, but there was the same hush upon the house. Everybody moved
+about softly, and spoke in low tones. Horace was not told that he must
+go to school, but he knew aunt Louise thought his shoes made a great
+deal of noise, and just now he wanted to please even her. More than
+that, it was very pleasant to see the boys; and while he was playing
+games he forgot his sorrow, and forgot his mother's sad face. There was
+one thing, however, which he could not do: he had not the heart to be
+captain, and drill his company, just now.</p>
+
+<p>"Horace," said Grace, as they were sitting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> on the piazza steps one
+morning, "I heard ma tell grandma yesterday, you'd been a better boy
+this week than you had been before since&mdash;since&mdash;pa went away."</p>
+
+<p>"Did she?" cried Horace, eagerly; "where was she when she said it? What
+did grandma say? Did aunt Madge hear her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, aunt Madge heard her, and she said she always knew Horace would be
+a good boy if he would only think."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I <i>do</i> think," replied Horace, looking very much pleased; "I
+think about all the time."</p>
+
+<p>"But then, Horace, you know how you've acted some days!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't care. Aunt Madge says 'tisn't so easy for boys to be
+good."</p>
+
+<p>Grace opened her round blue eyes in wonder.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace, I have to make my own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> bed, and sweep and dust my room,
+and take care of my drawers. Only think of that; and Prudy always round
+into things, you know! Then I have to sew, O, so much! I reckon you
+wouldn't find it very easy being a girl."</p>
+
+<p>"Poh! don't I have to feed the chickens, and bring in the eggs, and go
+for the cows? And when we lived home&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Here Horace broke down; he could not think of home without remembering
+his father.</p>
+
+<p>Grace burst into tears. The word "home" had called up a beautiful
+picture of her father and mother sitting on the sofa in the library,
+Horace and Pincher lying on the floor, the door open from the balcony,
+and the moon filling the room with a soft light; her father had a smile
+on his face, and was holding her hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Ah! Grace, and Horace, and their mother would see many such pictures of
+memory.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sister," said Horace, speaking quite slowly, and looking down at
+the grass, "what do I do that's bad?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace, I shouldn't think you'd ask! Blowing gunpowder, and
+running off into the woods, and most killing Pincher, and going trouting
+down to the 'crick' with your best clothes on, and disobeying your ma,
+and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sayin' bad words," added Horace, "but I stopped that this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean, Horace?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, I said over all the bad things I could think of; not the swearin'
+words, you know, but 'shucks,' and 'gallus,' and 'bully,' and 'by
+hokey,' and 'by George;' and it's the last time."</p>
+
+<p>"O, I'm so glad, Horace!" cried Grace,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> clapping her hands and laughing;
+"and you won't blow any more powder?"</p>
+
+<p>Horace shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Nor run off again? Why, you'll be like Ally Glover, and you know I'm
+trying to be like little Eva."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to be like Ally Glover," replied Horace, making a wry
+face; "he's lame, and besides, he's too dreadful good."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace," said his sister, solemnly; "anybody can't be too good;
+'tisn't possible."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, he's just like a girl&mdash;that's what! I'm not going to be
+'characteristic' any more, but I don't want to be like a girl neither.
+Look here, Grace; it's school time. Now don't you 'let on' to ma, or
+anybody, that I'm going to be better."</p>
+
+<p>Grace promised, but she wondered why Horace should not wish his mother
+to know he was trying to be good, when it would make her so happy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"He's afraid he'll give it up," thought she; "but I won't let him."</p>
+
+<p>She sat on the piazza steps a long while after he had gone. At last a
+bright idea flashed across her mind, and of course she dropped her work
+and clapped her hands, though she was quite alone.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll make a merit-book like Miss All'n's, and put down black marks for
+him when he's naughty."</p>
+
+<p>When Horace came home that night, he was charmed with the plan, for he
+was really in earnest. His kind sister made the book very neatly, and
+sewed it into a cover of glossy blue paper. She thought they would try
+it four weeks; so she had put in twenty-eight pages, each page standing
+for one day.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," said she, "when you say one bad word I'll put down 'one B. W.'
+for short; but when you say two bad words, 'twill be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> 'two B. W.,' you
+know. When you blow gunpowder, that'll be 'B. G.'&mdash;no, 'B. G. P.' for
+gunpowder is two words."</p>
+
+<p>"And when I run off, 'twill be 'R. O.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Or 'R. A.,' said Grace, for 'ran away.'"</p>
+
+<p>"And 'T.' for 'troutin'," said Horace, who was getting very much
+interested; "and&mdash;and&mdash;'P. A. L.' for 'plaguing aunt Louise,' and 'C.'
+for 'characteristic,' and 'L. T.' for 'losing things.'"</p>
+
+<p>"O, dear, dear, Horace, the book won't begin to hold it! We mustn't put
+down those little things."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Grace, you know I shan't do 'em any more."</p>
+
+<p>Grace shook her head, and sighed. "We won't put down all those little
+things," repeated she; "we'll have 'D.' for 'disobedience,' and 'B. W.,'
+and&mdash;O! one thing I forgot&mdash;'F.' for 'falsehood.'"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well, you won't get any F's out of me, by hokey," said Horace, snapping
+his fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, there it is, 'one B. W.' so quick!" cried Grace, holding up both
+hands and laughing.</p>
+
+<p>Horace opened his mouth in surprise, and then clapped his hand over it
+in dismay. It was not a very fortunate beginning.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Grace," said he, making a wry face; "I move we call that no
+'count, and commence new to-morrow!"</p>
+
+<p>So Grace waited till next day before she dated the merit-book.</p>
+
+<p>All this while Pincher's foot was growing no better. Aunt Louise said
+you could almost see the poor dog 'dwindle, peak, and pine.'</p>
+
+<p>"But it's only his hurt," said Grace; "'tisn't a sickness."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon," returned Horace, sadly, "it isn't a <i>wellness</i>, neither."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Why not send for Mrs. Duffy?" suggested aunt Madge. "If any one can
+help the poor creature, it is she."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Duffy was the village washerwoman, and a capital nurse. It was an
+anxious moment for little Horace, when she unwrapped the crushed paw,
+Pincher moaning all the while in a way that went to the heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Wull," said Mrs. Duffy, who spoke with a brogue, "it's a bad-looking
+fut; but I've some intment here that'll do no har-rum, and it may hulp
+the poor craycher."</p>
+
+<p>She put the salve on some clean linen cloths, and bound up the wound,
+bidding them all be very careful that the dog "didn't stir his fut."</p>
+
+<p>"O, but he don't want to stir!" said Horace. "He just lies down by the
+stove all day."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Duffy shook her head, and said, "he was a pooty craycher; 'twas
+more the pities that he ever went off in the wuds."</p>
+
+<p>Horace hung his head. O, if he could have blotted out that day of
+disobedience!</p>
+
+<p>"Wasn't it a real rebel, <i>heathen</i> man," cried Prudy, "to put the trap
+where Pincher sticked his foot in it?"</p>
+
+<p>Pincher grew worse and worse. He refused his food, and lay in a basket
+with a cushion in it, by the kitchen stove, where he might have been a
+little in the way, though not even aunt Louise ever said so.</p>
+
+<p>If Grace, or Susy, or Prudy, went up to him, he made no sign. It was
+only when he saw his little master that he would wag his tail for joy;
+but even that effort seemed to tire him, and he liked better to lick
+Horace's hand, and look up at his face with eyes brimful of love and
+agony.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Horace would sit by the half hour, coaxing him to eat a bit of broiled
+steak or the wing of a chicken; but though the poor dog would gladly
+have pleased his young master, he could hardly force himself to swallow
+a mouthful.</p>
+
+<p>These were sad days. Grace put down now and then a "B. W." in the blue
+book; but as for disobedience, Horace had just now no temptation to
+that. He could hardly think of anything but his dog.</p>
+
+<p>Pincher was about his age. He could not remember the time when he first
+knew him. "O, what jolly times they had had together! How often Pincher
+had trotted along to school, carrying the satchel with the school-books
+in his teeth. Why, the boys all loved him, they just loved him so."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir," said Horace, talking to himself, and laying the dog's head
+gently on his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> knee: "there wasn't one of them but just wished they had
+him. But, poh! I wouldn't have sold him for all the cannons and
+fire-crackers in the United States. No, not for a real drum, either;
+would I, Pincher?"</p>
+
+<p>Horace really believed the dog understood him, and many were the secrets
+he had poured into his faithful ears. Pincher would listen, and wink,
+and wag his tail, but was sure to keep everything to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you what it is, Pincher," Horace burst forth, "I'm not going to
+have you die! My own pa gave you to me, and you're the best dog that
+ever lived in this world. O, I didn't mean to catch your foot in that
+trap! Eat the chicken, there's a good fellow, and we'll cure you all
+up."</p>
+
+<p>But Pincher couldn't eat the chicken, and couldn't be cured. His eyes
+grew larger and sadder, but there was the same patient<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> look in them
+always. He fixed them on Horace to the last, with a dying gaze which
+made the boy's heart swell with bitter sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>"He wanted to speak, he wanted to ask me a question," said Horace, with
+sobs he did not try to control.</p>
+
+<p>O, it was sad to close those beautiful eyes forever, those beseeching
+eyes, which could almost speak.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clifford came and knelt on the stone hearth beside the basket, and
+wept freely for the first time since her husband's death.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear little Pincher," said she, "you have died a cruel death; but your
+dear little master closed your eyes. It was very hard, poor doggie, but
+not so hard as the battle-field. You shall have a quiet grave, good
+Pincher; but where have they buried our brave soldier?"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 347px;">
+<img src="images/image154.jpg" width="347" height="500" alt="Captain Horace and his Dog." title="" />
+<span class="caption">Captain Horace and his Dog. Page <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.</span>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<h3>TRYING TO GET RICH.</h3>
+
+
+<p>With his own hands, and the help of Grasshopper, who did little but hold
+the nails and look on, Horace made a box for Pincher, while Abner dug
+his grave under a tree in the grove.</p>
+
+<p>It was evening when they all followed Pincher to his last resting-place.</p>
+
+<p>"He was a sugar-plum of a dog," said Prudy, "and I can't help crying."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to help it," said Grace; "we ought to cry."</p>
+
+<p>"What makes me feel the worst," said sober little Susy, "he won't go to
+heaven."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Not forever'n ever amen?" gasped Prudy, in a low voice: "wouldn't he if
+he had a nice casket, and a plate on it neither?"</p>
+
+<p>The sky and earth were very lovely that evening, and it seemed as if
+everybody ought to be heart-glad. I doubt if Horace had ever thought
+before what a beautiful world he lived in, and how glorious a thing it
+is to be alive! He could run about and do what he pleased with himself;
+but alas, poor Pincher!</p>
+
+<p>The sun was setting, and the river looked uncommonly full of little
+sparkles. The soft sky, and the twinkling water, seemed to be smiling at
+each other, while a great way off you could see the dim blue mountains
+rising up like clouds. Such a lovely world! Ah! poor Pincher.</p>
+
+<p>It looked very much as if Horace were really turning over a new leaf. He
+was still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> quite trying sometimes, leaving the milk-room door open when
+puss was watching for the cream-pot, or slamming the kitchen door with a
+bang when everybody needed fresh air. He still kept his chamber in a
+state of confusion,&mdash;"muss," Grace called it,&mdash;pulling the drawers out
+of the bureau, and scattering the contents over the floor; dropping his
+clothes anywhere it happened, and carrying quantities of gravel up
+stairs in his shoes.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Louise still scolded about him; but even she could not help seeing
+that on the whole he was improving. He "cared" more and "forgot" less.
+He could always learn easily, and now he really tried to learn. His
+lessons, instead of going through his head "threading my grandmother's
+needle," went in and staid there. The blue book got a few marks, it is
+true, but not so many as at first.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>You may be sure there was not a good thing said or done by Horace which
+did not give pleasure to his mother. She felt now as if she lived only
+for her children; if God would bless her by making them good, she had
+nothing more to desire. Grace had always been a womanly, thoughtful
+little girl, but at this time she was a greater comfort than ever; and
+Horace had grown so tender and affectionate, that it gratified her very
+much. He was not content now with "canary kisses;" but threw his arms
+around her neck very often, saying, with his lips close to her cheek,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Don't feel bad, ma: I'm going to take care of you."</p>
+
+<p>For his mother's grief called forth his manliness.</p>
+
+<p>She meant to be cheerful; but Horace knew she did not look or seem like
+herself:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> he thought he ought to try to make her happy.</p>
+
+<p>Whenever he asked for money, as he too often did, she told him that now
+his father was gone, there was no one to earn anything, and it was best
+to be rather prudent. He wanted a drum; but she thought he must wait a
+while for that.</p>
+
+<p>They were far from being poor, and Mrs. Clifford had no idea of
+deceiving her little son. Yet he <i>was</i> deceived, for he supposed that
+his mother's pretty little porte-monnaie held all the bank-bills and all
+the silver she had in the world.</p>
+
+<p>"O, Grace!" said Horace, coming down stairs with a very grave face, "I
+wish I was grown a man: then I'd earn money like sixty."</p>
+
+<p>Grace stopped her singing long enough to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> ask what he meant to do, and
+then continued in a high key,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Where, O where are the Hebrew children?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, I'm going as a soldier," replied Horace: "I thought everybody knew
+that! The colonels make a heap of money!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, Horace, you might get shot&mdash;just think!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'd dodge when they fired, for I don't know what you and ma would
+do if <i>I</i> was killed."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, please step out of the way, Horace; don't you see I'm sweeping
+the piazza?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't tell," pursued he, taking a seat on one of the stairs in the
+hall: "I can't tell certain sure; but I may be a minister."</p>
+
+<p>This was such a funny idea, that Grace made a dash with her broom, and
+sent the dirt flying the wrong way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Why, Horace, you'll never be good enough for a minister!"</p>
+
+<p>"What'll you bet?" replied he, looking a little mortified.</p>
+
+<p>"You're getting to be a dear good little boy, Horace," said Grace,
+soothingly; "but I don't <i>think</i> you'll ever be a minister."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I'd as soon be a shoemaker," continued Horace, thoughtfully;
+"they get a great deal for tappin' boots."</p>
+
+<p>His sister made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"See here, now, Grace: perhaps you'd rather I'd be a tin-pedler; then
+I'd always keep a horse, and you could ride."</p>
+
+<p>"Ride in a cart!" cried Grace, laughing. "Can't you think of anything
+else? Have you forgotten papa?"</p>
+
+<p>"O, now I know," exclaimed Horace, with shining eyes: "it's a lawyer
+I'll be, just like father was. I'll have a 'sleepy partner,' the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> way
+Judge Ingle has, and by and by I'll be a judge."</p>
+
+<p>"I know that would please ma, Horace," replied Grace, looking at her
+little brother with a good deal of pride.</p>
+
+<p>Who knew but he <i>might</i> yet be a judge? She liked to order him about,
+and have him yield to her: still she had great faith in Horace.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Grace, after all that I'll go to war, and turn out a general; now
+you see if I don't."</p>
+
+<p>"That'll be a great while yet," said Grace, sighing.</p>
+
+<p>"So it will," replied Horace, sadly; "and ma needs the money now. I wish
+I could earn something right off while I'm a little boy."</p>
+
+<p>It was not two days before he thought he had found out how to get rich;
+in what way you shall see.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE LITTLE INDIAN.</h3>
+
+
+<p>Prudy came into the house one day in a great fright, and said they'd
+"better hide the baby, for there was a very wicked woman round."</p>
+
+<p>"Her hair looks like a horse's tail," said she, "and she's got a black
+man's hat on her head, and a table-cloth over her."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Madge took Prudy in her lap, and told her it was only an Indian
+woman, who had no idea of harming any one.</p>
+
+<p>"What are Nindians?" asked the child.</p>
+
+<p>Her aunt said they were sometimes called "red men." The country had once
+been filled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> by them: but the English came, a great many years ago, and
+shook off the red men just as a high wind shakes the red leaves off a
+tree; and they were scattered about, and only a few were left alive.
+Sometimes the Oldtown Indians came round making baskets; but they were
+quiet and peaceable people.</p>
+
+<p>Horace and his friend "Grasshopper," as they were strolling up the
+river, came upon a tent made of canvas, and at the door of the tent sat
+a little boy about their own age, with a bow and arrow in his hand, in
+the act of firing.</p>
+
+<p>Grasshopper, who was always a coward, ran with all his might; but as
+Horace happened to notice that the arrow was pointed at something across
+the river, he was not alarmed, but stopped to look at the odd little
+stranger, who turned partly round and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> returned his gaze. His eyes were
+keen and black, with a good-natured expression, something like the eyes
+of an intelligent dog.</p>
+
+<p>"What's your name, boy?" said Horace.</p>
+
+<p>"Me no understand."</p>
+
+<p>"I asked what your <i>name</i> is," continued Horace, who was sure the boy
+understood, in spite of his blank looks.</p>
+
+<p>"Me no hurt white folks; me bunkum Indian."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what's your name, then? What do they call you?"</p>
+
+<p>No answer, but a shake of the head.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon they call you <i>John</i>, don't they?"</p>
+
+<p>Here the boy's mother appeared at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"His name no <i>John</i>! Eshy-ishy-oshy-neeshy-George-Wampum-Shoony-Katoo;
+short name, speak um quick!&mdash;Jaw-awn! Great long name!" drawled she,
+stretching<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> it out as if it were made of India rubber, and scowling with
+an air of disgust.</p>
+
+<p>"What does she mean by calling 'John' <i>long</i>?" thought Horace.</p>
+
+<p>The woman wore a calico dress, short enough to reveal her brown,
+stockingless feet and gay moccasons.</p>
+
+<p>Her hair was crow-black, and strayed over her shoulders and into her
+eyes. Horace concluded she must have lost her back-comb.</p>
+
+<p>While he was looking at her with curious eyes, her daughter came to the
+door, feeling a little cross at the stranger, whoever it might be; but
+when she saw only an innocent little boy, she smiled pleasantly, showing
+a row of white teeth. Horace thought her rather handsome, for she was
+very straight and slender, and her eyes shone like glass beads. Her hair
+he considered a great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> deal blacker than black, and it was braided and
+tied with gay red ribbons. She was dressed in a bright, large-figured
+calico, and from her ears were suspended the longest, yellowest,
+queerest, ear-rings. Horace thought they were shaped like boat-paddles,
+and would be pretty for Prudy to use when she rowed her little red boat
+in the bathing-tub. If they only "scooped" a little more they would
+answer for tea-spoons. "Plenty big as I should want for tea-spoons," he
+decided, after another gaze at them.</p>
+
+<p>The young girl was used to being admired by her own people, and was not
+at all displeased with Horace for staring at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Me think you nice white child," said she: "you get me sticks, me make
+you basket, pretty basket for put apples in."</p>
+
+<p>"What kind of sticks do you mean?" said Horace, forgetting that they
+pretended<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> not to understand English. But it appeared that they knew
+very well what he meant this time, and the Indian boy offered to go with
+him to point out the place where the wood was to be found. Grasshopper,
+who had only hidden behind the trees, now came out and joined the boys.</p>
+
+<p>"Wampum," as he chose to be called, led them back to Mr. Parlin's
+grounds, to the lower end of the garden, where stood some tall silver
+poplars, on which the Indians had looked with longing eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Me shin them trees," said Wampum; "me make you basket."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you let him, Grasshopper?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed; your grandfather won't care."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps he might; you don't know," said Horace, who, after he had asked
+advice, was far from feeling obliged to take it. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> ran in great haste
+to the field where his grandfather was hoeing potatoes, thinking, "If I
+ask, then I shan't get marked in the blue book anyhow."</p>
+
+<p>In this case Horace acted very properly. He had no right to cut the
+trees, or allow any one else to cut them, without leave. To his great
+delight, his grandfather said he did not care if they clipped off a few
+branches where they would not show much.</p>
+
+<p>When Horace got back and reported the words of his grandfather, Wampum
+did not even smile, but shot a glance at him as keen as an arrow.</p>
+
+<p>"Me no hurt trees," said he, gravely; and he did not: he only cut off a
+few limbs from each one, leaving the trees as handsome as ever.</p>
+
+<p>"Bully for you!" cried Horace, forgetting the blue book.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"He's as spry as a squirrel," said Grasshopper, in admiration; "how many
+boughs has he got? One, two, three."</p>
+
+<p>"Me say 'em quickest," cried little Wampum. "Een, teen, teddery,
+peddery, bimp, satter, latter, doe, dommy, dick."</p>
+
+<p>"That's ten," put in Horace, who was keeping 'count.</p>
+
+<p>"Een-dick," continued the little Indian, "teen-dick, teddery-dick,
+peddery-dick, bumpin, een-bumpin, teen-bumpin, teddery-bumpin,
+peddery-bumpin, jiggets."</p>
+
+<p>"Hollo!" cried Grasshopper; "that's twenty; jiggets is twenty;" and he
+rolled over on the ground, laughing as if he had made a great discovery.</p>
+
+<p>Little by little they made Wampum tell how he lived at home, what sort
+of boys he played with, and what they had to eat. The young Indian
+assured them that at Oldtown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> "he lived in a house good as white folks;
+he ate moose-meat, ate sheep-meat, ate cow-meat."</p>
+
+<p>"Cook out doors, I s'pose," said Grasshopper.</p>
+
+<p>Wampum looked very severe. "When me lives in wigwam, me has fires in
+wigwam: when me lives in tent, me puts fires on grass;&mdash;keep off them
+things," he added, pointing at a mosquito in the air; "keep smoke out
+tent," pointing upward to show the motion of the smoke.</p>
+
+<p>Horace felt so much pleased with his new companion, that he resolved to
+treat him to a watermelon. So, without saying a word to the boys, he ran
+into the house to ask his grandmother.</p>
+
+<p>"What! a whole watermelon, Horace?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, grandma, we three; me, and Grasshopper, and Wampum."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parlin could not help smiling to see how suddenly Horace had
+adopted a new friend.</p>
+
+<p>"You may have a melon, but I think your mother would not like to have
+you play much with a strange boy."</p>
+
+<p>"He's going to make me a splendid basket; and besides, aren't Indians
+and negroes as good as white folks? 'Specially <i>tame</i> Indians," said
+Horace, not very respectfully, as he ran back, shoe-knife in hand, to
+cut the watermelon.</p>
+
+<p>This was the beginning of a hasty friendship between himself and Wampum.
+For a few days there was nothing so charming to Horace as the wild life
+of this Indian family. He was made welcome at their tent, and often went
+in to see them make baskets.</p>
+
+<p>"I trust you," said Mrs. Clifford; "you will not deceive me, Horace. If
+you ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> find that little Wampum says bad words, tells falsehoods, or
+steals, I shall not be willing for you to play with him. You are very
+young, and might be greatly injured by a bad playmate."</p>
+
+<p>The tent was rude enough. In one corner were skins laid one over
+another: these were the beds which were spread out at night for the
+family. Instead of closets and presses, all the wearing apparel was hung
+on a long rope, which was stretched from stake to stake, in various
+directions, like a clothes-line.</p>
+
+<p>It was curious to watch the brown fingers moving so easily over the
+white strips, out of which they wove baskets. It was such pretty work!
+it brought so much money. Horace thought it was just the business for
+him, and Wampum promised to teach him. In return for this favor, Horace
+was to instruct the little Indian in spelling.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>For one or two evenings he appointed meetings in the summer-house, and
+really went without his own slice of cake, that he might give it to poor
+Wampum, after a lesson in "baker."</p>
+
+<p>He received the basket in due time, a beautiful one&mdash;red, white, and
+blue. Just as he was carrying it home on his arm, he met Billy Green,
+the hostler, who stopped him, and asked if he remembered going into "the
+Pines" one day with Peter Grant? Horace had no reason to forget it,
+surely.</p>
+
+<p>"Seems to me you ran away with my horse-basket," said Billy; "but I
+never knew till yesterday what had 'come of it."</p>
+
+<p>"There, now," replied Horace, quite crestfallen; "Peter Grant took that!
+I forgot all about it."</p>
+
+<p>What should be done? It would never do to ask his mother for the money,
+since,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> as he believed, she had none to spare. Billy was fond of joking
+with little boys.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, my fine fellow," said he, "give us that painted concern
+you've got on your arm, and we'll call it square."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, Billy," cried Horace, drawing away; "this is a present, and I
+couldn't. But I'm learning to weave baskets, and I'll make you one&mdash;see
+if I don't!"</p>
+
+<p>Billy laughed, and went away whistling. He had no idea that Horace would
+ever think of the matter again; but in truth the first article the boy
+tried to make was a horse-basket.</p>
+
+<p>"Me tell you somethin," said little Wampum, next morning, as he and
+Horace were crossing the field together. "Very much me want
+um,&mdash;um,&mdash;um,"&mdash;putting his fingers up to his mouth in a manner which
+signified that he meant something to eat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Don't understand," said Horace: "say it in English."</p>
+
+<p>"Very much me want um," continued Wampum, in a beseeching tone. "No tell
+what you call um. E'enamost water, no <i>quite</i> water; e'enamost punkin,
+no <i>quite</i> punkin."</p>
+
+<p>"Poh! you mean watermelon," laughed Horace: "should think you'd remember
+that as easy as pumpkin."</p>
+
+<p>"Very much me want um," repeated Wampum, delighted at being understood;
+"me like um."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," replied Horace, "they aren't mine."</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes. Ugh! you've got 'em. Melon-water good! Me have melon-waters, me
+give you moc-suns."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll ask my grandpa, Wampum."</p>
+
+<p>Hereupon the crafty little Indian shook his head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You ask ole man, me no give you moc-suns! Me no want <i>een</i>&mdash;me want
+bimp&mdash;bumpin&mdash;jiggets."</p>
+
+<p>Horace's stout little heart wavered for a moment. He fancied moccasins
+very much. In his mind's eye he saw a pair shining with all the colors
+of the rainbow, and as Wampum had said of the melons, "very much he
+wanted them." How handsome they'd be with his Zouave suit!</p>
+
+<p>But the wavering did not last long. He remembered the blue book which
+his mother was to see next week; for then the month would be out.</p>
+
+<p>"It wouldn't be a 'D.,'" thought he, "for nobody told me <i>not</i> to give
+the watermelons."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Conscience; "'twould be a black S.; <i>that</i> stands for
+stealing! What, a boy with a dead father, a dead soldier-father,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
+<i>steal</i>! A boy called Horace Clifford! The boy whose father had said,
+'Remember God sees all you do!'"</p>
+
+<p>"Wampum," said Horace, firmly, "you just stop that kind of talk!
+Moccasins are right pretty; but I wouldn't steal, no, not if you gave me
+a bushel of 'em."</p>
+
+<p>After this, Horace was disgusted with his little friend, not remembering
+that there are a great many excuses to be made for a half-civilized
+child. They had a serious quarrel, and Wampum's temper proved to be very
+bad. If the little savage had not struck him, I hope Horace would have
+dropped his society all the same; because, after Wampum proved to be a
+thief, it would have been sheer disobedience on Horace's part to play
+with him any longer.</p>
+
+<p>Of course the plan of basket-making was given up; but our little Horace
+did one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> thing which was noble in a boy of his age: perhaps he
+remembered what his father had said long ago in regard to the injured
+watch; but, at any rate, he went to Billy Green of his own accord, and
+offered him the beautiful present which he had received from the
+Indians.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not a horse-basket, Billy: I didn't get to make one," stammered
+he, in a choked voice; "but you said you'd call it square."</p>
+
+<p>"Whew!" cried Billy, very much astonished: "now look here, bub; that's a
+little too bad! The old thing you lugged off was about worn out, anyhow.
+Don't want any of your fancy baskets: so just carry it back, my fine
+little shaver."</p>
+
+<p>To say that Horace was very happy, would not half express the delight he
+felt as he ran home with the beautiful basket on his arm, his "ownest
+own," beyond the right of dispute.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The Indians disappeared quite suddenly; and perhaps it was nothing
+surprising that, the very next morning after they left, grandpa Parlin
+should find his beautiful melon-patch stripped nearly bare, with nothing
+left on the vines but a few miserable green little melons.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<h3>A PLEASANT SURPRISE.</h3>
+
+
+<p>"It's too bad," said Horace to his sister, "that I didn't get to make
+baskets; I'd have grown rich so soon. What would you try to do next?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pick berries," suggested Grace.</p>
+
+<p>And that very afternoon they both went blackberrying with Susy and aunt
+Madge. They had a delightful time. Horace could not help missing Pincher
+very much: still, in spite of the regret, it was a happier day than the
+one he and Peter Grant had spent "in the Pines." He was beginning to
+find, as all children do, how hard it is to get up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> "a good time" when
+you are pricked by a guilty conscience, and how easy it is to be happy
+when you are doing right.</p>
+
+<p>They did not leave the woods till the sun began to sink, and reached
+home quite tired, but as merry as larks, with baskets nearly full of
+berries.</p>
+
+<p>When Horace timidly told aunt Madge that he and Grace wanted to sell all
+they had gathered, his aunt laughed, and said she would buy the fruit if
+they wished, but wondered what they wanted to do with the money: she
+supposed it was for the soldiers.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to give it to ma," replied Horace, in a low voice; for he did
+not wish his aunt Louise to overhear. "She hasn't more than three bills
+in her pocket-book, and it's time for me to begin to take care of her."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said aunt Madge, with one of her bright smiles, "there is a secret
+drawer in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> her writing-desk, dear, that has ever so much money in it.
+She isn't poor, my child, and she didn't mean to make you think so, for
+your mother wouldn't deceive you."</p>
+
+<p>"Not poor?" cried Horace, his face brightening suddenly; and he turned
+half a somerset, stopping in the midst of it to ask how much a drum
+would cost.</p>
+
+<p>The month being now out, it was time to show the blue book to Mrs.
+Clifford. Horace looked it over with some anxiety. On each page were the
+letters "D.," "B. W.," "B. G. P.," and "F.," on separate lines, one
+above another. But there were no figures before any of the letters but
+the "B. W.'s;" and even those figures had been growing rather smaller,
+as you could see by looking carefully.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Grace," said her little brother,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> "you'll tell ma that the bad
+words aren't swearin' words! I never did say such, though some of the
+fellows do, and those that go to Sabbath School too."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'll tell her," said Grace; "but she knows well enough that you
+never talk anything worse than lingo."</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't disobeyed, nor blown powder, nor told lies."</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed," said Grace, delighted. "To be sure, you've forgotten, and
+slammed doors, and lost things; but you know I didn't set that down."</p>
+
+<p>I wish all little girls felt as much interest in their younger brothers
+as this sister felt in Horace. Grace had her faults, of which I might
+have told you if I had been writing the book about her; but she loved
+Horace dearly, kept his little secrets whenever she promised to do so,
+and was always glad to have him do right.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clifford was pleased with the idea of the blue book, and kissed
+Horace and Grace, saying they grew dearer to her every day of their
+lives.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>One night, not long after this, Horace went to the post-office for the
+mail. This was nothing new, for he had often gone before. A crowd of men
+were sitting in chairs and on the door-stone and counter, listening to
+the news, which some one was reading in a loud, clear voice.</p>
+
+<p>Without speaking, the postmaster gave Horace three letters and a
+newspaper. After tucking the letters into his raglan pocket, Horace
+rolled the paper into a hollow tube, peeping through it at the large
+tree standing opposite the post-office, and at the patient horses
+hitched to the posts, waiting for their masters to come out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He listened for some time to the dreadful account of a late battle,
+thinking of his dear father, as he always did when he heard war-news.
+But at last remembering that his grandfather would be anxious to have
+the daily paper, he started for home, though rather against his will.</p>
+
+<p>"I never did see such a fuss as they make," thought he, "if anybody's
+more'n a minute going to the office and back."</p>
+
+<p>"Is this all?" said aunt Madge, as Horace gave a letter to grandma, one
+to aunt Louise, and the paper to his grandfather.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, yes, ma'am, that's all," replied Horace, faintly. It did seem, to
+be sure, as if Mr. Pope had given him three letters; but as he could not
+find another in his pocket, he supposed he must be mistaken, and said
+nothing about it. He little knew what a careless thing he had done, and
+soon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> went to bed, forgetting post-offices and letters in a strange
+dream of little Wampum, who had a bridle on and was hitched to a post;
+and of the Indian girl's ear-rings, which seemed to have grown into a
+pair of shining gold muskets.</p>
+
+<p>A few mornings after the mistake about the letter, Mrs. Clifford sat
+mending Horace's raglan. She emptied the pockets of twine, fish-hooks,
+jack-knife, pebbles, coppers, and nails; but still something rattled
+when she touched the jacket; it seemed to be paper. She thrust in her
+finger, and there, between the outside and lining, was a crumpled, worn
+letter, addressed to "Miss Margaret Parlin."</p>
+
+<p>"What does this mean?" thought Mrs. Clifford. "Horace must have carried
+the letter all summer."</p>
+
+<p>But upon looking at it again, she saw that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> it was mailed at Washington
+about two weeks before&mdash;"a soldier's letter." She carried it down to
+Margaret, who was busy making cream-cakes.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see," said aunt Louise, peeping over Mrs. Clifford's shoulder,
+and laughing. "No, it's not Mr. Augustus Allen's writing; but how do you
+know somebody hasn't written it to tell you he is sick?"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Madge grew quite pale, dropped the egg-beater, and carried the
+letter into the nursery to read it by herself. She opened it with
+trembling fingers; but before she had read two lines her fingers
+trembled worse than ever, her heart throbbed fast, the room seemed to
+reel about.</p>
+
+<p>There was no bad news in the letter, you may be sure of that. She sat
+reading it over and over again, while the tears ran down her cheeks, and
+the sunshine in her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> eyes dried them again. Then she folded her hands
+together, and humbly thanked God for his loving kindness.</p>
+
+<p>When she was sure her sister Maria had gone up stairs, she ran out to
+the kitchen, whispering,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"O, mother! O, Louise!" but broke down by laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"What does ail the child?" said Mrs. Parlin, laughing too.</p>
+
+<p>Margaret tried again to speak, but this time burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"There, it's of no use," she sobbed: "I'm so happy that it's really
+dreadful. I'm afraid somebody may die of joy."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm more afraid somebody'll die of curiosity," said aunt Louise: "do
+speak quick."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Henry Clifford is alive," said Margaret: "that's the blessed
+truth! Now hush! We must be so careful how we tell Maria!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parlin caught Margaret by the shoulder, and gasped for breath.
+Louise dropped into a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean? What have you heard?" they both cried at once.</p>
+
+<p>"He was taken off the field for dead; but life was not quite gone. He
+lay for weeks just breathing, and that was all."</p>
+
+<p>"But why did no one let us know it?" said Louise. "Of course Maria would
+have gone to him at once."</p>
+
+<p>"There was no one to write; and when Henry came to himself there was no
+hope of him, except by amputation of his left arm; and after that
+operation he was very low again."</p>
+
+<p>"O, why don't you give us the letter," said Louise, "so we can see for
+ourselves?"</p>
+
+<p>But she was too excited to read it; and while she was trying to collect
+her ideas,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> aunt Madge had to hunt for grandma's spectacles; and then
+the three looked over the surgeon's letter together, sometimes all
+talking at once.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Clifford would be in Maine as soon as possible: so the letter
+said. A young man was to come with him to take care of him, and they
+were to travel very slowly indeed; might be at home in a fort-night.</p>
+
+<p>"They may be here to-night," said Mrs. Parlin.</p>
+
+<p>This letter had been written to prepare the family for Captain
+Clifford's arrival. It was expected that aunt Madge would break the news
+to his wife.</p>
+
+<p>"It's such a pity that little flyaway of a Horace didn't give you the
+letter in time," said Louise; "and then we might have had some days to
+get used to it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Wait a minute, dear," said aunt Madge, as Susy came in for a drink of
+water: "please run up and ask aunt Maria to come down stairs. Now,
+mother," she added, "you are the one to tell the story, if you please."</p>
+
+<p>"We can all break it to her by degrees," said Mrs. Parlin, twisting her
+checked apron nervously.</p>
+
+<p>When Mrs. Clifford entered the kitchen, she saw at once that something
+had happened. Her mother, with a flushed face, was opening and shutting
+the stove door. Margaret was polishing a pie-plate, with tears in her
+eyes, and Louise had seized a sieve, and appeared to be breaking eggs
+into it. Nobody wanted to speak first.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you say to hearing a story?" uttered Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"O, you poor woman," exclaimed Margaret,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> seizing Mrs. Clifford by both
+hands: "you look so sorrowful, dear, as if nothing would ever make you
+happy again. Can you believe we have a piece of good news for you?"</p>
+
+<p>"For me?" Mrs. Clifford looked bewildered.</p>
+
+<p>"Good news for you," said Louise, dropping the sieve to the floor: "yes,
+indeed! O, Maria, we thought Henry was killed; but he isn't; it's a
+mistake of the papers. He's alive, and coming home to-night."</p>
+
+<p>All this as fast as she could speak. No wonder Mrs. Clifford was
+shocked! First she stood quiet and amazed, gazing at her sister with
+fixed eyes: then she screamed, and would have fallen if her mother and
+Margaret had not caught her in their arms.</p>
+
+<p>"O, I have killed her," cried Louise: "I didn't mean to speak so quick!
+Henry is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> <i>almost</i> dead, Maria: he is <i>nearly</i> dead, I mean! He's just
+alive!"</p>
+
+<p>"Louise, bring some water at once," said Mrs. Parlin, sternly.</p>
+
+<p>"O, mother," sobbed Louise, returning with the water, "I didn't mean to
+be so hasty; but you might have known I would: you should have sent me
+out of the room."</p>
+
+<p>This was very much the way Prudy talked when she did wrong: she had a
+funny way of blaming other people.</p>
+
+<p>It is always unsafe to tell even joyful news too suddenly; but Louise's
+thoughtlessness had not done so much harm as they all feared. Mrs.
+Clifford recovered from the shock, and in an hour or two was wonderfully
+calm, looking so perfectly happy that it was delightful just to gaze at
+her face.</p>
+
+<p>She wanted the pleasure of telling the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> children the story with her own
+lips. Grace was fairly wild with joy, kissing everybody, and declaring
+it was "too good for anything." She was too happy to keep still, while
+as for Horace, he was too happy to talk.</p>
+
+<p>"Then uncle Henry wasn't gone to heaven," cried little Prudy: "hasn't he
+been to heaven at all?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not," said Susy: "didn't you hear 'em say he'd be here
+to-night?&mdash;Now you've got on the nicest kind of a dress, and if you spot
+it up 'twill be awful."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess," pursued Prudy, "the man that shooted found 'twas uncle Henry,
+and so he didn't want to kill him down dead."</p>
+
+<p>How the family found time to do so many things that day, I do not know,
+especially as each one was in somebody's way, and the children under
+everybody's feet. But before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> night the pantry was full of nice things,
+the whole house was as fresh as a rose, and the parlors were adorned
+with autumn flowers and green garlands.</p>
+
+<p>Not only the kerosene lamps, but all the old oil lamps, were filled, and
+every candle-stick, whether brass, iron, or glass, was used to hold a
+sperm candle; so that in the evening the house at every window was all
+ablaze with light. The front door stood wide open, and the piazza and
+part of the lawn were as bright as day. The double gate had been
+unlatched for hours, and everybody was waiting for the carriage to drive
+up.</p>
+
+<p>The hard, uncomfortable stage, which Horace had said was like a
+baby-jumper, would never do for a sick man to ride in: so Billy Green
+had driven to the cars in his easiest carriage, and aunt Madge had gone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
+with him, for she was afraid neither Billy nor the gentleman who was
+with Captain Clifford would know how to wrap the shawls about him
+carefully enough.</p>
+
+<p>I could never describe the joyful meeting which took place in those
+brilliantly lighted parlors. It is very rarely that such wonderful
+happiness falls to any one's lot in this world.</p>
+
+<p>While the smiles are yet bright on their faces, while Grace is clinging
+to her father's neck, and Horace hugs his new "real drum" in one arm,
+embracing his dear papa with the other, let us take our leave of them
+and the whole family for the present, with many kind good-by's.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS.</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 357px;">
+<img src="images/image200.jpg" width="357" height="500" alt="&quot;SPECIMEN OF OUT TO &quot;FLAXIE FRIZZLE SERIES.&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;By and by the colts came to the kitchen window, which
+was open, and put in their noses to ask for something to eat. Flaxie
+gave them pieces of bread.&quot;<br /><br />
+SPECIMEN OF OUT TO &quot;FLAXIE FRIZZLE SERIES.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<h4>LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.</h4>
+
+<p>"This is a book for the little ones of the nursery or play-room. It
+introduces all the old favorites of the Prudy and Dotty books with new
+characters and funny incidents. It is a charming book, wholesome and
+sweet in every respect, and cannot fail to interest children under
+twelve years of age."&mdash;<i>Christian Register.</i></p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<h4>PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE.</h4>
+
+<p>"How she kept it, why she kept it, and what a good time she had playing
+cook, and washerwoman, and ironer, is told as only Sophie May can tell
+stories. All the funny sayings and doings of the queerest and cunningest
+little woman ever tucked away in the covers of a book will please little
+folks and grown people alike."&mdash;<i>Press.</i></p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<h4>AUNT MADGE'S STORY.</h4>
+
+<p>"Tells of a little mite of a girl, who gets into every conceivable kind
+of scrape and out again with lightning rapidity, through the whole
+pretty little book. How she nearly drowns her bosom friend, and
+afterwards saves her by a very remarkable display of little-girl
+courage. How she gets left by a train of cars, and loses her kitten and
+finds it again, and is presented with a baby sister 'come down from
+heaven,' with lots of smart and funny sayings."&mdash;<i>Boston Traveller.</i></p>
+
+
+<p><i>Any volume sold separately.</i></p>
+
+<h4><b>DOTTY DIMPLE SERIES.</b>&mdash;Six volumes. Illustrated.</h4>
+
+<h5>Per volume, 75 cents.</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dotty Dimple at her Grandmother's.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dotty Dimple at Home.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dotty Dimple out West.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dotty Dimple at Play.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dotty Dimple at School.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dotty Dimple's Flyaway.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4><b>FLAXIE FRIZZLE STORIES.</b>&mdash;Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75 cents.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Flaxie Frizzle.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little Pitchers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flaxie's Kittyleen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doctor Papa.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Twin Cousins.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flaxie Growing Up.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4><b>LITTLE PRUDY STORIES.</b>&mdash;Six volumes. Handsomely Illustrated. Per volume,
+75 cents.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Little Prudy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little Prudy's Sister Susy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little Prudy's Captain Horace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little Prudy's Story Book.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little Prudy's Cousin Grace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little Prudy's Dotty Dimple.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4><b>LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES.</b>&mdash;Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75
+cents.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Little Folks Astray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little Grandmother.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prudy Keeping House.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little Grandfather.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Aunt Madge's Story.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Miss Thistledown.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">BOSTON.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>PENN SHIRLEY'S BOOKS.</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<img src="images/image202.jpg" width="350" height="500" alt="SPECIMEN ILLUSTRATION FROM &quot;LITTLE MISS WEEZY.&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">Copyright, 1886, by Lee &amp; Shepard.<br /><br />
+SPECIMEN ILLUSTRATION FROM &quot;LITTLE MISS WEEZY.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+<p><br /><br /></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 344px;">
+<img src="images/image203.jpg" width="344" height="488" alt="SPECIMEN ILLUSTRATION FROM &quot;LITTLE MISS WEEZY&#39;S SISTER.&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">Copyright, 1833, by Lee and Shepard.<br /><br />
+SPECIMEN ILLUSTRATION FROM &quot;LITTLE MISS WEEZY&#39;S SISTER.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Captain Horace, by Sophie May
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,3724 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Captain Horace, 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: Captain Horace
+
+Author: Sophie May
+
+Release Date: May 16, 2008 [EBook #25484]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPTAIN HORACE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Josephine Paolucci and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
+(This file was produced from images generously made
+available by The Internet Archive.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration: CAPTAIN HORACE.]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE PRUDY'S STORIES.
+
+BY SOPHIE MAY
+
+ILLUSTRATED
+
+LITTLE PRUDY'S CAPTAIN HORACE.
+
+LEE & SHEPARD BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE PRUDY SERIES.
+
+
+CAPTAIN HORACE.
+
+BY
+
+SOPHIE MAY.
+
+BOSTON 1893
+LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
+10 MILK STREET NEXT "THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE"
+
+
+Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by
+LEE & SHEPARD,
+In the Clerk's Office of the District Court
+of the District of Massachusetts.
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY REBECCA S. CLARKE.
+
+LITTLE PRUDY'S CAPTAIN HORACE.
+
+
+    TO
+
+    MY LITTLE NEPHEW
+
+    WILLY WHEELER.
+
+    FROM HIS AFFECTIONATE
+
+    AUNT.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+You wide-awake little boys, who make whistles of willow, and go fishing
+and training,--Horace is very much like you, I suppose. He is by no
+means perfect, but he is brave and kind, and scorns a lie. I hope you
+and he will shake hands and be friends.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+CHAPTER                       PAGE
+
+I. MAKING CANDY,                 5
+
+II. CAMPING OUT,                15
+
+III. TAKING A JOURNEY,          33
+
+IV. AT GRANDPA PARLIN'S,        49
+
+V. CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY,        68
+
+VI. SUSY AND PRUDY,             87
+
+VII. IN THE WOODS,              99
+
+VIII. CAPTAIN CLIFFORD,        117
+
+IX. THE BLUE BOOK,             128
+
+X. TRYING TO GET RICH,         141
+
+XI. THE LITTLE INDIAN,         149
+
+XII. A PLEASANT SURPRISE,      167
+
+
+
+
+CAPTAIN HORACE.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+MAKING CANDY.
+
+
+Grace and Horace Clifford lived in Indiana, and so were called
+"Hoosiers."
+
+Their home, with its charming grounds, was a little way out of town, and
+from the front windows of the house you could look out on the broad
+Ohio, a river which would be very beautiful, if its yellow waters were
+only once settled. As far as the eye could see, the earth was one vast
+plain, and, in order to touch it, the sky seemed to stoop very low;
+whereas, in New England, the gray-headed mountains appear to go up part
+way to meet the sky.
+
+One fine evening in May, brown-eyed Horace and blue-eyed Grace stood on
+the balcony, leaning against the iron railing, watching the stars, and
+chatting together.
+
+One thing is very sure: they never dreamed that from this evening their
+sayings and doings--particularly Horace's--were to be printed in a book.
+If any one had whispered such a thing, how dumb Horace would have grown,
+his chin snuggling down into a hollow place in his neck! and how
+nervously Grace would have laughed! walking about very fast, and
+saying,--
+
+"O, it's too bad, to put Horace and me in a book! I say it's too bad!
+Tell them to wait till my hair is curled, and I have my new pink dress
+on! And tell them to make Horace talk better! He plays so much with the
+Dutch boys. O, Horace isn't fit to print!"
+
+This is what she might have said if she had thought of being "put in a
+book;" but as she knew nothing at all about it, she only stood very
+quietly leaning against the balcony-railing, and looking up at the
+evening sky, merry with stars.
+
+"What a shiny night, Horace! What do the stars look like? Is it diamond
+rings?"
+
+"I'll tell you, Gracie; it's cigars they look like--just the ends of
+cigars when somebody is smoking."
+
+At that moment the cluster called the "Seven Sisters" was drowned in a
+soft, white cloud.
+
+"Look," said Grace; "there are some little twinkles gone to sleep, all
+tucked up in a coverlet. I don't see what makes you think of dirty
+cigars! They look to me like little specks of gold harps ever so far
+off, so you can't hear the music. O, Horace, don't you want to be an
+angel, and play on a beautiful harp?"
+
+"I don't know," said her brother, knitting his brows, and thinking a
+moment; "when I can't live any longer, you know, then I'd like to go up
+to heaven; but now, I'd a heap sooner be a _soldier_!"
+
+"O, Horace, you'd ought to rather be an angel! Besides, you're too
+little for a soldier!"
+
+"But I grow. Just look at my hands; they're bigger than yours, this
+minute!"
+
+"Why, Horace Clifford, what makes them so black?"
+
+"O, _that's_ no account! I did it climbin' trees. Barby tried to scour
+it off, but it sticks. I don't care--soldiers' hands ain't white, are
+they, Pincher?"
+
+The pretty dog at Horace's feet shook his ears, meaning to say,--
+
+"I should think not, little master; soldiers have very dirty hands, if
+you say so."
+
+"Come," said Grace, who was tired of gazing at the far-off star-land;
+"let's go down and see if Barbara hasn't made that candy: she said she'd
+be ready in half an hour."
+
+They went into the library, which opened upon the balcony, through the
+passage, down the front stairs, and into the kitchen, Pincher following
+close at their heels.
+
+It was a very tidy kitchen, whose white floor was scoured every day with
+a scrubbing-brush. Bright tin pans were shining upon the walls, and in
+one corner stood a highly polished cooking-stove, over which Barbara
+Kinckle, a rosy-cheeked German girl, was stooping to watch a kettle of
+boiling molasses. Every now and then she raised the spoon with which she
+was stirring it, and let the half-made candy drip back into the kettle
+in ropy streams. It looked very tempting, and gave out a delicious odor.
+Perhaps it was not strange that the children thought they were kept
+waiting a long while.
+
+"Look here, Grace," muttered Horace, loud enough for Barbara to hear;
+"don't you think she's just the slowest kind?"
+
+"It'll sugar off," said Grace, calmly, as if she had made up her mind
+for the worst; "don't you know how it sugared off once when ma was
+making it, and let the fire go 'most out'?"
+
+"Now just hear them childers," said good-natured Barbara; "where's the
+little boy and girl that wasn't to speak to me one word, if I biled 'em
+some candies?"
+
+"There, now, Barby, I wasn't speaking to you," said Horace; "I mean I
+wasn't talking to _her_, Grace. Look here: I've heard you spell, but
+you didn't ask me my Joggerphy."
+
+"_Geography_, you mean, Horace."
+
+"Well, Ge-ography, then. Here's the book: we begin at the Mohammedans."
+
+Horace could pronounce that long name very well, though he had no idea
+what it meant. He knew there was a book called the Koran, and would have
+told you Mr. Mohammed wrote it; but so had Mr. Colburn written an
+Arithmetic, and whether both these gentlemen were alive, or both dead,
+was more than he could say.
+
+"Hold up your head," said Grace, with dignity, and looking as much as
+possible like tall Miss Allen, her teacher. "Please repeat your verse."
+
+The first sentence read, "They consider Moses and Christ as true
+prophets, but Mohammed as the greatest and last."
+
+"I'll tell you," said Horace: "they think that Christ and Moses was good
+enough prophets, but Mohammed was a heap better."
+
+"Why, Horace, it doesn't say any such think in the book! It begins,
+'_They consider_.'"
+
+"I don't care," said the boy, "Miss Jordan tells us to get the sense of
+it. Ma, musn't I get the sense of it?" he added, as Mrs. Clifford
+entered the kitchen.
+
+"But, mamma," broke in Grace, eagerly, "our teacher wants us to commit
+the verses: she says a great deal about committing the verses."
+
+"If you would give me time to answer," said Mrs. Clifford, smiling, "I
+should say both your teachers are quite right. You should 'get the sense
+of it,' as Horace says, and after that commit the verses."
+
+"But, ma, do you think Horace should say 'heap,' and 'no account,' and
+such words?"
+
+"It would certainly please me," said Mrs. Clifford, "if he would try to
+speak more correctly. My little boy knows how much I dislike some of his
+expressions."
+
+"There, Horace," cried Grace, triumphantly, "I always said you talked
+just like the Dutch boys; and it's very, very improper!"
+
+But just then it became evident that the molasses was boiled enough, for
+Barbara poured it into a large buttered platter, and set it out of doors
+to cool. After this, the children could do nothing but watch the candy
+till it was ready to pull.
+
+Then there was quite a bustle to find an apron for Horace, and to make
+sure that his little stained hands were "spandy clean," and "fluffed"
+all over with flour, from his wrists to the tips of his fingers. Grace
+said she wished it wasn't so much trouble to attend to boys; and, after
+all, Horace only pulled a small piece of the candy, and dropped half of
+that on the nice white floor.
+
+Barbara did the most of the pulling. She was quite a sculptor when she
+had plastic candy in her hands. Some of it she cut into sticks, and some
+she twisted into curious images, supposed to be boys and girls, horses
+and sheep.
+
+After Grace and Horace had eaten several of the "boys and girls," to say
+nothing of "handled baskets," and "gentlemen's slippers," Barbara
+thought it high time they were "sound abed and asleep."
+
+So now, as they go up stairs, we will wish them a good night and
+pleasant dreams.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+CAMPING OUT.
+
+
+"What is the matter with my little son?" said Mr. Clifford, one morning
+at breakfast; for Horace sat up very stiffly in his chair, and refused
+both eggs and muffins, choosing instead a slice of dry toast and a glass
+of water.
+
+"Are you sick, Horace?" asked his mother, tenderly.
+
+"No, ma'am," replied the boy, blushing; "but I want to get to be a
+soldier!"
+
+Mr. Clifford and his wife looked at each other across the table, and
+smiled.
+
+"O, papa," said Grace, "I shouldn't want to be a soldier if I couldn't
+have anything nice to eat. Can't they get pies and canned peaches and
+things? Will they go without buckwheat cakes and sirup in the winter?"
+
+"Ah! my little daughter, men who love their country are willing to make
+greater sacrifices than merely nice food."
+
+Horace put on one of his lofty looks, for he somehow felt that his
+father was praising _him_.
+
+"Pa," said Grace, "please tell me what's a sacrifice, anyhow?"
+
+"A sacrifice, my daughter, is the giving up of a dear or pleasant thing
+for the sake of duty: that is very nearly what it means. For instance,
+if your mamma consents to let me go to the war, because she thinks I
+ought to go, she will make what is called a sacrifice."
+
+"Do not let us speak of it now, Henry," said Mrs. Clifford, looking
+quite pale.
+
+"O, my dear papa," cried Grace, bursting into tears, "we couldn't live
+if you went to the war!"
+
+Horace looked at the acorn on the lid of the coffee-urn, but said
+nothing. It cost his little heart a pang even to think of parting from
+his beloved father; but then wouldn't it be a glorious thing to hear him
+called General Clifford? And if he should really go away, wasn't it
+likely that the oldest boy, Horace, would take his place at the head of
+the table?
+
+Yes, they should miss papa terribly; but he would only stay away till he
+"got a general;" and for that little while it would be pleasant for
+Horace to sit in the arm-chair and help the others to the butter, the
+toast, and the meat.
+
+"Horace," said Mr. Clifford, smiling, "it will be some years before you
+can be a soldier: why do you begin now to eat dry bread?"
+
+"I want to get used to it, sir."
+
+"That indeed!" said Mr. Clifford, with a good-natured laugh, which made
+Horace wince a little. "But the eating of dry bread is only a small part
+of the soldier's tough times, my boy. Soldiers have to sleep on the hard
+ground, with knapsacks for pillows; they have to march, through wet and
+dry, with heavy muskets, which make their arms ache."
+
+"Look here, Barby," said Horace, that evening; "I want a knapsack, to
+learn to be a soldier with. If I have 'tough times' now, I'll get used
+to it. Can't you find my carpet-bag, Barby?"
+
+"Carpet-bag? And what for a thing is that?" said Barbara, rousing from a
+nap, and beginning to click her knitting-needles. "Here I was asleep
+again. Now, if I did keep working in the kitchen, I could sit up just
+what time I wants to; but when I sits down, I goes to sleep right off."
+
+And Barbara went on knitting, putting the yarn over the needle with her
+left hand, after the German fashion.
+
+"But the carpet-bag, Barby: there's a black one 'some place,' in the
+trunk-closet or up-attic. Now, Barby, you know I helped pick those
+quails yesterday."
+
+"Yes, yes, dear, when I gets my eyes open."
+
+"I would sleep out doors, but ma says I'd get cold; so I'll lie on the
+floor in the bathing-room. O, Barby, I'll sleep like a trooper!"
+
+But Horace was a little mistaken. A hard, unyielding floor makes a poor
+bed; and when, at the same time, one's neck is almost put out of joint
+by a carpet-bag stuffed with newspaper, it is not easy to go to sleep.
+
+In a short time the little boy began to feel tired of "camping out;" and
+I am sorry to say that he employed some of the moon-light hours in
+studying the workmanship of his mother's watch, which had been left, by
+accident, hanging on a nail in the bathing-room.
+
+He felt very guilty all the while; and when, at last, a _chirr-chirr_
+from the watch told that mischief had been done, his heart gave a quick
+throb of fright, and he stole off to his chamber, undressed, and went to
+bed in the dark.
+
+Next morning he did not awake as early as usual, and, to his great
+dismay, came very near being late to breakfast.
+
+"Good morning, little buzzard-lark," said his sister, coming into his
+room just as he was thrusting his arms into his jacket.
+
+"Ho, Gracie! why didn't you wake me up?"
+
+"I spoke to you seven times, Horace."
+
+"Well, why didn't you pinch me, or shake me awake, or something?"
+
+"Why, Horace, then you'd have been cross, and said, 'Gracie Clifford,
+let me alone!' You know you would, Horace."
+
+The little boy stood by the looking-glass finishing his toilet, and made
+no reply.
+
+"Don't you mean to behave?" said he, talking to his hair. "There, now,
+you've parted in the middle! Do you 'spose I'm going to look like a
+girl? Part the way you ought to, and lie down smooth! We'll see which
+will beat!"
+
+"Why, what in the world is this?" exclaimed Grace, as something heavy
+dropped at her feet.
+
+It was her mother's watch, which had fallen out of Horace's pocket.
+
+"Where did you get this watch?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Why, Horace, it doesn't tick: have you been playing with it?"
+
+Still no answer.
+
+"Now, that's just like you, Horace, to shut your mouth right up tight,
+and not speak a word when you're spoken to. I never saw such a boy! I'm
+going down stairs, this very minute, to tell my mother you've been
+hurting her beautiful gold watch!"
+
+"Stop!" cried the boy, suddenly finding his voice; "I reckon I can fix
+it! I was meaning to tell ma! I only wanted to see that little thing
+inside that ticks. I'll bet I'll fix it. I didn't go to hurt it, Grace!"
+
+"O, yes, you feel like you could mend watches, and fire guns, and be
+soldiers and generals," said Grace, shaking her ringlets; "but I'm going
+right down to tell ma!"
+
+Horace's lips curled with scorn.
+
+"That's right, Gracie; run and _tell_!"
+
+"But, Horace, I ought to tell," said Grace, meekly; "it's my duty! Isn't
+there a little voice at your heart, and don't it say, you've done
+wicked?"
+
+"There's a voice there," replied the boy, pertly; "but it don't say what
+you think it does. It says, 'If your pa finds out about the watch, won't
+you catch it?'"
+
+To do Horace justice, he did mean to tell his mother. He had been taught
+to speak the truth, and the whole truth, cost what it might. He knew
+that his parents could forgive almost anything sooner than a falsehood,
+or a cowardly concealment. Words cannot tell how Mr. Clifford hated
+deceit.
+
+"When a _lie_ tempts you, Horace," said he, "scorn it, if it looks ever
+so white! Put your foot on it, and crush it like a snake!"
+
+Horace ate dry toast again this morning, but no one seemed to notice it.
+If he had dared look up, he would have seen that his father and mother
+wore sorrowful faces.
+
+After breakfast, Mr. Clifford called him into the library. In the first
+place, he took to pieces the mangled watch, and showed him how it had
+been injured.
+
+"Have you any right to meddle with things which belong to other people,
+my son?"
+
+Horace's chin snuggled down into the hollow place in his neck, and he
+made no reply.
+
+"Answer me, Horace."
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"It will cost several dollars to pay for repairing this watch: don't
+you think the little boy who did the mischief should give part of the
+money?"
+
+Horace looked distressed; his face began to twist itself out of shape.
+
+"This very boy has a good many pieces of silver which were given him to
+buy fire-crackers. So you see, if he is truly sorry for his fault, he
+knows the way to atone for it."
+
+Horace's conscience told him, by a twinge, that it would be no more than
+just for him to pay what he could for mending the watch.
+
+"Have you nothing to say to me, my child?"
+
+For, instead of speaking, the boy was working his features into as many
+shapes as if they had been made of gutta percha. This was a bad habit of
+his, though, when he was doing it, he had no idea of "making up faces."
+
+His father told him he would let him have the whole day to decide
+whether he ought to give up any of his money. A tear trembled in each of
+Horace's eyes, but, before they could fall, he caught them on his thumb
+and forefinger.
+
+"Now," continued Mr. Clifford, "I have something to tell you. I decided
+last night to enter the army."
+
+"O, pa," cried Horace, springing up, eagerly; "mayn't I go, too?"
+
+"You, my little son?"
+
+"Yes, pa," replied Horace, clinging to his father's knee. "Boys go to
+wait on the generals and things! I can wait on you. I can comb your
+hair, and bring your slippers. If I could be a waiter, I'd go a
+flyin'."
+
+"Poor child," laughed Mr. Clifford, stroking Horace's head, "you're such
+a very little boy, only eight years old!"
+
+"I'm going on nine. I'll be nine next New Year's Gift-day," stammered
+Horace, the bright flush dying out of his cheeks. "O, pa, I don't want
+you to go, if I can't go too!"
+
+Mr. Clifford's lips trembled. He took the little boy on his knee, and
+told him how the country was in danger, and needed all its brave men.
+
+"I should feel a great deal easier about leaving my dear little family,"
+said he, "if Horace never disobeyed his mother; if he did not so often
+fall into mischief; if he was always sure to _remember_."
+
+The boy's neck was twisted around till his father could only see the
+back of his head.
+
+"Look here, pa," said he, at last, throwing out the words one at a time,
+as if every one weighed a whole pound; "I'll give ma that money; I'll do
+it to-day."
+
+"That's right, my boy! that's honest! You have given me pleasure.
+Remember, when you injure the property of another, you should always
+make amends for it as well as you can. If you do not, you're unjust and
+dishonest."
+
+I will not repeat all that Mr. Clifford said to his little son. Horace
+thought then he should never forget his father's good advice, nor his
+own promises. We shall see whether he did or not.
+
+He was a restless, often a very naughty boy; but when you looked at his
+broad forehead and truthful eyes, you felt that, back of all his faults,
+there was nobleness in his boyish soul. His father often said, "He will
+either make something or nothing;" and his mother answered, "Yes, there
+never will be any half-way place for Horace."
+
+[Illustration: MR. CLIFFORD AND HIS SON. _Page 27._]
+
+Now that Mr. Clifford had really enlisted, everybody looked sad. Grace
+was often in tears, and said,--
+
+"We can't any of us live, if pa goes to the war."
+
+But when Horace could not help crying, he always said it was because he
+"had the earache," and perhaps he thought it was.
+
+Mrs. Clifford tried to be cheerful, for she was a patriotic woman; but
+she could not trust her voice to talk a great deal, or sing much to the
+baby.
+
+As for Barbara Kinckle, she scrubbed the floors, and scoured the tins,
+harder than ever, looking all the while as if every one of her friends
+was dead and buried. The family were to break up housekeeping, and
+Barbara was very sorry. Now she would have to go to her home, a little
+way back in the country, and work in the fields, as many German girls do
+every summer.
+
+"O, my heart is sore," said she, "every time I thinks of it. They will
+in the cars go off, and whenever again I'll see the kliny (little)
+childers I knows not."
+
+It was a sad day when Mr. Clifford bade good by to his family. His last
+words to Horace were these: "Always obey your mother, my boy, and
+remember that God sees all you do."
+
+He was now "Captain Clifford," and went away at the head of his company,
+looking like, what he really was, a brave and noble gentleman.
+
+Grace wondered if he ever thought of the bright new buttons on his coat;
+and Horace walked about among his school-fellows with quite an air,
+very proud of being the son of a man who either was now, or was going to
+be, the greatest officer in Indiana!
+
+If any body else had shown as much self-esteem as Horace did, the boys
+would have said he had "the _big_ head." When Yankee children think a
+playmate conceited, they call him "stuck up;" but Hoosier children say
+he has "the _big_ head." No one spoke in this way of Horace, however,
+for there was something about him which made everybody like him, in
+spite of his faults.
+
+He loved his play-fellows, and they loved him, and were sorry enough to
+have him go away; though, perhaps, they did not shed so many tears as
+Grace's little mates, who said, "they never'd have any more good times:
+they didn't mean to try."
+
+Mrs. Clifford, too, left many warm friends, and it is safe to say, that
+on the morning the family started for the east, there were a great many
+people "crying their hearts out of their eyes." Still, I believe no one
+sorrowed more sincerely than faithful Barbara Kinckle.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+TAKING A JOURNEY.
+
+
+It was a great effort for Mrs. Clifford to take a journey to Maine with
+three children; but she needed the bracing air of New England, and so
+did Grace and the baby.
+
+To be sure they had the company of a gentleman who was going to Boston;
+but he was a very young man indeed, who thought a great deal more of his
+new mustache than he did of trunks, and checks, and tickets.
+
+Twenty times a day Mrs. Clifford wished her husband could have gone with
+her before he enlisted, for she hardly knew what to do with restless
+little Horace. As for sitting still, it was more than the boy could do.
+He would keep jerking his inquisitive little head out of the window, for
+he never remembered a caution five minutes. He delighted to run up and
+down the narrow aisle, and, putting his hands on the arms of the seats,
+swing backward and forward with all his might. He became acquainted with
+every lozenge-boy and every newspaper-boy on the route, and seemed to be
+in a high state of merriment from morning till night.
+
+Grace, who was always proper and well-behaved, was not a little
+mortified by Horace's rough manners.
+
+"He means no harm," Mrs. Clifford would say, with a smile and a sigh;
+"but, Mr. Lazelle, if you will be so kind as to watch him a little, I
+will be greatly obliged."
+
+Mr. Lazelle would reply, "O, certainly, madam; be quite easy about the
+child; he is not out of my sight for a moment!"
+
+So saying, perhaps he would go in search of him, and find him under a
+seat playing with Pincher, his clothes covered with dust, and his cap
+lying between somebody's feet.
+
+At such times Mr. Lazelle always said,--"Upon my word, you're a pretty
+little fellow!" and looked as if he would like to shake him, if it were
+not for soiling his gloves.
+
+Horace laughed when Mr. Lazelle called him "a pretty little fellow," and
+thought it a fine joke. He laughed, too, when the young man told him to
+"come out," for there was something in the pettish tone of his voice
+which Horace considered very amusing.
+
+"I'll wait till he gets through scolding, and goes to coaxing," thought
+the boy: "he's a smart man! can't make such a little fellow mind!"
+
+Mr. Lazelle was very much vexed with Horace, and firmly resolved that he
+would never again take charge of a lady travelling with children. At one
+time he flew into a passion, and boxed the boy's ears. Horace felt very
+much like a wounded wasp. He knew Mr. Lazelle would not have dared
+strike him before his mother, and from that moment he despised him as a
+"sneak."
+
+Whenever Mr. Lazelle was looking for him in great haste, he was very
+likely to be missing; and when that sorely tried young gentleman was
+almost in despair, a saucy little head would appear at the car-window,
+and a small voice would shout,--
+
+"Ho, Mr. Lazelle! why don't you come ahead? I beat you _in_!"
+
+"Horace," said Mrs. Clifford, wearily, "you don't know how you tire me!
+Here is this dear baby that I have to hold in my arms; isn't it enough
+that I should have the care of him, without being all the while anxious
+about you?"
+
+"Yes," chimed in Grace, pushing back her beautiful curls, "you don't
+know how ma and I fret about you. You'll kill poor ma before ever we can
+get you east!"
+
+Horace hung his head for shame, and decided that it didn't "pay" to
+punish Mr. Lazelle, if his mother must suffer too. He meant, for her
+sake, to "turn over a new leaf," though he did not say so.
+
+On the afternoon of their second day's ride, they reached the beautiful
+city of Cleveland. Here they were to rest for a few hours. Their clothes
+were sadly tumbled, their collars dust-color, and their faces and hair
+rough with cinders. A thorough washing and brushing, and some fresh
+ruffles and laces, gave a much tidier appearance to the whole party.
+
+After Grace and Horace were ready, Mrs. Clifford thought they might as
+well go down stairs while she tried to rock little Katie to sleep.
+
+"Be sure not to go away from the house," said she. "Grace, I depend upon
+you to take care of Horace, for he may forget."
+
+The children had been standing on the piazza for some time, watching the
+people passing, while Mr. Lazelle lounged near by, talking politics with
+some gentlemen. In a little while Mrs. Clifford sent for Grace to go up
+stairs and amuse the poor baby, who could not be rocked to sleep.
+
+For a few moments after she had gone Horace stood near the door, still
+gazing into the street, when, suddenly, he heard a faint sound of
+martial music: a brass band was turning the corner. Soon they were in
+sight, men in handsome uniform, drawing music from various instruments,
+picking, blowing, or beating it out, as the case might be.
+
+It was glorious, Horace thought. He could not keep still. He ran out,
+and threw up his cap before he knew it almost, shouting with delight,--
+
+"Ho, Mr. Lazelle! ain't that jolly? Ho, Mr. Lazelle! where _are_ you,
+anyhow?"
+
+Probably, if the boy had stopped to think, he might have remembered that
+Mr. Lazelle was in the parlor; but no, Horace was sure he must have
+crossed the street to look at the band.
+
+"I'm going, too," said he to himself. "Of course, where Mr. Lazelle
+goes, I can go, for he has the care of me!"
+
+With that he dashed headlong into the crowd, looking here, there, and
+everywhere for Mr. Lazelle.
+
+But, O, that music! Did a little boy's boots ever stand still when a
+drum was playing, "March, march away"? No doubt his father was keeping
+step to just such sounds, on his path to martial glory! The fife and
+bugle whistled with magical voices, and seemed to say,--
+
+"Follow, follow, follow on!"
+
+And Horace followed; sometimes thinking he was in search of Mr. Lazelle,
+sometimes forgetting it altogether. He knew he was doing very wrong, but
+it seemed as if the music almost drowned the voice of his conscience.
+
+In this way they turned street after street, till, suddenly, the band
+and the crowd entered a large public building. Then the music died out,
+and with it the fire of eagerness in the little boy's soul.
+
+Where _was_ Mr. Lazelle? If he could see him now, he would forgive the
+boxed ears. How could he ever find his way back to the hotel? It had not
+as yet entered his head to ask any one.
+
+He darted off at great speed, but, as it happened, in precisely the
+wrong direction. The houses grew smaller and farther apart, and
+presently he came to a high, sandy cliff overlooking the lake. Now the
+shades of night began to fall, and his stout heart almost failed him.
+The longing grew so strong to see mother, and Grace, and baby, that the
+tears would start, in spite of himself.
+
+At last, just as he was wondering which way to turn next, somebody
+touched his shoulder, and a rough voice said,--
+
+"Hullo, my little man! What you doin' in this ward? Come; don't you pull
+away from me: I'm a city officer. Got lost, hey?"
+
+Horace shook with fright. O dear, was it a crime, then, to get lost? He
+remembered all the stories he had ever heard of lock-ups, and
+state-prisons, and handcuffs.
+
+"O, I didn't mean any harm, sir," cried he, trying to steady his voice:
+"I reckon I ain't lost, sir; or, if I am, I ain't lost _much_!"
+
+"So, so," laughed the policeman, good-naturedly; "and what was your
+name, my little man, before you got lost, and didn't get lost _much_?"
+
+"My name is Horace Clifford, sir," replied the boy, wondering why a
+cruel policeman should want to laugh.
+
+"Well, well," said the man, not unkindly, "I'm glad I've come across ye,
+for your mother's in a terrible taking. What set ye out to run off?
+Come, now; don't be sulky. Give us your hand, and I guess, seein' it's
+you, we won't put you in the lock-up this time."
+
+Horace was very grateful to the officer for not handcuffing him on the
+spot; still he felt as if it was a great disgrace to be marched through
+the city by a policeman.
+
+Mrs. Clifford, Grace, and Mr. Lazelle met them on the way.
+
+"O, my dear, dear son," cried Mrs. Clifford, as soon as she could speak;
+"do you know how you've frightened us all?"
+
+"I followed the band," stammered Horace. "I was looking for Mr.
+Lazelle."
+
+"You're a naughty, mean little boy," cried Grace, when she had made sure
+he was not hurt anywhere. "It would have been good enough for you if
+you'd drowned in the lake, and the bears had ate you up!"
+
+Still she kissed her naughty brother, and it was to be noticed that her
+eyelids were very red from crying.
+
+"I'll never let go your hand again, Horace," said she, "till we get to
+grandma's. You're just as _slippery_!"
+
+Mr. Lazelle looked as if it would be an immense relief to him if Miss
+Grace would keep her word; he thought he was undergoing a great trial
+with Horace.
+
+"It's a shame," said he to himself, "that a perfect lady, like Mrs.
+Clifford, should have such a son! I'd enjoy whipping him--for her sake!
+Why in the world don't she _train_ him?"
+
+Mr. Lazelle did not know of the faithful talk Mrs. Clifford had with
+Horace that night, nor how the boy's heart swelled with grief, and
+love, and new resolutions.
+
+This adventure caused a day's delay, for it made the party too late for
+the boat. Horace was so sorry for his foolish conduct, that he spent the
+next day in the most subdued manner, and walked about the chamber on
+tiptoe, while Grace tried to soothe little Katie.
+
+But, in crossing the lake, he "forgot" again. His mother allowed him to
+go up on the hurricane deck with Mr. Lazelle, just for ten minutes; and
+there he became acquainted with the pilot, who was struck with his
+intelligence, and freely answered all the questions he asked about the
+engine, "the whistle," and the steering.
+
+"O, pshaw!" said Horace; "I'll make a steamboat myself, and give it to
+Grace for a present!"
+
+Full of this new plan, he left the pilot without so much as a "thank
+you," running down the steps, two at a time, unobserved by Mr. Lazelle,
+who was playing the flute. He wanted to see how the "rigging" was made,
+and stopped to ask leave of nobody.
+
+Down another flight of stairs, out across trunks, and bales, and ropes,
+he pushed his way to get a good sight of the deck. He paid no heed to
+people or things, and nearly ran over an Irish boy, who was drawing up
+water in buckets for washing. Somebody shouted, "He's trying to kill
+hisself, I do believe!"
+
+Somebody rushed forward to seize the daring child by the collar of his
+jacket, but too late; he had fallen headlong into the lake!
+
+A scream went up from the deck that pierced the air,--"Boy overboard!
+Help! help! help!"
+
+Mrs. Clifford heard, and knew, by instinct, that it was Horace. She had
+just sent Grace to call him, not feeling safe to trust him longer with
+Mr. Lazelle. She rushed through the door of the state-room, and followed
+the crowd to the other side of the boat, crying,--
+
+"O, can't somebody save him!"
+
+There was no mistaking the mother's voice; the crowd made way for her.
+
+"Safe! safe and sound!" was the shout now. "All right!"
+
+The Irish lad, at Horace's first plunge, had thrown him his bucket--it
+was a life-preserver; that is, it would not sink--and the drowning boy
+had been drawn up by means of a rope attached to the bail.
+
+"Ma," said Grace, when they were all safely in the cars at Buffalo, and
+Horace as well as ever, though a little pale, "I do believe there never
+was anybody had such an awful journey! _Do_ you suppose we'll ever get
+Horace home to grandma's?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+AT GRANDPA PARLIN'S.
+
+
+It was over at last--the long, tedious journey, which Horace spoiled for
+everybody, and which nobody but Horace enjoyed.
+
+When they drove up to the quiet old homestead at Willowbrook, and
+somebody had taken the little baby, poor Mrs. Clifford threw herself
+into her mother's arms, and sobbed like a child. Everybody else cried,
+too; and good, deaf grandpa Parlin, with smiles and tears at the same
+time, declared,--
+
+"I don't know what the matter is; so I can't tell whether to laugh or
+cry."
+
+Then his daughter Margaret went up and said in his best ear that they
+were just crying for joy, and asked him if that wasn't a silly thing to
+do.
+
+Grace embraced everybody twice over; but Horace was a little shy, and
+would only give what his aunties called "canary kisses."
+
+"Margaret, I want you to give me that darling baby this minute," said
+Mrs. Parlin, wiping her eyes. "Now you can bring the butter out of the
+cellar: it's all there is to be done, except to set the tea on the
+table."
+
+Then grandma Parlin had another cry over little Katie: not such a
+strange thing, for she could not help thinking of Harry, the baby with
+sad eyes and pale face, who had been sick there all the summer before,
+and was now an angel. As little Prudy had said, "God took him up to
+heaven, but the tired part of him is in the garden."
+
+Yes, under a weeping-willow. Everybody was thinking just now of tired
+little Harry, "the sweetest flower that ever was planted in that
+garden."
+
+"Why, Maria," said Mrs. Clifford, as soon as she could speak, "how did
+you ever travel so far with this little, little baby?"
+
+"I don't know, mother," replied Mrs. Clifford; "I think I could never
+have got here without Grace: she has been my little waiter, and Katie's
+little nurse."
+
+Grace blushed with delight at this well-deserved praise.
+
+"And Horace is so large now, that he was some help, too, I've no doubt,"
+said his grandmother.
+
+"I would have took the baby," cried Horace, speaking up very quickly,
+before any one else had time to answer,--"I would have took the baby,
+but she wouldn't let me."
+
+Mrs. Clifford might have said that Horace himself had been as much
+trouble as the baby; but she was too kind to wound her little boy's
+feelings.
+
+It was certainly a very happy party who met around the tea-table at Mr.
+Parlin's that evening. It was already dusk, and the large globe lamp,
+with its white porcelain shade, gave a cheery glow to the pleasant
+dining-room.
+
+First, there was cream-toast, made of the whitest bread, and the
+sweetest cream.
+
+"This makes me think of Mrs. Gray," said Mrs. Clifford, smiling; "I hope
+she is living yet."
+
+"She is," said Margaret, "but twelve years old."
+
+Grace looked up in surprise.
+
+"Why, that's only a little girl, aunt Madge!"
+
+"My dear, it's only a cow!"
+
+"O, now I remember; the little blue one, with brass knobs on her horns!"
+
+"Let's see; do you remember Dr. Quack and his wife?"
+
+"O, yes'm! they were white ducks; and how they did swim! It was a year
+ago. I suppose Horace doesn't remember."
+
+"Poh! yes, I do; they were _spin-footed_!"
+
+"Why, Horace," said Grace, laughing; "you mean _web-footed_!"
+
+Horace bent his eyes on his plate, and did not look up again for some
+time.
+
+There was chicken-salad on the table. Margaret made that--putting in new
+butter, because she knew Mrs. Clifford did not like oil.
+
+There was delicious looking cake, "some that had been touched with
+frost, and some that hadn't," as grandpa said, when he passed the
+basket.
+
+But the crowning glory of the supper was a dish of scarlet strawberries,
+which looked as if they had been drinking dew-drops and sunshine till
+they had caught all the richness and sweetness of summer.
+
+"O, ma!" whispered Grace, "I'm beginning to feel so happy! I only wish
+my father was here."
+
+After tea, grandpa took Horace and Grace on each knee, large as they
+were, and sang some delightful evening hymns with what was left of his
+once fine voice. He looked so peaceful and happy, that his daughters
+were reminded of the Bible verse, "Children's children are the crown of
+old men."
+
+"I think now," said Mrs. Clifford, coming back from putting the baby to
+sleep, "it's high time my boy and girl were saying, 'Good-night, and
+pleasant dreams.'"
+
+"Aunt Madge is going up stairs with us; aren't you, auntie?"
+
+"Yes, Horace; your other auntie wouldn't do, I suppose," said Louise.
+"That makes me think of the way this same Horace used to treat me when
+he was two years old. '_Her_ can't put me to bed,' he would say; 'her's
+too _little_.'"
+
+"I remember," said Margaret, "how he dreaded cold water. When his mother
+called him to be washed, and said, 'Ma doesn't want a little dirty boy,'
+he would look up in her face, and say, 'Does mamma want 'ittle _cold_
+boy?'"
+
+The happy children kissed everybody good-night, and followed their aunt
+Madge up stairs. Now, there was a certain small room, whose one window
+opened upon the piazza, and it was called "the green chamber." It
+contained a cunning little bedstead, a wee bureau, a dressing-table, and
+washing-stand, all pea-green. It was a room which seemed to have been
+made and furnished on purpose for a child, and it had been promised to
+Grace in every letter aunt Madge had written to her for a year.
+
+Horace had thought but little about the room till to-night, when his
+aunt led Grace into it, and he followed. It seemed so fresh and sweet in
+"the green chamber," and on the dressing-table there was a vase of
+flowers.
+
+Aunt Madge bade the children look out of the window at a bird's nest,
+which was snuggled into one corner of the piazza-roof, so high up that
+nobody could reach it without a very tall ladder.
+
+"Now," said aunt Madge, "the very first thing Grace hears in the morning
+will probably be bird-music."
+
+Grace clapped her hands.
+
+"And where am _I_ going to sleep?" said Horace, who had been listening,
+and looking on in silence. His aunt had forgotten that he was sometimes
+jealous; but she could not help knowing it now, for a very disagreeable
+expression looked out at his eyes, and drew down the corners of his
+mouth.
+
+"Why, Horace dear, we have to put you in one of the back chambers, just
+as we did when you were here before; but you know it's a nice clean
+room, with white curtains, and you can look out of the window at the
+garden."
+
+"But it's over the kitchen!"
+
+"There, Horace," said Grace, "I'd be ashamed! You don't act like a
+little gentleman! What would pa say?"
+
+"Why couldn't I have the big front chamber?" said the little boy,
+shuffling his feet, and looking down at his shoes.
+
+"Because," said aunt Madge, smiling, "that is for your mother and the
+baby."
+
+"But if I could have this little cunning room, I'd go a flyin'. Grace
+ain't company any more than me."
+
+Aunt Madge remembered Horace's hit-or-miss way of using things, and
+thought of the elephant that once walked into a china shop.
+
+Grace laughed aloud.
+
+"Why, Horace Clifford, you'd make the room look like everything; you
+know you would! O, auntie, you ought to see how he musses up my cabinet!
+I have to hide the key; I do _so_!"
+
+Horace took the room which was given him, but he left his sister without
+his usual good-night kiss, and when he repeated his prayer, I am afraid
+he was thinking all the while about the green chamber.
+
+The next morning the children had intended to go into the garden bright
+and early. Grace loved flowers, and when she was a mere baby, just able
+to toddle into the meadow, she would clip off the heads of buttercups
+and primroses, hugging and kissing them like friends.
+
+Horace, too, had some fancy for flowers, especially flaring ones, like
+sunflowers and hollyhocks. Dandelions were nice when the stems would
+curl without bothering, and poppies were worth while for little girls,
+he thought, because, after they are gone to seed, you can make them into
+pretty good teapots.
+
+He wanted to go out in the garden now for humming-birds, and to see if
+the dirt-colored toad was still living in his "nest," in one of the
+flower-beds.
+
+But the first thing the children heard in the morning was the pattering
+of rain or the roof. No going out to-day. Grace was too tired to care
+much. Horace felt cross; but remembering how many messages his
+grandmother had sent to her "good little grandson," and how often aunt
+Madge had written about "dear little Horace, the nephew she was so proud
+of," he felt ashamed to go down stairs scowling. If his good-morning
+smile was so thin that you could see a frown through it, still it was
+better than no smile at all.
+
+The breakfast was very nice, and Horace would have enjoyed the hot
+griddle-cakes and maple sirup, only his aunt Louise, a handsome young
+lady of sixteen, watched him more than he thought was quite polite,
+saying every now and then,--
+
+"Isn't he the image of his father? Just such a nose, just such a mouth!
+He eats fast, too; that is characteristic!"
+
+Horace did not know what "characteristic" meant, but thought it must be
+something bad, for with a child's quick eye he could see that his pretty
+aunt was inclined to laugh at him. In fact, he had quite an odd way of
+talking, and his whole appearance was amusing to Miss Louise, who was a
+very lively young lady.
+
+"Horace, you were telling me last night about Mr. Lazelle: what did you
+say was the color of his coat?"
+
+"I said it was _blueberry_ color," replied Horace, who could see, almost
+without looking up, that aunt Louise was smiling at aunt Madge.
+
+"He is a _musicianer_ too, I think you said, and his hair _crimps_. Dear
+me, what a funny man!"
+
+Horace was silent, and made up his mind that he should be careful
+another time what he said before aunt Louise.
+
+Soon after breakfast he and Pincher went "up-attic" to see what they
+could find, while Grace followed her grandmother and aunties from parlor
+to kitchen, and from kitchen to pantry. She looked pale and tired, but
+was so happy that she sang every now and then at the top of her voice,
+forgetting that little Katie was having a nap.
+
+Pretty soon Horace came down stairs with an old, rusty gun much taller
+than himself. Mrs. Clifford was shocked at first, but smiled the next
+moment, as she remembered what an innocent thing it was, past its
+"prime" before she was of Horace's age.
+
+The little boy playfully pointed the gun towards Grace, who screamed
+with fright, and ran away as fast as she could.
+
+"I don't care," cried she, coming back, a little ashamed at being
+laughed at; "how did _I_ know it wasn't loaded? Do you think 'twould
+look well for a little girl _not_ to be afraid of a gun?"
+
+This speech amused everybody, particularly Horace, who was glad to have
+Grace say a foolish thing once in a while. It raised his self-esteem
+somehow; and, more than that, he liked to remember her little slips of
+the tongue, and tease her about them.
+
+It was not long before he had seen all there was to be seen in the
+house, and wanted to "_do_ something." As for reading, that was usually
+too stupid for Horace. Grace kindly offered to play checkers with him;
+but she understood the game so much better than he did, that she won at
+every trial.
+
+This was more than he could bear with patience; and, whenever he saw
+that she was gaining upon him, he wanted to "turn it into a
+_give-game_."
+
+"But that isn't fair, Horace."
+
+"Well, ma, just you see how mean Grace is! There, she wants me to jump
+that man yonder, so she'll take two of mine, and go right in the
+king-row!"
+
+"But, Horace," said Grace, gently, "what do I play for if I don't try to
+beat?"
+
+"There now," cried he, "chase my men up to the king-row, so I can't
+crown 'em, do!"
+
+"Just what I'm doing," replied Grace, coolly.
+
+"Well, I should think you'd better take 'em all, and be done with it!
+Before I'd be so mean as to set _traps_!"
+
+"Look, Horace," said Grace; "you didn't jump when you ought to, and I'm
+going to _huff_ your man. See, I blow it, just this way; old Mr. Knight
+calls it _huffing_."
+
+"Huff away then! but you stole one of those kings. I'll bet you stole it
+off the board after I jumped it."
+
+"Now, Horace Clifford," cried Grace, with tears in her eyes, "I never
+did such a thing as to steal a king; and if you say so I won't play!"
+
+"Horace," said Mrs. Clifford, who had been trying for some time to
+speak, "what do you play checkers for?"
+
+"Ma'am? Why, to beat, of course."
+
+"Well, do you consider it work, or play?"
+
+"Work, or play? Why, it's a game, ma; so it's play."
+
+"But Grace was so obliging that she wished to amuse you, my son. _Does_
+it amuse you? Doesn't it make you cross? Do you know that you have
+spoken a great many sharp words to your kind sister?
+
+"Shut the board right up, my child; and remember from this time never to
+play checkers, or any other game, when you feel yourself growing
+fretful! As you sometimes say, 'It doesn't pay.'"
+
+Horace closed the board, looking ashamed.
+
+"That's sound advice for everybody," said aunt Madge, stroking her
+little nephew's hair. "If children always remembered it, they would get
+along more pleasantly together--I know they would."
+
+Grace had been looking ill all the morning, and her mother now saw
+symptoms of a chill. With all her tender anxiety she had not known how
+tired her little daughter was. It was two or three weeks before the
+child was rested; and whenever she had a chill, which was every third
+day for a while, she was delirious, and kept crying out,--
+
+"O, do see to Horace, mamma! Mr. Lazelle will forget! O, Horace, now
+_don't_ let go my hand! I've got the bundles, mamma, and the milk for
+the baby."
+
+And sometimes Mrs. Clifford would call Horace to come and take his
+sister's hand, just to assure her that he was not lying cold and dead in
+the waters of Lake Erie. It was really touching to see how heavily the
+cares of the journey had weighed on the dear girl's youthful spirits.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY.
+
+
+At first Mrs. Clifford thought she did not care about having the
+children go to school, as they had been kept at their studies for nearly
+nine months without a vacation, except Christmas holidays.
+
+But what was to be done with Horace? Aunt Louise, who was not
+passionately fond of children, declared her trials were greater than she
+could bear. Grace was a little tidy, she thought; but as for Horace, and
+his dog Pincher, and the "calico kitty," which he had picked up for a
+pet!--Louise disliked dogs and despised kittens. Sometimes, as she told
+Margaret, she felt as if she should certainly fly; sometimes she was
+sure she was going crazy; and then again it seemed as if her head would
+burst into a thousand pieces.
+
+None of these dreadful accidents happened, it is true; but a great many
+other things did. Hammers, nails, and augers were carried off, and left
+to rust in the dew. A cup of green paint, which for months had stood
+quietly on an old shelf in the store-room, was now taken down and
+stirred with a stick, and all the toys which Horace whittled out were
+stained green, and set in the sun to dry. A pair of cheese-tongs, which
+hung in the back room, a boot-jack, the washing-bench, which was once
+red,--all became green in a very short time: only the red of the bench
+had a curious effect, peeping out from its light and ragged coat of
+green.
+
+The blue sled which belonged to Susy and Prudy was brought down from the
+shed-chamber, and looked at for some time. It would present a lovely
+appearance, Horace thought, if he only dared cross it off with green.
+But as the sled belonged to his little cousins, and they were not there
+to see for themselves how beautiful he could make it look, why, he must
+wait till they came; and then, very likely, the paint would be gone.
+
+Of course, Horace soiled his clothes sadly: "that was always just like
+him," his aunt Louise said.
+
+This was not all. A little neighbor, Gilbert Brown, came to the house at
+all hours, and between the two boys there was a noise of driving nails,
+firing pop-guns, shouting and running from morning till night.
+
+They built a "shanty" of the boards which grandpa was saving to mend the
+fence, and in this shanty they "kept store," trading in crooked pins,
+home-made toys, twine, and jackknives.
+
+"Master chaps, them children are," said Abner, the good-natured hired
+man.
+
+"Hard-working boys! They are as destructive as army-worms," declared
+grandpa, frowning, with a twinkle in his eye.
+
+Horace had a cannon about a foot long, which went on wheels, with a box
+behind it, and a rammer lashed on at the side--not to mention an
+American flag which floated over the whole. With a stout string he drew
+his cannon up to the large oilnut tree, and then with a real bayonet
+fixed to a wooden gun, he would lie at full length under the shade,
+calling himself a sharpshooter guarding the cannon. At these times woe
+to the "calico kitty," or Grace, or anybody else who happened to go
+near him! for he gave the order to "charge," and the charge was made
+most vigorously.
+
+Upon the whole, it was decided that everybody would feel easier and
+happier if Horace should go to school. This plan did not please him at
+all, and he went with sulky looks and a very bad grace.
+
+His mother sighed; for though her little boy kept the letter of the law,
+which says, "Children, obey your parents," he did not do it in the
+_spirit_ of the commandment, "_Honor_ thy father and thy mother."
+
+In a thousand ways Mrs. Clifford was made unhappy by Horace, who should
+have been a comfort to her. It was sad, indeed; for never did a kind
+mother try harder to "train up a child" in the right way.
+
+It did not take Horace a great while to renew his acquaintance with the
+schoolboys, who all seemed to look upon him as a sort of curiosity.
+
+"I never knew before," laughed little Dan Rideout, "that my name was
+Dan-yell!"
+
+"He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper a _tin-kup_," said Gilbert
+Brown.
+
+"Yes," chimed in Willy Snow, "and he asks, 'Is school _took up_?' just
+as if it was knitting-work that was on needles."
+
+"How he rolls his r's!" said Peter Grant. "You can't say hor-r-se the
+way he does! I'll bet _the ain't_ a boy can do it, unless it's a
+Cahoojack." Peter meant _Hoosier_.
+
+"Well, I wouldn't be seen saying _hoss_," returned Horace, with some
+spirit; "that's _Yankee_."
+
+"I guess the Yankees are as good as the Cahoojacks: wasn't your mother a
+Yankee?"
+
+"Yes," faltered Horace; "she was born up north here, in the Frigid
+Zone; but she isn't so much relation to me as my father is, for her name
+wasn't Clifford. She wouldn't have been _any_ relation to me if she
+hadn't married my father!"
+
+One or two of the larger boys laughed at this speech, and Horace, who
+could never endure ridicule, stole quietly away.
+
+"Now, boys, you behave," said Edward Snow, Willy's older brother; "he's
+a smart little fellow, and it's mean to go to hurting his feelings. Come
+back here, Spunky Clifford; let's have a game of _hi spy_!"
+
+Horace was "as silent as a stone."
+
+"He don't like to be called Spunky Clifford," said Johnny Bell; "do you,
+Horace?"
+
+"The reason I don't like it," replied the boy, "is because it's not my
+name."
+
+"Well, then," said Edward Snow, winking to the other boys, "won't you
+play with us, _Master Horace_?"
+
+"I'll not go back to be laughed at," replied he, stoutly: "when I'm home
+I play with Hoosier boys, and they're politer than Yankees."
+
+"'Twas only those big boys," said Johnny Bell; "now they've gone off.
+Come, let's play something."
+
+"I should think you'd be willing for us to laugh," added honest little
+Willy Snow; "we can't help it, you talk so funny. We don't mean
+anything."
+
+"Well," said Horace, quite restored to good humor, and speaking with
+some dignity, "you may laugh at me one kind of a way, but if you mean
+_humph_ when you laugh, I won't stand it."
+
+"_Woon't_ stand it!" echoed Peter Grant; "ain't that Dutch?"
+
+"Dutch?" replied Horace: "I'll show you what _Dyche_ is! We have a
+_Dyche_ teacher come in our school every day, and he stamps his foot and
+tears round! 'Sei ruhig,' he says: that means, 'hush your mouth and keep
+still.'"
+
+"Is he a Jew, and does he stay in a synagogue?"
+
+"No, he is a German _Luteran_, or a Dutch _Deformed_, or something that
+way."
+
+"What do you learn in?" said Johnny Bell.
+
+"Why, in little German Readers: what else would they be?"
+
+"Does it read like stories and verses?"
+
+"I don't know. He keeps hitting the books with a little switch, and
+screamin' out as if the house was afire."
+
+"Come, say over some Dutch; _woon't_ you, Horace?"
+
+So the little boy repeated some German poetry, while his schoolmates
+looked up at him in wonder and admiration. This was just what Horace
+enjoyed; and he continued, with sparkling eyes,--
+
+"I s'pose you can't any of you _count_ Dutch?"
+
+The boys confessed that they could not.
+
+"It's just as easy," said Horace, telling over the numbers up to twenty,
+as fast as he could speak.
+
+"You can't any of you _write_ Dutch; can you? You give me a slate now,
+and I'll write it all over so you couldn't read a word of it."
+
+"Ain't it very hard to make?" asked the boys in tones of respectful
+astonishment.
+
+"I reckon you'd think 'twas hard, it's so full of little quirls, but _I_
+can write it as easy as English."
+
+This was quite true, for Horace made very hard work of any kind of
+writing.
+
+It was not two days before he was at the head of that part of the school
+known as "the small boys," both in study and play; yet everybody liked
+him, for, as I have said before, the little fellow had such a strong
+sense of justice, and such kindness of heart, that he was always a
+favorite, in spite of his faults.
+
+The boys all said there was nothing "mean" about Horace. He would
+neither abuse a smaller child, nor see one abused. If he thought a boy
+was doing wrong, he was not afraid to tell him so, and you may be sure
+he was all the more respected for his moral courage.
+
+Horace talked to his schoolmates a great deal about his father, Captain
+Clifford, who was going to be a general some day.
+
+"When I was home," said he, "I studied pa's book of _tictacs_, and I
+used to drill the boys."
+
+There was a loud cry of "Why can't you drill us? Come, let's us have a
+company, and you be cap'n!"
+
+Horace gladly consented, and the next Saturday afternoon a meeting was
+appointed at the "Glen." When the time came, the boys were all as joyful
+as so many squirrels suddenly let out of a cage.
+
+"Now look here, boys," said Horace, brushing back his "shingled hair,"
+and walking about the grove with the air of a lord. "First place, if I'm
+going to be captain, you must mind; will you? _say_."
+
+Horace was not much of a public speaker; he threw words together just as
+it happened; but there was so much meaning in the twistings of his face,
+the jerkings of his head, and the twirlings of his thumbs, that if you
+were looking at him you must know what he meant.
+
+"Ay, ay!" piped the little boys in chorus.
+
+"Then I'll muster you in," said Horace, grandly. "Has everybody brought
+their guns?--I mean _sticks_, you know!"
+
+"Ay, ay!"
+
+"I want to be corporal," said Peter Grant.
+
+"I'll be major," cried Willy Snow.
+
+"There, you've spoke," shouted the captain. "I wish there was a tub or
+bar'l to stand you on when you talk."
+
+After some time an empty flour barrel was brought, and placed upright
+under a tree, to serve as a dunce-block.
+
+"Now we'll begin 'new," said the captain. "Those that want to be
+mustered, rise up their hands; but don't you snap your fingers."
+
+The caution came too late for some of the boys; but Horace forgave the
+seeming disrespect, knowing that no harm was intended.
+
+"Now, boys, what are you fighting about?--Say, For our country!"
+
+"For our country," shouted the soldiers, some in chorus, and some in
+solo.
+
+"And our flag," added Horace, as an after-thought.
+
+"And our flag," repeated the boys, looking at the little banner of stars
+and stripes, which was fastened to the stump of a tree, and faintly
+fluttered in the breeze.
+
+"Long may it wave!" cried Horace, growing enthusiastic, and pointing
+backward to the flag with a sweep of his thumb.
+
+"There ain't a 'Secesh' in this company; there ain't a man but wants our
+battle to beat! If there is, we'll muster him out double-quick."
+
+A few caps were flourished in the air, and every mouth was set firmly
+together, as if it would shout scorn of secession if it dared speak. It
+was a loyal company; there was no doubt of that. Indeed, the captain was
+so bitter against the South, that he had asked his aunt Madge if it was
+right to let _southernwood_ grow in the garden.
+
+"Now," said Horace, "Forward! March! 'Ploy column!--No, form a line
+first. Ten_tion_!"
+
+A curved, uncertain line, not unlike the letter S, gradually
+straightened itself, and the boys looked down to their feet as if they
+expected to see a chalk-mark on the grass.
+
+"Now, when I say, 'Right!' you must look at the buttons on my jacket--or
+on yours, I've forgot which; on yours, I reckon. Right! Right at 'em!
+Right at the buttons!"
+
+Obedient to orders, every boy's head drooped in a moment.
+
+"Stop!" said Horace, knitting his brows; "that's enough!" For there
+seemed to be something wrong, he could not tell what.
+
+"Now you may ''bout face;' that means whirl round. Now march! one, two,
+quick time, double-quick!"
+
+"They're stepping on my toes," cried barefooted Peter Grant.
+
+"Hush right up, private, or I'll stand you on the bar'l."
+
+"I wish't you would," groaned little Peter; "it hurts."
+
+"Well, then, I shan't," said the captain, decidedly, "for 'twouldn't be
+any punishin'.--Can't some of you whistle?"
+
+Willy Snow struck up Yankee Doodle, which soon charmed the wayward feet
+of the little volunteers, and set them to marching in good time.
+
+Afterward their captain gave instructions in "groundin' arms," "stackin'
+arms," "firin'," and "countin' a march," by which he meant
+"countermarching." He had really read a good many pages in Infantry
+Tactics, and had treasured up the military phrases with some care,
+though he had but a confused idea of their meaning.
+
+"Holler-square!" said he, when he could think of nothing else to say. Of
+course he meant a "hollow square."
+
+"Shall we holler all together?" cried a voice from the midst of the
+ranks.
+
+The owner of the voice would have been "stood on the barrel," if Horace
+had been less busy thinking.
+
+"I've forgot how they holler, as true as you live; but I reckon it's all
+together, and open your mouths wide."
+
+[Illustration: STAND BY THE FLAG.--Page 85.]
+
+At this the young volunteers, nothing loath, gave a long, deafening
+shout, which the woods caught up and echoed.
+
+Horace scratched his head. He had seen his father drill his men, but he
+could not remember that he had ever heard them scream.
+
+A pitched battle came off next, which would have been a very peaceful
+one if all the boys had not wanted to be Northerners. But the feeling
+was greatly changed when Horace joined the Southern ranks, saying "he
+didn't care how much he played Secesh when everybody knew he was a good
+Union man, and his father was going to be a general." After this there
+was no trouble about raising volunteers on the rebel side.
+
+The whole affair ended very pleasantly, only there was some slashing
+right and left with a few bits of broken glass, which were used as
+swords; and several mothers had wounds to dress that night.
+
+Mrs. Clifford heard no complaint from her little son, although his
+fingers were quite ragged, and must have been painful. Horace was really
+a brave boy, and always bore suffering like a hero. More than that, he
+had the satisfaction of using the drops of blood for red paint; and the
+first thing after supper he made a wooden sword and gun, and dashed them
+with red streaks.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+SUSY AND PRUDY.
+
+
+The Clifford children were very anxious to see Susy and Prudy, and it
+seemed a long while to wait; but the Portland schools had a vacation at
+last, and then it was time to expect the little cousins.
+
+The whole family were impatient to see them and their excellent mother.
+Grandma lost her spectacles very often that afternoon, and every time
+she went to the window to look out, the ball of her knitting-work
+followed her, as Grace said, "like a little kitten."
+
+There was great joy when the stage really drove up to the door. The
+cousins were rather shy of each other at first, and Prudy hid her face,
+all glowing with smiles and blushes, in her plump little hands. But the
+stiffness wore away, and they were all as well acquainted as ever they
+had been, in about ten minutes.
+
+"Ain't that a bumpin' stage, though?" cried Horace; "just like a
+baby-jumper."
+
+"We came in it, you know, Susy," said Grace; "didn't it shake like a
+corn-popper?"
+
+"I want to go and see the piggy and ducks," said Prudy.
+
+"Well," whispered Susy, "wait till after supper."
+
+The Cliffords were delighted with their little cousins. When they had
+last seen Prudy, which was the summer before, they had loved her dearly.
+Now she was past five, and "a good deal cunninger than ever;" or so
+Horace thought. He liked her pretty face, her gentle ways, and said very
+often, if he had such a little sister he'd "go a lyin'."
+
+To be sure Susy was just his age, and could run almost as fast as he
+could; still Horace did not fancy her half as much as Prudy, who could
+not run much without falling down, and who was always sure to cry if she
+got hurt.
+
+Grace and Susy were glad that Horace liked Prudy so well, for when they
+were cutting out dolls' dresses, or playing with company, it was
+pleasant to have him take her out of the way.
+
+Prudy's mouth was not much larger than a button-hole, but she opened it
+as wide as she could when she saw Horace whittle out such wonderful
+toys.
+
+He tried to be as much as possible like a man; so he worked with his
+jacket off, whistling all the while; and when he pounded, he drew in his
+breath with a whizzing noise, such as he had heard carpenters make.
+
+All this was very droll to little Prudy, who had no brothers, and
+supposed her "captain cousin" must be a very remarkable boy, especially
+as he told her that, if he hadn't left his tool-box out west, he could
+have done "a heap better." It was quite funny to see her standing over
+him with such a happy, wondering little face, sometimes singing snatches
+of little songs, which were sure to be wrong somewhere, such as,--
+
+    "Little kinds of _deedness_,
+        Little words of love,
+    Make this _earthen needn't_,
+        Like the heaven above."
+
+She thought, as Horace did, that her sled would look very well "crossed
+off with green;" but Susy would not consent. So Horace made a doll's
+sled out of shingles, with turned-up runners, and a tongue of string.
+This toy pleased Prudy, and no one had a right to say it should not be
+painted green.
+
+But as Captain Horace was just preparing to add this finishing touch, a
+lady arrived with little twin-boys, four years old. Aunt Madge came into
+the shed to call Horace and Prudy. "O, auntie," said Horace, "I don't
+believe I care to play with those little persons!"
+
+His aunt smiled at hearing children called "little persons," but told
+Horace it would not be polite to neglect his young visitors: it would be
+positively rude. Horace did not wish to be considered an ill-mannered
+boy, and at last consented to have his hands and garments cleansed with
+turpentine to erase the paint, and to go into the nursery to see the
+"little persons."
+
+It seemed to him and Prudy that the visit lasted a great while, and that
+it was exceedingly hard work to be polite.
+
+When it was well over, Prudy said, "The next lady that comes here, I
+hope she won't bring any little _double boys_! What do I love little
+boys for, 'thout they're my cousins?"
+
+After the sled was carefully dried, Horace printed on it the words "Lady
+Jane," in large yellow letters. His friend Gilbert found the paint for
+this, and it was thought by both the boys that the sled could not have
+been finer if "Lady Jane" had been spread on with gold-leaf by a
+sign-painter.
+
+"Now, Prudy," said Horace, "it isn't, everybody can make such a sled as
+that! It's right strong, too; as strong as--why, it's strong enough to
+'bear up an egg'!"
+
+If Horace had done only such innocent things as to "drill" the little
+boys, make sleds for Prudy, and keep store with Gilbert, his mother
+might have felt happy.
+
+But Horace was growing careless. His father's parting words, "Always
+obey your mother, my son, and remember that God sees all you do," did
+not often ring in his ears now. Mr. Clifford, though a kind parent, had
+always been strict in discipline, and his little son had stood in awe of
+him. Now that he had gone away, there seemed to be some danger that
+Horace might fall into bad ways. His mother had many serious fears about
+him, for, with her feeble health, and the care of little Katie, she
+could not be as watchful of him as she wished to be. She remembered how
+Mr. Clifford had often said, "He will either make something or
+nothing," and she had answered, "Yes, there'll never be any half-way
+place for Horace." She sighed now as she repeated her own words.
+
+In his voyages of discovery Horace had found some gunpowder. "Mine!"
+said he to himself; "didn't aunt Madge say we could have everything we
+found up-attic?"
+
+He knew that he was doing wrong when he tucked the powder slyly into his
+pocket. He knew he did wrong when he showed it to Gilbert, saying,--
+
+"Got any matches, Grasshopper?"
+
+They dug holes in the ground for the powder, and over the powder crossed
+some dry sticks. When they touched it off they ran away as fast as
+possible; but it was a wonder they were not both blown up. It was
+pleasant, no doubt, to hear the popping of the powder; but they dared
+not laugh too loud, lest some one in the house should hear them, and
+come out to ask what they could be playing that was so remarkably funny.
+
+Mrs. Clifford little thought what a naughty thing Horace had been doing,
+when she called him in one day, and said, with a smiling face,--for she
+loved to make him happy,--"See, my son, what I have bought for you! It
+is a present from your father, for in his last letter he asked me to get
+it."
+
+Horace fairly shouted with delight when he saw the beautiful Zouave
+suit, gray, bordered with red, and a cap to match. If he had any twinges
+of conscience about receiving this present, nobody knew it.
+
+Here is the letter of thanks which he wrote to his father:--
+
+     "DEAR PAPA.
+
+     "I am sorry to say I have not seen you since you went to the
+     war. Grandpa has two pigs. I want a drum so much!
+
+     "We have lots of squirrels: they chip. We have orioles: they
+     say, 'Here, here, _here_ I be!'
+
+     "I want the drum because I am a _captain_! We are going to
+     train with paper caps.
+
+     "I get up the cows and have a good time.
+
+     "Good-by. From your son,
+
+     "HORACE P. CLIFFORD.
+
+     "P.S. Ma bought me the soldier-clothes. I thank you."
+
+About this time Mrs. Clifford was trying to put together a barrel of
+nice things to send to her husband. Grandma and aunt Madge baked a great
+many loaves of cake and hundreds of cookies, and put in cans of fruit
+and boxes of jelly wherever there was room. Aunt Louise made a nice
+little dressing-case of bronze kid, lined with silk, and Grace made a
+pretty pen-wiper and pin-ball. Horace whittled out a handsome steamboat,
+with _green_ pipes, and the figure-head of an old man's face carved in
+wood. But Horace thought the face looked like Prudy's, and named the
+steamboat "The Prudy." He also broke open his savings-bank, and begged
+his mother to lay out all the money he had in presents for the sick
+soldiers.
+
+"Horace has a kind and loving heart," said Margaret to Louise. "To be
+sure he won't keep still long enough to let anybody kiss him, but he
+really loves his parents dearly."
+
+"Well, he's a terrible try-patience," said Louise.
+
+"Wait a while! He is wilful and naughty, but he never tells wrong
+stories. I think there's hope of a boy who _scorns a lie_! See if he
+doesn't come out right, Louise. Why, I expect to be proud of our Horace
+one of these days!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+IN THE WOODS.
+
+
+"O, ma," said Horace, coming, into the house one morning glowing with
+excitement, "mayn't I go in the woods with Peter Grant? He knows where
+there's heaps of boxberries."
+
+"And who is Peter Grant, my son?"
+
+"He is a little boy with a bad temper," said aunt Louise, frowning
+severely at Horace.--If she had had her way, I don't know but every
+little boy in town would have been tied to a bed-post by a clothes-line.
+As I have already said, aunt Louise was not remarkably fond of children,
+and when they were naughty it was hard for her to forgive them.
+
+She disliked little Peter; but she never stopped to think that he had a
+cross and ignorant mother, who managed him so badly that he did not care
+about trying to be good. Mrs. Grant seldom talked with him about God and
+the Saviour; she never read to him from the Bible, nor told him to say
+his prayers.
+
+Mrs. Clifford answered Horace that she did not wish him to go into the
+woods, and that was all that she thought it necessary to say.
+
+Horace, at the time, had no idea of disobeying his mother; but not long
+afterwards he happened to go into the kitchen, where his grandmother was
+making beer.
+
+"What do you make it of, grandma?" said he.
+
+"Of molasses and warm water and yeast."
+
+"But what gives the taste to it?"
+
+"O, I put in spruce, or boxberry, or sarsaparilla."
+
+"But see here, grandma: wouldn't you like to have me go in the woods
+'someplace,' and dig roots for you?"
+
+"Yes, indeed, my dear," said she innocently; "and if you should go, pray
+get some wintergreen, by all means."
+
+Horace's heart gave a wicked throb of delight. If some one wanted him to
+go _after_ something, of course he _ought_ to go; for his mother had
+often told him he must try to be useful. Strolling into the woods with
+Peter Grant, just for fun, was very different from going in soberly to
+dig up roots for grandma.
+
+He thought of it all the way out to the gate. To be sure he might go and
+ask his mother again, but "what was the use, when he knew certain sure
+she'd be willing? Besides, wasn't the baby crying, so he mustn't go in
+the room?"
+
+These reasons sounded very well; but they could be picked in pieces, and
+Horace knew it. It was only when the baby was asleep that he must keep
+out of the chamber; and, as for being sure that his mother would let him
+go into the woods, the truth was, he dared not ask her, for he knew she
+would say, "No."
+
+He found Peter Grant lounging near the school-house, scribbling his name
+on the clean white paint under one of the windows.
+
+Peter's black eyes twinkled.
+
+"Going, ain't you, cap'n! dog and all? But where's your basket? Wait,
+and I'll fetch one."
+
+"There," said he, coming back again, "I got that out of the stable
+there at the tavern; Billy Green is hostler: Billy knows me."
+
+"Well, Peter, come ahead."
+
+"I don't believe you know your way in these ere woods," returned Peter,
+with an air of importance. "I'll go fust. It's a mighty long stretch,
+'most up to Canada; but I could find _my_ way in the dark. I never got
+lost anywheres yet!"
+
+"Poh! nor I either," Horace was about to say; but remembering his
+adventure in Cleveland, he drowned the words in a long whistle.
+
+They kept on up the steep hill for some distance, and then struck off
+into the forest. The straight pine trees stood up solemn and stiff.
+Instead of tender leaves, they bristled all over with dark green
+"needles." They had no blessings of birds' nests in their branches; yet
+they gave out a pleasant odor, which the boys said was "nice."
+
+"But they aren't so splendid, Peter, as our trees out west--don't begin!
+_They_ grow so big you can't chop 'em down. I'll leave it to Pincher!"
+
+"Chop 'em down? I reckon it can't be done!" replied Pincher--not in
+words, but by a wag of his tail.
+
+"Well, how _do_ you get 'em down then, cap'n?"
+
+"We cut a place right 'round 'em: that's girdlin' the tree, and then,
+ever so long after, it dies and drops down itself."
+
+"O, my stars!" cried Peter, "I want to know!"
+
+"No, you DON'T want to know, Peter, for I just told you! You may say, 'I
+wonder,' if you like; that's what we say out west."
+
+"Wait," said Peter. "I only said, '_I_ want to know what other trees
+you have;' that's what I meant, but you _shet_ me right up."
+
+"O, there's the butternut, and tree of heaven, and papaw, and 'simmon,
+and a 'right smart sprinkle' of wood-trees."
+
+"What's a 'simmon?"
+
+"O, it looks like a little baked apple, all wrinkled up; but it's right
+sweet. Ugh!" added Horace, making a wry face; "you better look out when
+they're green: they pucker your mouth up a good deal worse'n
+choke-cherries."
+
+"What's a papaw?"
+
+"A papaw? Well, it's a curious thing, not much account. The pigs eat it.
+It tastes like a custard, right soft and mellow. Come, let's go to
+work."
+
+"Well, what's a tree of heaven?"
+
+"O, Peter, for pity's sakes how do I know? It's a tree of heaven, I
+suppose. It has pink hollyhocks growing on it. What makes you ask so
+many questions?"
+
+Upon that the boys went to work picking boxberry leaves, which grew at
+the roots of the pine trees, among the soft moss and last year's cones.
+Horace was very anxious to gather enough for some beer; but it was
+strange how many it took to fill such "_enormous_ big baskets."
+
+"Now," said Horace, "I move we look over yonder for some wintergreen.
+You said you knew it by sight."
+
+"Wintergreen? wintergreen?" echoed Peter: "O, yes, I know it well
+enough. It spangles 'round. See, here's some; the girls make wreaths of
+it."
+
+It was _moneywort_; but Horace never doubted that Peter was telling the
+truth, and supposed his grandmother would be delighted to see such
+quantities of wintergreen.
+
+After some time spent in gathering this, Horace happened to remember
+that he wanted sarsaparilla.
+
+"I reckon," thought he, "they'll be glad I came, if I carry home so many
+things."
+
+Peter knew they could find sarsaparilla, for there was not a root of any
+sort which did not grow "in the pines;" of that he was sure. So they
+struck still deeper into the woods, every step taking them farther from
+home. Pincher followed, as happy as a dog can be; but, alas! never
+dreaming that serious trouble was coming.
+
+The boys dug up various roots with their jackknives; but they both knew
+the taste of sarsaparilla, and could not be deceived.
+
+"We hain't come to it yet," said Peter; "but it's round here somewheres,
+I'll bet a dollar."
+
+"I'm getting hungry," said Horace: "isn't it about time for the
+dinner-bell to ring?"
+
+"Pretty near," replied Peter, squinting his eyes and looking at the sky
+as if there was a noon-mark up there, and he was the boy to find it.
+"That bell will ring in fifteen minutes: you see if it don't."
+
+But it did not, though it was high noon, certainly. Hours passed. Horace
+remembered they were to have had salt codfish and cream gravy for
+dinner. Aunt Madge had said so; also a roly-poly with foaming sauce. It
+must now be long ago since the sugar and butter were beaten together for
+that sauce. He wondered if there would be any pudding left. He was sure
+he should like it cold, and a glass of water with ice in it.
+
+O, how many times he could have gone to the barrel which stood by the
+sink, and drunk such deep draughts of water, when he didn't care
+anything about it! But now he was so thirsty, and there was not so much
+as a teaspoonful of water to be found!
+
+[Illustration: CAPTAIN HORACE LOST. Page 42.]
+
+"I motion we go home," said Horace, for at least the tenth time.
+
+"Well," replied Peter, sulkily, "ain't we striking a bee-line?"
+
+"We've got turned round," said Horace: "Canada is over yonder, _I_
+know."
+
+"Pshaw! no, it ain't, no such a thing."
+
+But they were really going the wrong way. The village bell had rung at
+noon, as usual, but they were too far off to hear it. It was weary work
+winding in and out, in and out, among the trees and stumps. With torn
+clothes, bleeding hands, and tired feet, the poor boys pushed on.
+
+"Of course we're right," said Peter, in a would-be brave tone: "don't
+you remember that stump?"
+
+"No, I don't, Peter Grant," replied Horace, who was losing his
+patience: "I never was here before. Humph! I thought you could find your
+way with your eyes shut."
+
+"Turn and go t'other way, then," said Peter, adding a wicked word I
+cannot repeat.
+
+"I will," replied Horace, coolly: "if I'd known you used such swearing
+words I never'd have come!"
+
+"Hollo, there!" shouted Peter, a few moments after, "I'll keep with you,
+and risk it, cap'n."
+
+"Come on, then," returned Horace, who was glad of Peter's company just
+now, little as he liked him. "Where's our baskets?" said he, stopping
+short.
+
+"Sure enough," cried Peter; "but we can't go back now."
+
+They had not gone far when they were startled by a cry from Pincher, a
+sharp cry of pain. He stood stock still, his brown eyes almost starting
+from their sockets with agony and fear. It proved that he had stumbled
+upon a fox-trap which was concealed under some dry twigs, and his right
+fore-paw was caught fast.
+
+Here was a dilemma. The boys tried with all their might to set poor
+Pincher free; but it seemed as if they only made matters worse.
+
+"What an old nuisance of a dog!" cried Peter; "just as we'd got to goin'
+on the right road."
+
+"Be still, Peter Grant! Hush your mouth! If you say a word against my
+dog you'll catch it. Poor little Pincher!" said Horace, patting him
+gently and laying his cheek down close to his face.
+
+The suffering creature licked his hands, and said with his eloquent
+eyes,--
+
+"Dear little master, don't take it to heart. You didn't know I'd get
+hurt! You've always been good to poor Pincher."
+
+"I'd rather have given a dollar," said Horace; "O, Pincher! I wish 'twas
+my foot; I tell you I do!"
+
+They tried again, but the trap held the dog's paw like a vice.
+
+"I'll tell you what," said Peter; "we'll leave the dog here, and go home
+and get somebody to come."
+
+"You just behave, Peter Grant," said Horace, looking very angry. "I
+shouldn't want to be _your_ dog! Just you hold his foot still, and I'll
+try again."
+
+This time Horace examined the trap on all sides, and, being what is
+called an ingenious boy, did actually succeed at last in getting little
+Pincher's foot out.
+
+"Whew! I didn't think you could," said Peter, admiringly.
+
+"_You_ couldn't, Peter; you haven't sense enough."
+
+The foot was terribly mangled, and Pincher had to be carried home in
+arms.
+
+"I should like to know, Peter, who set that trap. If my father was here,
+he'd have him in the lock-up."
+
+"Poh! it wasn't set for dogs," replied Peter, in an equally cross tone,
+for both the boys were tired, hungry, and out of sorts. "Don't you know
+nothin'? That's a bear-trap!"
+
+"A bear-trap! Do you have bears up here?"
+
+"O, yes, dear me, suz: hain't you seen none since you've been in the
+State of Maine? I've ate 'em lots of times."
+
+Peter had once eaten a piece of bear-steak, or it might have been
+moose-meat, he was not sure which; but at any rate it had been brought
+down from Moosehead Lake.
+
+"Bears 'round here?" thought Horace, in a fright.
+
+He quickened his pace. O, if he could only be sure it was the right
+road! Perhaps they were walking straight into a den of bears. He hugged
+little Pincher close in his arms, soothing him with pet names; for the
+poor dog continued to moan.
+
+"O, dear, dear!" cried Peter, "don't you feel awfully?"
+
+"I don't stop to think of my feelings," replied Horace, shortly.
+
+"Well, I wish we hadn't come--I do."
+
+"So do I, Peter. I won't play 'hookey' again; but I'm not a-goin' to
+cry."
+
+"I'll never go anywheres with you any more as long as I live, Horace
+Clifford!"
+
+"Nobody wants you to, Pete Grant!"
+
+Then they pushed on in dignified silence till Peter broke forth again
+with wailing sobs.
+
+"I dread to get home! O, dear, I'll have to take it, I tell you. I guess
+you'd cry if you expected to be whipped."
+
+Horace made no reply. He did not care about telling Peter that he too
+had a terrible dread of reaching home, for there was something a great
+deal worse than a whipping, and that was, a mother's sorrowful face.
+
+"I shouldn't care if she'd whip me right hard," thought Horace; "but
+she'll talk to me about God and the Bible, and O, she'll look so white!"
+
+"Peter, you go on ahead," said he aloud.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"O, I want to rest a minute with Pincher."
+
+It was some moments before Peter would go, and then he went grumbling.
+As soon as he was out of sight, Horace threw himself on his knees and
+prayed in low tones,--
+
+"O God, I do want to be a good boy; and if I ever get out of this woods
+I'll begin! Keep the bears off, please do, O God, and let us find the
+way out, and forgive me. Amen."
+
+Horace had never uttered a more sincere prayer in his life. Like many
+older people, he waited till he was in sore need before he called upon
+God; but when he had once opened his heart to him, it was wonderful how
+much lighter it felt.
+
+He rose to his feet and struggled on, saying to Pincher, "Poor fellow,
+poor fellow, don't cry: we'll soon be home."
+
+"Hollo there, cap'n!" shouted Peter: "we're comin' to a clearin'."
+
+"Just as I expected," thought Horace: "why didn't I pray to God
+before?"
+
+[Illustration: IN THE WOODS.--Page 111.]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+CAPTAIN CLIFFORD.
+
+
+When Horace entered the yard, holding the poor dog in his arms, he felt
+wretched indeed. At that moment all the sulkiness and self-will were
+crushed out of his little heart. It seemed to him that never, never had
+there lived upon the earth another boy so wicked as himself.
+
+He forgot the excuses he had been making up about going into the woods
+because his grandmother wanted him to: he scorned to add falsehood to
+disobedience, and was more than willing to take his full share of
+blame.
+
+"If ma would whip me like everything," thought the boy, "I know I'd feel
+better."
+
+It was a long, winding path from the gate. The grounds looked very
+beautiful in the golden light of the afternoon sun. The pink
+clover-patch nodded with a thousand heads, and sprinkled the air with
+sweetness.
+
+Everything was very quiet: no one was on the piazza, no one at the
+windows. The blinds were all shut, and you could fancy that the house
+had closed its many eyes and dropped asleep. There was an awe about such
+perfect silence. "Where could Grace be, and those two dancing girls,
+Susy and Prudy?"
+
+He stole along to the back door, and lifted the latch. His grandmother
+stopped with a bowl of gruel in her hand, and said, "O, Horace!" that
+was all; but she could say no more for tears. She set down the bowl,
+and went up to him, trying to speak; but the words trembled on her lips
+unspoken.
+
+"O, grandma!" said Horace, setting little Pincher down on a chair, and
+clutching the skirt of her dress, "I've been right bad: I'm sorry--I
+tell you I am."
+
+His grandmother had never heard him speak in such humble tones before.
+
+"O, Horace!" she sobbed again, this time clasping him close to her
+heart, and kissing him with a yearning fondness she had hardly ever
+shown since he was a little toddling baby. "My darling, darling boy!"
+
+Horace thought by her manner they must all have been sadly frightened
+about him.
+
+"I got lost in the woods, grandma; but it didn't hurt me any, only
+Pincher got his foot caught."
+
+"Lost in the woods?" repeated she: "Grace thought you went home to
+dinner with Willy Snow."
+
+So it seemed they had not worried about him at all: then what was
+grandma crying about?
+
+"Don't go up stairs, dear," said she, as he brushed past her and laid
+his hand on the latch of the chamber door.
+
+"But I want to see ma."
+
+"Wait a little," said Mrs. Parlin, with a fresh burst of tears.
+
+"Why, what is the matter, grandma; and where's Grace, and Susy, and
+Prudy?"
+
+"Grace is with your mother, and the other children are at aunt Martha's.
+But if you've been in the woods all day, Horace, you must be very
+hungry."
+
+"You've forgot Pincher, grandma."
+
+The boy would not taste food till the dog's foot had been bandaged,
+though, all the while his grandmother was doing up the Wound, it seemed
+to Horace that she must be thinking of something else, or she would
+pity Pincher a great deal more.
+
+The cold dinner which she set out on the table was very tempting, and he
+ate heartily; but after every mouthful he kept asking, "What could be
+the matter? Was baby worse? Had anybody took sick?"
+
+But his grandmother stood by the stove stirring gruel, and would answer
+him nothing but, "I'll let you know very soon."
+
+She wanted the little boy to be rested and refreshed by food before she
+told him a very painful thing. Then she took him up stairs with her into
+her own chamber, which was quite shady with grape-vines, and so still
+that you could only hear the buzzing of two or three flies.
+
+She had brought a bowl of hot gruel on a little waiter. She placed the
+waiter on the top of her washing-stand, and seated herself on the bed,
+drawing Horace down beside her.
+
+"My dear little grandson," said she, stroking his bright hair, "God has
+been very good to you always, always. He loves you better than you can
+even think."
+
+"Yes, grandma," answered Horace, bewildered.
+
+"He is your dear Father in heaven," she added, slowly. "He wants you to
+love him with all your heart, for now--you have no other father!"
+
+Horace sprang up from the bed, his eyes wild with fear and surprise, yet
+having no idea what she meant.
+
+"Why, my father's captain in the army! He's down South!"
+
+"But have you never thought, dear, that he might be shot?"
+
+"No, I never," cried Horace, running to the window and back again in
+great excitement. "Mr. Evans said they'd put him in colonel. He was
+coming home in six months. He couldn't be shot!"
+
+"My dear little boy!"
+
+"But O, grandma, is he killed? Say quick!"
+
+His grandmother took out of her pocket a Boston Journal, and having put
+on her spectacles, pointed with a trembling finger to the list of
+"killed." One of the first names was "Captain Henry S. Clifford."
+
+"O, Horace!" said Grace, opening the door softly, "I just thought I
+heard you. Ma wants you to come to her."
+
+Without speaking, Horace gave his hand to his sister, and went with her
+while their grandmother followed, carrying the bowl of gruel.
+
+At the door of Mrs. Clifford's room they met aunt Louise coming out.
+The sight of Horace and Grace walking tearfully, hand in hand, was very
+touching to her.
+
+"You dear little fatherless children," she whispered, throwing her arms
+around them both, and dropping tears and kisses on their faces.
+
+"O, I can't, I can't bear it," cried Grace; "my own dear papa, that I
+love best of any one in all the world!"
+
+Horace ran to his mother, and throwing himself on the bed beside her,
+buried his face in the pillows.
+
+"O, ma! I reckon 'tisn't true. It's another Captain Clifford."
+
+His mother lay so very white and still that Horace drew away when he had
+touched her: there was something awful in the coldness of her face. Her
+beautiful brown eyes shone bright and tearless; but there were dark
+hollows under them, deep enough to hold many tears, if the time should
+ever come when she might shed them.
+
+"O, little Horace," whispered she, "mother's little Horace!"
+
+"Darling mamma!" responded the boy, kissing her pale lips and smoothing
+the hair away from her cheeks with his small fingers, which meant to
+move gently, but did not know how. And then the young, childish heart,
+with its little load of grief, was pressed close to the larger heart,
+whose deep, deep sorrow only God could heal.
+
+They are wrong who say that little children cannot receive lasting
+impressions. There are some hours of joy or agony which they never
+forget. This was such an hour for Horace. He could almost feel again on
+his forehead the warm good-by kisses of his father; he could almost hear
+again the words,--
+
+"Always obey your mother, my son, and remember that God sees all you
+do."
+
+Ah, he had not obeyed, he had not remembered.
+
+And that dear father would never kiss him, never speak to him again! He
+had not thought before what a long word Never was.
+
+O, it was dreadful to shut his eyes and fancy him lying so cold and
+still on that bloody battle-field! Would all this awful thing be true
+to-morrow morning, when he waked up?
+
+"O, mamma," sobbed the desolate child, "I and Grace will take care of
+you! Just forgive me, ma, and I'll be the best kind of a boy. I will, I
+will!"
+
+Grandma had already led Grace away into the green chamber, where aunt
+Madge sat with the baby. The poor little girl would not be comforted.
+
+"O, grandma," she cried, "if we could know who it was that shot pa our
+mayor would hang him! I do wish I could die, grandma. I don't want to
+keep living and living in this great world, without my father!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+THE BLUE BOOK.
+
+
+Days passed, but there was the same hush upon the house. Everybody moved
+about softly, and spoke in low tones. Horace was not told that he must
+go to school, but he knew aunt Louise thought his shoes made a great
+deal of noise, and just now he wanted to please even her. More than
+that, it was very pleasant to see the boys; and while he was playing
+games he forgot his sorrow, and forgot his mother's sad face. There was
+one thing, however, which he could not do: he had not the heart to be
+captain, and drill his company, just now.
+
+"Horace," said Grace, as they were sitting on the piazza steps one
+morning, "I heard ma tell grandma yesterday, you'd been a better boy
+this week than you had been before since--since--pa went away."
+
+"Did she?" cried Horace, eagerly; "where was she when she said it? What
+did grandma say? Did aunt Madge hear her?"
+
+"Yes, aunt Madge heard her, and she said she always knew Horace would be
+a good boy if he would only think."
+
+"Well, I _do_ think," replied Horace, looking very much pleased; "I
+think about all the time."
+
+"But then, Horace, you know how you've acted some days!"
+
+"Well, I don't care. Aunt Madge says 'tisn't so easy for boys to be
+good."
+
+Grace opened her round blue eyes in wonder.
+
+"Why, Horace, I have to make my own bed, and sweep and dust my room,
+and take care of my drawers. Only think of that; and Prudy always round
+into things, you know! Then I have to sew, O, so much! I reckon you
+wouldn't find it very easy being a girl."
+
+"Poh! don't I have to feed the chickens, and bring in the eggs, and go
+for the cows? And when we lived home----"
+
+Here Horace broke down; he could not think of home without remembering
+his father.
+
+Grace burst into tears. The word "home" had called up a beautiful
+picture of her father and mother sitting on the sofa in the library,
+Horace and Pincher lying on the floor, the door open from the balcony,
+and the moon filling the room with a soft light; her father had a smile
+on his face, and was holding her hand.
+
+Ah! Grace, and Horace, and their mother would see many such pictures of
+memory.
+
+"Well, sister," said Horace, speaking quite slowly, and looking down at
+the grass, "what do I do that's bad?"
+
+"Why, Horace, I shouldn't think you'd ask! Blowing gunpowder, and
+running off into the woods, and most killing Pincher, and going trouting
+down to the 'crick' with your best clothes on, and disobeying your ma,
+and----"
+
+"Sayin' bad words," added Horace, "but I stopped that this morning."
+
+"What do you mean, Horace?"
+
+"O, I said over all the bad things I could think of; not the swearin'
+words, you know, but 'shucks,' and 'gallus,' and 'bully,' and 'by
+hokey,' and 'by George;' and it's the last time."
+
+"O, I'm so glad, Horace!" cried Grace, clapping her hands and laughing;
+"and you won't blow any more powder?"
+
+Horace shook his head.
+
+"Nor run off again? Why, you'll be like Ally Glover, and you know I'm
+trying to be like little Eva."
+
+"I don't want to be like Ally Glover," replied Horace, making a wry
+face; "he's lame, and besides, he's too dreadful good."
+
+"Why, Horace," said his sister, solemnly; "anybody can't be too good;
+'tisn't possible."
+
+"Well, then, he's just like a girl--that's what! I'm not going to be
+'characteristic' any more, but I don't want to be like a girl neither.
+Look here, Grace; it's school time. Now don't you 'let on' to ma, or
+anybody, that I'm going to be better."
+
+Grace promised, but she wondered why Horace should not wish his mother
+to know he was trying to be good, when it would make her so happy.
+
+"He's afraid he'll give it up," thought she; "but I won't let him."
+
+She sat on the piazza steps a long while after he had gone. At last a
+bright idea flashed across her mind, and of course she dropped her work
+and clapped her hands, though she was quite alone.
+
+"I'll make a merit-book like Miss All'n's, and put down black marks for
+him when he's naughty."
+
+When Horace came home that night, he was charmed with the plan, for he
+was really in earnest. His kind sister made the book very neatly, and
+sewed it into a cover of glossy blue paper. She thought they would try
+it four weeks; so she had put in twenty-eight pages, each page standing
+for one day.
+
+"Now," said she, "when you say one bad word I'll put down 'one B. W.'
+for short; but when you say two bad words, 'twill be 'two B. W.,' you
+know. When you blow gunpowder, that'll be 'B. G.'--no, 'B. G. P.' for
+gunpowder is two words."
+
+"And when I run off, 'twill be 'R. O.'"
+
+"Or 'R. A.,' said Grace, for 'ran away.'"
+
+"And 'T.' for 'troutin'," said Horace, who was getting very much
+interested; "and--and--'P. A. L.' for 'plaguing aunt Louise,' and 'C.'
+for 'characteristic,' and 'L. T.' for 'losing things.'"
+
+"O, dear, dear, Horace, the book won't begin to hold it! We mustn't put
+down those little things."
+
+"But, Grace, you know I shan't do 'em any more."
+
+Grace shook her head, and sighed. "We won't put down all those little
+things," repeated she; "we'll have 'D.' for 'disobedience,' and 'B. W.,'
+and--O! one thing I forgot--'F.' for 'falsehood.'"
+
+"Well, you won't get any F's out of me, by hokey," said Horace, snapping
+his fingers.
+
+"Why, there it is, 'one B. W.' so quick!" cried Grace, holding up both
+hands and laughing.
+
+Horace opened his mouth in surprise, and then clapped his hand over it
+in dismay. It was not a very fortunate beginning.
+
+"Look here, Grace," said he, making a wry face; "I move we call that no
+'count, and commence new to-morrow!"
+
+So Grace waited till next day before she dated the merit-book.
+
+All this while Pincher's foot was growing no better. Aunt Louise said
+you could almost see the poor dog 'dwindle, peak, and pine.'
+
+"But it's only his hurt," said Grace; "'tisn't a sickness."
+
+"I reckon," returned Horace, sadly, "it isn't a _wellness_, neither."
+
+"Why not send for Mrs. Duffy?" suggested aunt Madge. "If any one can
+help the poor creature, it is she."
+
+Mrs. Duffy was the village washerwoman, and a capital nurse. It was an
+anxious moment for little Horace, when she unwrapped the crushed paw,
+Pincher moaning all the while in a way that went to the heart.
+
+"Wull," said Mrs. Duffy, who spoke with a brogue, "it's a bad-looking
+fut; but I've some intment here that'll do no har-rum, and it may hulp
+the poor craycher."
+
+She put the salve on some clean linen cloths, and bound up the wound,
+bidding them all be very careful that the dog "didn't stir his fut."
+
+"O, but he don't want to stir!" said Horace. "He just lies down by the
+stove all day."
+
+Mrs. Duffy shook her head, and said, "he was a pooty craycher; 'twas
+more the pities that he ever went off in the wuds."
+
+Horace hung his head. O, if he could have blotted out that day of
+disobedience!
+
+"Wasn't it a real rebel, _heathen_ man," cried Prudy, "to put the trap
+where Pincher sticked his foot in it?"
+
+Pincher grew worse and worse. He refused his food, and lay in a basket
+with a cushion in it, by the kitchen stove, where he might have been a
+little in the way, though not even aunt Louise ever said so.
+
+If Grace, or Susy, or Prudy, went up to him, he made no sign. It was
+only when he saw his little master that he would wag his tail for joy;
+but even that effort seemed to tire him, and he liked better to lick
+Horace's hand, and look up at his face with eyes brimful of love and
+agony.
+
+Horace would sit by the half hour, coaxing him to eat a bit of broiled
+steak or the wing of a chicken; but though the poor dog would gladly
+have pleased his young master, he could hardly force himself to swallow
+a mouthful.
+
+These were sad days. Grace put down now and then a "B. W." in the blue
+book; but as for disobedience, Horace had just now no temptation to
+that. He could hardly think of anything but his dog.
+
+Pincher was about his age. He could not remember the time when he first
+knew him. "O, what jolly times they had had together! How often Pincher
+had trotted along to school, carrying the satchel with the school-books
+in his teeth. Why, the boys all loved him, they just loved him so."
+
+"No, sir," said Horace, talking to himself, and laying the dog's head
+gently on his knee: "there wasn't one of them but just wished they had
+him. But, poh! I wouldn't have sold him for all the cannons and
+fire-crackers in the United States. No, not for a real drum, either;
+would I, Pincher?"
+
+Horace really believed the dog understood him, and many were the secrets
+he had poured into his faithful ears. Pincher would listen, and wink,
+and wag his tail, but was sure to keep everything to himself.
+
+"I tell you what it is, Pincher," Horace burst forth, "I'm not going to
+have you die! My own pa gave you to me, and you're the best dog that
+ever lived in this world. O, I didn't mean to catch your foot in that
+trap! Eat the chicken, there's a good fellow, and we'll cure you all
+up."
+
+But Pincher couldn't eat the chicken, and couldn't be cured. His eyes
+grew larger and sadder, but there was the same patient look in them
+always. He fixed them on Horace to the last, with a dying gaze which
+made the boy's heart swell with bitter sorrow.
+
+"He wanted to speak, he wanted to ask me a question," said Horace, with
+sobs he did not try to control.
+
+O, it was sad to close those beautiful eyes forever, those beseeching
+eyes, which could almost speak.
+
+Mrs. Clifford came and knelt on the stone hearth beside the basket, and
+wept freely for the first time since her husband's death.
+
+"Dear little Pincher," said she, "you have died a cruel death; but your
+dear little master closed your eyes. It was very hard, poor doggie, but
+not so hard as the battle-field. You shall have a quiet grave, good
+Pincher; but where have they buried our brave soldier?"
+
+[Illustration: CAPTAIN HORACE AND HIS DOG. Page 138.]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+TRYING TO GET RICH.
+
+
+With his own hands, and the help of Grasshopper, who did little but hold
+the nails and look on, Horace made a box for Pincher, while Abner dug
+his grave under a tree in the grove.
+
+It was evening when they all followed Pincher to his last resting-place.
+
+"He was a sugar-plum of a dog," said Prudy, "and I can't help crying."
+
+"I don't want to help it," said Grace; "we ought to cry."
+
+"What makes me feel the worst," said sober little Susy, "he won't go to
+heaven."
+
+"Not forever'n ever amen?" gasped Prudy, in a low voice: "wouldn't he if
+he had a nice casket, and a plate on it neither?"
+
+The sky and earth were very lovely that evening, and it seemed as if
+everybody ought to be heart-glad. I doubt if Horace had ever thought
+before what a beautiful world he lived in, and how glorious a thing it
+is to be alive! He could run about and do what he pleased with himself;
+but alas, poor Pincher!
+
+The sun was setting, and the river looked uncommonly full of little
+sparkles. The soft sky, and the twinkling water, seemed to be smiling at
+each other, while a great way off you could see the dim blue mountains
+rising up like clouds. Such a lovely world! Ah! poor Pincher.
+
+It looked very much as if Horace were really turning over a new leaf. He
+was still quite trying sometimes, leaving the milk-room door open when
+puss was watching for the cream-pot, or slamming the kitchen door with a
+bang when everybody needed fresh air. He still kept his chamber in a
+state of confusion,--"muss," Grace called it,--pulling the drawers out
+of the bureau, and scattering the contents over the floor; dropping his
+clothes anywhere it happened, and carrying quantities of gravel up
+stairs in his shoes.
+
+Aunt Louise still scolded about him; but even she could not help seeing
+that on the whole he was improving. He "cared" more and "forgot" less.
+He could always learn easily, and now he really tried to learn. His
+lessons, instead of going through his head "threading my grandmother's
+needle," went in and staid there. The blue book got a few marks, it is
+true, but not so many as at first.
+
+You may be sure there was not a good thing said or done by Horace which
+did not give pleasure to his mother. She felt now as if she lived only
+for her children; if God would bless her by making them good, she had
+nothing more to desire. Grace had always been a womanly, thoughtful
+little girl, but at this time she was a greater comfort than ever; and
+Horace had grown so tender and affectionate, that it gratified her very
+much. He was not content now with "canary kisses;" but threw his arms
+around her neck very often, saying, with his lips close to her cheek,--
+
+"Don't feel bad, ma: I'm going to take care of you."
+
+For his mother's grief called forth his manliness.
+
+She meant to be cheerful; but Horace knew she did not look or seem like
+herself: he thought he ought to try to make her happy.
+
+Whenever he asked for money, as he too often did, she told him that now
+his father was gone, there was no one to earn anything, and it was best
+to be rather prudent. He wanted a drum; but she thought he must wait a
+while for that.
+
+They were far from being poor, and Mrs. Clifford had no idea of
+deceiving her little son. Yet he _was_ deceived, for he supposed that
+his mother's pretty little porte-monnaie held all the bank-bills and all
+the silver she had in the world.
+
+"O, Grace!" said Horace, coming down stairs with a very grave face, "I
+wish I was grown a man: then I'd earn money like sixty."
+
+Grace stopped her singing long enough to ask what he meant to do, and
+then continued in a high key,--
+
+"Where, O where are the Hebrew children?"
+
+"O, I'm going as a soldier," replied Horace: "I thought everybody knew
+that! The colonels make a heap of money!"
+
+"But, Horace, you might get shot--just think!"
+
+"Then I'd dodge when they fired, for I don't know what you and ma would
+do if _I_ was killed."
+
+"Well, please step out of the way, Horace; don't you see I'm sweeping
+the piazza?"
+
+"I can't tell," pursued he, taking a seat on one of the stairs in the
+hall: "I can't tell certain sure; but I may be a minister."
+
+This was such a funny idea, that Grace made a dash with her broom, and
+sent the dirt flying the wrong way.
+
+"Why, Horace, you'll never be good enough for a minister!"
+
+"What'll you bet?" replied he, looking a little mortified.
+
+"You're getting to be a dear good little boy, Horace," said Grace,
+soothingly; "but I don't _think_ you'll ever be a minister."
+
+"Perhaps I'd as soon be a shoemaker," continued Horace, thoughtfully;
+"they get a great deal for tappin' boots."
+
+His sister made no reply.
+
+"See here, now, Grace: perhaps you'd rather I'd be a tin-pedler; then
+I'd always keep a horse, and you could ride."
+
+"Ride in a cart!" cried Grace, laughing. "Can't you think of anything
+else? Have you forgotten papa?"
+
+"O, now I know," exclaimed Horace, with shining eyes: "it's a lawyer
+I'll be, just like father was. I'll have a 'sleepy partner,' the way
+Judge Ingle has, and by and by I'll be a judge."
+
+"I know that would please ma, Horace," replied Grace, looking at her
+little brother with a good deal of pride.
+
+Who knew but he _might_ yet be a judge? She liked to order him about,
+and have him yield to her: still she had great faith in Horace.
+
+"But, Grace, after all that I'll go to war, and turn out a general; now
+you see if I don't."
+
+"That'll be a great while yet," said Grace, sighing.
+
+"So it will," replied Horace, sadly; "and ma needs the money now. I wish
+I could earn something right off while I'm a little boy."
+
+It was not two days before he thought he had found out how to get rich;
+in what way you shall see.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+THE LITTLE INDIAN.
+
+
+Prudy came into the house one day in a great fright, and said they'd
+"better hide the baby, for there was a very wicked woman round."
+
+"Her hair looks like a horse's tail," said she, "and she's got a black
+man's hat on her head, and a table-cloth over her."
+
+Aunt Madge took Prudy in her lap, and told her it was only an Indian
+woman, who had no idea of harming any one.
+
+"What are Nindians?" asked the child.
+
+Her aunt said they were sometimes called "red men." The country had once
+been filled by them: but the English came, a great many years ago, and
+shook off the red men just as a high wind shakes the red leaves off a
+tree; and they were scattered about, and only a few were left alive.
+Sometimes the Oldtown Indians came round making baskets; but they were
+quiet and peaceable people.
+
+Horace and his friend "Grasshopper," as they were strolling up the
+river, came upon a tent made of canvas, and at the door of the tent sat
+a little boy about their own age, with a bow and arrow in his hand, in
+the act of firing.
+
+Grasshopper, who was always a coward, ran with all his might; but as
+Horace happened to notice that the arrow was pointed at something across
+the river, he was not alarmed, but stopped to look at the odd little
+stranger, who turned partly round and returned his gaze. His eyes were
+keen and black, with a good-natured expression, something like the eyes
+of an intelligent dog.
+
+"What's your name, boy?" said Horace.
+
+"Me no understand."
+
+"I asked what your _name_ is," continued Horace, who was sure the boy
+understood, in spite of his blank looks.
+
+"Me no hurt white folks; me bunkum Indian."
+
+"Well, what's your name, then? What do they call you?"
+
+No answer, but a shake of the head.
+
+"I reckon they call you _John_, don't they?"
+
+Here the boy's mother appeared at the door.
+
+"His name no _John_! Eshy-ishy-oshy-neeshy-George-Wampum-Shoony-Katoo;
+short name, speak um quick!--Jaw-awn! Great long name!" drawled she,
+stretching it out as if it were made of India rubber, and scowling with
+an air of disgust.
+
+"What does she mean by calling 'John' _long_?" thought Horace.
+
+The woman wore a calico dress, short enough to reveal her brown,
+stockingless feet and gay moccasons.
+
+Her hair was crow-black, and strayed over her shoulders and into her
+eyes. Horace concluded she must have lost her back-comb.
+
+While he was looking at her with curious eyes, her daughter came to the
+door, feeling a little cross at the stranger, whoever it might be; but
+when she saw only an innocent little boy, she smiled pleasantly, showing
+a row of white teeth. Horace thought her rather handsome, for she was
+very straight and slender, and her eyes shone like glass beads. Her hair
+he considered a great deal blacker than black, and it was braided and
+tied with gay red ribbons. She was dressed in a bright, large-figured
+calico, and from her ears were suspended the longest, yellowest,
+queerest, ear-rings. Horace thought they were shaped like boat-paddles,
+and would be pretty for Prudy to use when she rowed her little red boat
+in the bathing-tub. If they only "scooped" a little more they would
+answer for tea-spoons. "Plenty big as I should want for tea-spoons," he
+decided, after another gaze at them.
+
+The young girl was used to being admired by her own people, and was not
+at all displeased with Horace for staring at her.
+
+"Me think you nice white child," said she: "you get me sticks, me make
+you basket, pretty basket for put apples in."
+
+"What kind of sticks do you mean?" said Horace, forgetting that they
+pretended not to understand English. But it appeared that they knew
+very well what he meant this time, and the Indian boy offered to go with
+him to point out the place where the wood was to be found. Grasshopper,
+who had only hidden behind the trees, now came out and joined the boys.
+
+"Wampum," as he chose to be called, led them back to Mr. Parlin's
+grounds, to the lower end of the garden, where stood some tall silver
+poplars, on which the Indians had looked with longing eyes.
+
+"Me shin them trees," said Wampum; "me make you basket."
+
+"Would you let him, Grasshopper?"
+
+"Yes, indeed; your grandfather won't care."
+
+"Perhaps he might; you don't know," said Horace, who, after he had asked
+advice, was far from feeling obliged to take it. He ran in great haste
+to the field where his grandfather was hoeing potatoes, thinking, "If I
+ask, then I shan't get marked in the blue book anyhow."
+
+In this case Horace acted very properly. He had no right to cut the
+trees, or allow any one else to cut them, without leave. To his great
+delight, his grandfather said he did not care if they clipped off a few
+branches where they would not show much.
+
+When Horace got back and reported the words of his grandfather, Wampum
+did not even smile, but shot a glance at him as keen as an arrow.
+
+"Me no hurt trees," said he, gravely; and he did not: he only cut off a
+few limbs from each one, leaving the trees as handsome as ever.
+
+"Bully for you!" cried Horace, forgetting the blue book.
+
+"He's as spry as a squirrel," said Grasshopper, in admiration; "how many
+boughs has he got? One, two, three."
+
+"Me say 'em quickest," cried little Wampum. "Een, teen, teddery,
+peddery, bimp, satter, latter, doe, dommy, dick."
+
+"That's ten," put in Horace, who was keeping 'count.
+
+"Een-dick," continued the little Indian, "teen-dick, teddery-dick,
+peddery-dick, bumpin, een-bumpin, teen-bumpin, teddery-bumpin,
+peddery-bumpin, jiggets."
+
+"Hollo!" cried Grasshopper; "that's twenty; jiggets is twenty;" and he
+rolled over on the ground, laughing as if he had made a great discovery.
+
+Little by little they made Wampum tell how he lived at home, what sort
+of boys he played with, and what they had to eat. The young Indian
+assured them that at Oldtown "he lived in a house good as white folks;
+he ate moose-meat, ate sheep-meat, ate cow-meat."
+
+"Cook out doors, I s'pose," said Grasshopper.
+
+Wampum looked very severe. "When me lives in wigwam, me has fires in
+wigwam: when me lives in tent, me puts fires on grass;--keep off them
+things," he added, pointing at a mosquito in the air; "keep smoke out
+tent," pointing upward to show the motion of the smoke.
+
+Horace felt so much pleased with his new companion, that he resolved to
+treat him to a watermelon. So, without saying a word to the boys, he ran
+into the house to ask his grandmother.
+
+"What! a whole watermelon, Horace?"
+
+"Yes, grandma, we three; me, and Grasshopper, and Wampum."
+
+Mrs. Parlin could not help smiling to see how suddenly Horace had
+adopted a new friend.
+
+"You may have a melon, but I think your mother would not like to have
+you play much with a strange boy."
+
+"He's going to make me a splendid basket; and besides, aren't Indians
+and negroes as good as white folks? 'Specially _tame_ Indians," said
+Horace, not very respectfully, as he ran back, shoe-knife in hand, to
+cut the watermelon.
+
+This was the beginning of a hasty friendship between himself and Wampum.
+For a few days there was nothing so charming to Horace as the wild life
+of this Indian family. He was made welcome at their tent, and often went
+in to see them make baskets.
+
+"I trust you," said Mrs. Clifford; "you will not deceive me, Horace. If
+you ever find that little Wampum says bad words, tells falsehoods, or
+steals, I shall not be willing for you to play with him. You are very
+young, and might be greatly injured by a bad playmate."
+
+The tent was rude enough. In one corner were skins laid one over
+another: these were the beds which were spread out at night for the
+family. Instead of closets and presses, all the wearing apparel was hung
+on a long rope, which was stretched from stake to stake, in various
+directions, like a clothes-line.
+
+It was curious to watch the brown fingers moving so easily over the
+white strips, out of which they wove baskets. It was such pretty work!
+it brought so much money. Horace thought it was just the business for
+him, and Wampum promised to teach him. In return for this favor, Horace
+was to instruct the little Indian in spelling.
+
+For one or two evenings he appointed meetings in the summer-house, and
+really went without his own slice of cake, that he might give it to poor
+Wampum, after a lesson in "baker."
+
+He received the basket in due time, a beautiful one--red, white, and
+blue. Just as he was carrying it home on his arm, he met Billy Green,
+the hostler, who stopped him, and asked if he remembered going into "the
+Pines" one day with Peter Grant? Horace had no reason to forget it,
+surely.
+
+"Seems to me you ran away with my horse-basket," said Billy; "but I
+never knew till yesterday what had 'come of it."
+
+"There, now," replied Horace, quite crestfallen; "Peter Grant took that!
+I forgot all about it."
+
+What should be done? It would never do to ask his mother for the money,
+since, as he believed, she had none to spare. Billy was fond of joking
+with little boys.
+
+"Look here, my fine fellow," said he, "give us that painted concern
+you've got on your arm, and we'll call it square."
+
+"No, no, Billy," cried Horace, drawing away; "this is a present, and I
+couldn't. But I'm learning to weave baskets, and I'll make you one--see
+if I don't!"
+
+Billy laughed, and went away whistling. He had no idea that Horace would
+ever think of the matter again; but in truth the first article the boy
+tried to make was a horse-basket.
+
+"Me tell you somethin," said little Wampum, next morning, as he and
+Horace were crossing the field together. "Very much me want
+um,--um,--um,"--putting his fingers up to his mouth in a manner which
+signified that he meant something to eat.
+
+"Don't understand," said Horace: "say it in English."
+
+"Very much me want um," continued Wampum, in a beseeching tone. "No tell
+what you call um. E'enamost water, no _quite_ water; e'enamost punkin,
+no _quite_ punkin."
+
+"Poh! you mean watermelon," laughed Horace: "should think you'd remember
+that as easy as pumpkin."
+
+"Very much me want um," repeated Wampum, delighted at being understood;
+"me like um."
+
+"Well," replied Horace, "they aren't mine."
+
+"O, yes. Ugh! you've got 'em. Melon-water good! Me have melon-waters, me
+give you moc-suns."
+
+"I'll ask my grandpa, Wampum."
+
+Hereupon the crafty little Indian shook his head.
+
+"You ask ole man, me no give you moc-suns! Me no want _een_--me want
+bimp--bumpin--jiggets."
+
+Horace's stout little heart wavered for a moment. He fancied moccasins
+very much. In his mind's eye he saw a pair shining with all the colors
+of the rainbow, and as Wampum had said of the melons, "very much he
+wanted them." How handsome they'd be with his Zouave suit!
+
+But the wavering did not last long. He remembered the blue book which
+his mother was to see next week; for then the month would be out.
+
+"It wouldn't be a 'D.,'" thought he, "for nobody told me _not_ to give
+the watermelons."
+
+"No," said Conscience; "'twould be a black S.; _that_ stands for
+stealing! What, a boy with a dead father, a dead soldier-father,
+_steal_! A boy called Horace Clifford! The boy whose father had said,
+'Remember God sees all you do!'"
+
+"Wampum," said Horace, firmly, "you just stop that kind of talk!
+Moccasins are right pretty; but I wouldn't steal, no, not if you gave me
+a bushel of 'em."
+
+After this, Horace was disgusted with his little friend, not remembering
+that there are a great many excuses to be made for a half-civilized
+child. They had a serious quarrel, and Wampum's temper proved to be very
+bad. If the little savage had not struck him, I hope Horace would have
+dropped his society all the same; because, after Wampum proved to be a
+thief, it would have been sheer disobedience on Horace's part to play
+with him any longer.
+
+Of course the plan of basket-making was given up; but our little Horace
+did one thing which was noble in a boy of his age: perhaps he
+remembered what his father had said long ago in regard to the injured
+watch; but, at any rate, he went to Billy Green of his own accord, and
+offered him the beautiful present which he had received from the
+Indians.
+
+"It's not a horse-basket, Billy: I didn't get to make one," stammered
+he, in a choked voice; "but you said you'd call it square."
+
+"Whew!" cried Billy, very much astonished: "now look here, bub; that's a
+little too bad! The old thing you lugged off was about worn out, anyhow.
+Don't want any of your fancy baskets: so just carry it back, my fine
+little shaver."
+
+To say that Horace was very happy, would not half express the delight he
+felt as he ran home with the beautiful basket on his arm, his "ownest
+own," beyond the right of dispute.
+
+The Indians disappeared quite suddenly; and perhaps it was nothing
+surprising that, the very next morning after they left, grandpa Parlin
+should find his beautiful melon-patch stripped nearly bare, with nothing
+left on the vines but a few miserable green little melons.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+A PLEASANT SURPRISE.
+
+
+"It's too bad," said Horace to his sister, "that I didn't get to make
+baskets; I'd have grown rich so soon. What would you try to do next?"
+
+"Pick berries," suggested Grace.
+
+And that very afternoon they both went blackberrying with Susy and aunt
+Madge. They had a delightful time. Horace could not help missing Pincher
+very much: still, in spite of the regret, it was a happier day than the
+one he and Peter Grant had spent "in the Pines." He was beginning to
+find, as all children do, how hard it is to get up "a good time" when
+you are pricked by a guilty conscience, and how easy it is to be happy
+when you are doing right.
+
+They did not leave the woods till the sun began to sink, and reached
+home quite tired, but as merry as larks, with baskets nearly full of
+berries.
+
+When Horace timidly told aunt Madge that he and Grace wanted to sell all
+they had gathered, his aunt laughed, and said she would buy the fruit if
+they wished, but wondered what they wanted to do with the money: she
+supposed it was for the soldiers.
+
+"I want to give it to ma," replied Horace, in a low voice; for he did
+not wish his aunt Louise to overhear. "She hasn't more than three bills
+in her pocket-book, and it's time for me to begin to take care of her."
+
+"Ah," said aunt Madge, with one of her bright smiles, "there is a secret
+drawer in her writing-desk, dear, that has ever so much money in it.
+She isn't poor, my child, and she didn't mean to make you think so, for
+your mother wouldn't deceive you."
+
+"Not poor?" cried Horace, his face brightening suddenly; and he turned
+half a somerset, stopping in the midst of it to ask how much a drum
+would cost.
+
+The month being now out, it was time to show the blue book to Mrs.
+Clifford. Horace looked it over with some anxiety. On each page were the
+letters "D.," "B. W.," "B. G. P.," and "F.," on separate lines, one
+above another. But there were no figures before any of the letters but
+the "B. W.'s;" and even those figures had been growing rather smaller,
+as you could see by looking carefully.
+
+"Now, Grace," said her little brother, "you'll tell ma that the bad
+words aren't swearin' words! I never did say such, though some of the
+fellows do, and those that go to Sabbath School too."
+
+"Yes, I'll tell her," said Grace; "but she knows well enough that you
+never talk anything worse than lingo."
+
+"I haven't disobeyed, nor blown powder, nor told lies."
+
+"No, indeed," said Grace, delighted. "To be sure, you've forgotten, and
+slammed doors, and lost things; but you know I didn't set that down."
+
+I wish all little girls felt as much interest in their younger brothers
+as this sister felt in Horace. Grace had her faults, of which I might
+have told you if I had been writing the book about her; but she loved
+Horace dearly, kept his little secrets whenever she promised to do so,
+and was always glad to have him do right.
+
+Mrs. Clifford was pleased with the idea of the blue book, and kissed
+Horace and Grace, saying they grew dearer to her every day of their
+lives.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One night, not long after this, Horace went to the post-office for the
+mail. This was nothing new, for he had often gone before. A crowd of men
+were sitting in chairs and on the door-stone and counter, listening to
+the news, which some one was reading in a loud, clear voice.
+
+Without speaking, the postmaster gave Horace three letters and a
+newspaper. After tucking the letters into his raglan pocket, Horace
+rolled the paper into a hollow tube, peeping through it at the large
+tree standing opposite the post-office, and at the patient horses
+hitched to the posts, waiting for their masters to come out.
+
+He listened for some time to the dreadful account of a late battle,
+thinking of his dear father, as he always did when he heard war-news.
+But at last remembering that his grandfather would be anxious to have
+the daily paper, he started for home, though rather against his will.
+
+"I never did see such a fuss as they make," thought he, "if anybody's
+more'n a minute going to the office and back."
+
+"Is this all?" said aunt Madge, as Horace gave a letter to grandma, one
+to aunt Louise, and the paper to his grandfather.
+
+"Why, yes, ma'am, that's all," replied Horace, faintly. It did seem, to
+be sure, as if Mr. Pope had given him three letters; but as he could not
+find another in his pocket, he supposed he must be mistaken, and said
+nothing about it. He little knew what a careless thing he had done, and
+soon went to bed, forgetting post-offices and letters in a strange
+dream of little Wampum, who had a bridle on and was hitched to a post;
+and of the Indian girl's ear-rings, which seemed to have grown into a
+pair of shining gold muskets.
+
+A few mornings after the mistake about the letter, Mrs. Clifford sat
+mending Horace's raglan. She emptied the pockets of twine, fish-hooks,
+jack-knife, pebbles, coppers, and nails; but still something rattled
+when she touched the jacket; it seemed to be paper. She thrust in her
+finger, and there, between the outside and lining, was a crumpled, worn
+letter, addressed to "Miss Margaret Parlin."
+
+"What does this mean?" thought Mrs. Clifford. "Horace must have carried
+the letter all summer."
+
+But upon looking at it again, she saw that it was mailed at Washington
+about two weeks before--"a soldier's letter." She carried it down to
+Margaret, who was busy making cream-cakes.
+
+"Let me see," said aunt Louise, peeping over Mrs. Clifford's shoulder,
+and laughing. "No, it's not Mr. Augustus Allen's writing; but how do you
+know somebody hasn't written it to tell you he is sick?"
+
+Aunt Madge grew quite pale, dropped the egg-beater, and carried the
+letter into the nursery to read it by herself. She opened it with
+trembling fingers; but before she had read two lines her fingers
+trembled worse than ever, her heart throbbed fast, the room seemed to
+reel about.
+
+There was no bad news in the letter, you may be sure of that. She sat
+reading it over and over again, while the tears ran down her cheeks, and
+the sunshine in her eyes dried them again. Then she folded her hands
+together, and humbly thanked God for his loving kindness.
+
+When she was sure her sister Maria had gone up stairs, she ran out to
+the kitchen, whispering,--
+
+"O, mother! O, Louise!" but broke down by laughing.
+
+"What does ail the child?" said Mrs. Parlin, laughing too.
+
+Margaret tried again to speak, but this time burst into tears.
+
+"There, it's of no use," she sobbed: "I'm so happy that it's really
+dreadful. I'm afraid somebody may die of joy."
+
+"I'm more afraid somebody'll die of curiosity," said aunt Louise: "do
+speak quick."
+
+"Well, Henry Clifford is alive," said Margaret: "that's the blessed
+truth! Now hush! We must be so careful how we tell Maria!"
+
+Mrs. Parlin caught Margaret by the shoulder, and gasped for breath.
+Louise dropped into a chair.
+
+"What do you mean? What have you heard?" they both cried at once.
+
+"He was taken off the field for dead; but life was not quite gone. He
+lay for weeks just breathing, and that was all."
+
+"But why did no one let us know it?" said Louise. "Of course Maria would
+have gone to him at once."
+
+"There was no one to write; and when Henry came to himself there was no
+hope of him, except by amputation of his left arm; and after that
+operation he was very low again."
+
+"O, why don't you give us the letter," said Louise, "so we can see for
+ourselves?"
+
+But she was too excited to read it; and while she was trying to collect
+her ideas, aunt Madge had to hunt for grandma's spectacles; and then
+the three looked over the surgeon's letter together, sometimes all
+talking at once.
+
+Captain Clifford would be in Maine as soon as possible: so the letter
+said. A young man was to come with him to take care of him, and they
+were to travel very slowly indeed; might be at home in a fort-night.
+
+"They may be here to-night," said Mrs. Parlin.
+
+This letter had been written to prepare the family for Captain
+Clifford's arrival. It was expected that aunt Madge would break the news
+to his wife.
+
+"It's such a pity that little flyaway of a Horace didn't give you the
+letter in time," said Louise; "and then we might have had some days to
+get used to it."
+
+"Wait a minute, dear," said aunt Madge, as Susy came in for a drink of
+water: "please run up and ask aunt Maria to come down stairs. Now,
+mother," she added, "you are the one to tell the story, if you please."
+
+"We can all break it to her by degrees," said Mrs. Parlin, twisting her
+checked apron nervously.
+
+When Mrs. Clifford entered the kitchen, she saw at once that something
+had happened. Her mother, with a flushed face, was opening and shutting
+the stove door. Margaret was polishing a pie-plate, with tears in her
+eyes, and Louise had seized a sieve, and appeared to be breaking eggs
+into it. Nobody wanted to speak first.
+
+"What do you say to hearing a story?" uttered Louise.
+
+"O, you poor woman," exclaimed Margaret, seizing Mrs. Clifford by both
+hands: "you look so sorrowful, dear, as if nothing would ever make you
+happy again. Can you believe we have a piece of good news for you?"
+
+"For me?" Mrs. Clifford looked bewildered.
+
+"Good news for you," said Louise, dropping the sieve to the floor: "yes,
+indeed! O, Maria, we thought Henry was killed; but he isn't; it's a
+mistake of the papers. He's alive, and coming home to-night."
+
+All this as fast as she could speak. No wonder Mrs. Clifford was
+shocked! First she stood quiet and amazed, gazing at her sister with
+fixed eyes: then she screamed, and would have fallen if her mother and
+Margaret had not caught her in their arms.
+
+"O, I have killed her," cried Louise: "I didn't mean to speak so quick!
+Henry is _almost_ dead, Maria: he is _nearly_ dead, I mean! He's just
+alive!"
+
+"Louise, bring some water at once," said Mrs. Parlin, sternly.
+
+"O, mother," sobbed Louise, returning with the water, "I didn't mean to
+be so hasty; but you might have known I would: you should have sent me
+out of the room."
+
+This was very much the way Prudy talked when she did wrong: she had a
+funny way of blaming other people.
+
+It is always unsafe to tell even joyful news too suddenly; but Louise's
+thoughtlessness had not done so much harm as they all feared. Mrs.
+Clifford recovered from the shock, and in an hour or two was wonderfully
+calm, looking so perfectly happy that it was delightful just to gaze at
+her face.
+
+She wanted the pleasure of telling the children the story with her own
+lips. Grace was fairly wild with joy, kissing everybody, and declaring
+it was "too good for anything." She was too happy to keep still, while
+as for Horace, he was too happy to talk.
+
+"Then uncle Henry wasn't gone to heaven," cried little Prudy: "hasn't he
+been to heaven at all?"
+
+"No, of course not," said Susy: "didn't you hear 'em say he'd be here
+to-night?--Now you've got on the nicest kind of a dress, and if you spot
+it up 'twill be awful."
+
+"I guess," pursued Prudy, "the man that shooted found 'twas uncle Henry,
+and so he didn't want to kill him down dead."
+
+How the family found time to do so many things that day, I do not know,
+especially as each one was in somebody's way, and the children under
+everybody's feet. But before night the pantry was full of nice things,
+the whole house was as fresh as a rose, and the parlors were adorned
+with autumn flowers and green garlands.
+
+Not only the kerosene lamps, but all the old oil lamps, were filled, and
+every candle-stick, whether brass, iron, or glass, was used to hold a
+sperm candle; so that in the evening the house at every window was all
+ablaze with light. The front door stood wide open, and the piazza and
+part of the lawn were as bright as day. The double gate had been
+unlatched for hours, and everybody was waiting for the carriage to drive
+up.
+
+The hard, uncomfortable stage, which Horace had said was like a
+baby-jumper, would never do for a sick man to ride in: so Billy Green
+had driven to the cars in his easiest carriage, and aunt Madge had gone
+with him, for she was afraid neither Billy nor the gentleman who was
+with Captain Clifford would know how to wrap the shawls about him
+carefully enough.
+
+I could never describe the joyful meeting which took place in those
+brilliantly lighted parlors. It is very rarely that such wonderful
+happiness falls to any one's lot in this world.
+
+While the smiles are yet bright on their faces, while Grace is clinging
+to her father's neck, and Horace hugs his new "real drum" in one arm,
+embracing his dear papa with the other, let us take our leave of them
+and the whole family for the present, with many kind good-by's.
+
+
+
+
+SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS.
+
+[Illustration: "By and by the colts came to the kitchen window, which
+was open, and put in their noses to ask for something to eat. Flaxie
+gave them pieces of bread."
+
+SPECIMEN OF OUT TO "FLAXIE FRIZZLE SERIES."]
+
+
+LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.
+
+"This is a book for the little ones of the nursery or play-room. It
+introduces all the old favorites of the Prudy and Dotty books with new
+characters and funny incidents. It is a charming book, wholesome and
+sweet in every respect, and cannot fail to interest children under
+twelve years of age."--_Christian Register._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE.
+
+"How she kept it, why she kept it, and what a good time she had playing
+cook, and washerwoman, and ironer, is told as only Sophie May can tell
+stories. All the funny sayings and doings of the queerest and cunningest
+little woman ever tucked away in the covers of a book will please little
+folks and grown people alike."--_Press._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+AUNT MADGE'S STORY.
+
+"Tells of a little mite of a girl, who gets into every conceivable kind
+of scrape and out again with lightning rapidity, through the whole
+pretty little book. How she nearly drowns her bosom friend, and
+afterwards saves her by a very remarkable display of little-girl
+courage. How she gets left by a train of cars, and loses her kitten and
+finds it again, and is presented with a baby sister 'come down from
+heaven,' with lots of smart and funny sayings."--_Boston Traveller._
+
+
+_Any volume sold separately._
+
+DOTTY DIMPLE SERIES.--Six volumes. Illustrated.
+
+Per volume, 75 cents.
+
+    Dotty Dimple at her Grandmother's.
+    Dotty Dimple at Home.
+    Dotty Dimple out West.
+    Dotty Dimple at Play.
+    Dotty Dimple at School.
+    Dotty Dimple's Flyaway.
+
+
+FLAXIE FRIZZLE STORIES.--Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75 cents.
+
+    Flaxie Frizzle.
+    Little Pitchers.
+    Flaxie's Kittyleen.
+    Doctor Papa.
+    The Twin Cousins.
+    Flaxie Growing Up.
+
+
+LITTLE PRUDY STORIES.--Six volumes. Handsomely Illustrated. Per volume,
+75 cents.
+
+    Little Prudy.
+    Little Prudy's Sister Susy.
+    Little Prudy's Captain Horace.
+    Little Prudy's Story Book.
+    Little Prudy's Cousin Grace.
+    Little Prudy's Dotty Dimple.
+
+
+LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES.--Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75
+cents.
+
+    Little Folks Astray.
+    Little Grandmother.
+    Prudy Keeping House.
+    Little Grandfather.
+    Aunt Madge's Story.
+    Miss Thistledown.
+
+    LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS,
+    BOSTON.
+
+
+
+
+PENN SHIRLEY'S BOOKS.
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1886, by Lee & Shepard.
+
+SPECIMEN ILLUSTRATION FROM "LITTLE MISS WEEZY."]
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1833, by Lee and Shepard.
+
+SPECIMEN ILLUSTRATION FROM "LITTLE MISS WEEZY'S SISTER."]
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Captain Horace, by Sophie May
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
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author	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 02:17:24 -0700
committer	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 02:17:24 -0700
commit	a9e2091bbd03391e823a5dcadba14f64212c3a19 (patch)
tree	10f70cff4e71f2705f0080015e82d687ccb6a00a