[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 1893LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS10 MILK STREET NEXT "THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE"

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, byLEE & SHEPARD, In the Clerk's Office of the District Courtof 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 fishingand training, --Horace is very much like you, I suppose. He is by nomeans perfect, but he is brave and kind, and scorns a lie. I hope youand 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, andfrom the front windows of the house you could look out on the broadOhio, a river which would be very beautiful, if its yellow waters wereonly once settled. As far as the eye could see, the earth was one vastplain, 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 partway to meet the sky. 

One fine evening in May, brown-eyed Horace and blue-eyed Grace stood onthe balcony, leaning against the iron railing, watching the stars, andchatting together. 

One thing is very sure: they never dreamed that from this evening theirsayings 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 hownervously Grace would have laughed! walking about very fast, andsaying, --

"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 dresson! And tell them to make Horace talk better! He plays so much with theDutch boys. O, Horace isn't fit to print!"

This is what she might have said if she had thought of being "put in abook;" but as she knew nothing at all about it, she only stood veryquietly leaning against the balcony-railing, and looking up at theevening sky, merry with stars. 

"What a shiny night, Horace! What do the stars look like? Is it diamondrings?"

"I'll tell you, Gracie; it's cigars they look like--just the ends ofcigars when somebody is smoking. "

At that moment the cluster called the "Seven Sisters" was drowned in asoft, white cloud. 

"Look, " said Grace; "there are some little twinkles gone to sleep, alltucked up in a coverlet. I don't see what makes you think of dirtycigars! They look to me like little specks of gold harps ever so faroff, so you can't hear the music. O, Horace, don't you want to be anangel, and play on a beautiful harp?"

"I don't know, " said her brother, knitting his brows, and thinking amoment; "when I can't live any longer, you know, then I'd like to go upto heaven; but now, I'd a heap sooner be a _soldier_!"

"O, Horace, you'd ought to rather be an angel! Besides, you're toolittle for a soldier!"

"But I grow. Just look at my hands; they're bigger than yours, thisminute!"

"Why, Horace Clifford, what makes them so black?"

"O, _that's_ no account! I did it climbin' trees. Barby tried to scourit off, but it sticks. I don't care--soldiers' hands ain't white, arethey, 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, ifyou 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'dbe ready in half an hour. "

They went into the library, which opened upon the balcony, through thepassage, down the front stairs, and into the kitchen, Pincher followingclose at their heels. 

It was a very tidy kitchen, whose white floor was scoured every day witha scrubbing-brush. Bright tin pans were shining upon the walls, and inone corner stood a highly polished cooking-stove, over which BarbaraKinckle, a rosy-cheeked German girl, was stooping to watch a kettle ofboiling molasses. Every now and then she raised the spoon with which shewas stirring it, and let the half-made candy drip back into the kettlein ropy streams. It looked very tempting, and gave out a delicious odor. Perhaps it was not strange that the children thought they were keptwaiting 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 mindfor the worst; "don't you know how it sugared off once when ma wasmaking it, and let the fire go 'most out'?"

"Now just hear them childers, " said good-natured Barbara; "where's thelittle boy and girl that wasn't to speak to me one word, if I biled 'emsome candies?"

"There, now, Barby, I wasn't speaking to you, " said Horace; "I mean Iwasn't talking to _her_, Grace. Look here: I've heard you spell, butyou 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 ideawhat it meant. He knew there was a book called the Koran, and would havetold you Mr. Mohammed wrote it; but so had Mr. Colburn written anArithmetic, 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 aspossible like tall Miss Allen, her teacher. "Please repeat your verse. "

The first sentence read, "They consider Moses and Christ as trueprophets, but Mohammed as the greatest and last. "

"I'll tell you, " said Horace: "they think that Christ and Moses was goodenough 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 ofit. Ma, musn't I get the sense of it?" he added, as Mrs. Cliffordentered the kitchen. 

"But, mamma, " broke in Grace, eagerly, "our teacher wants us to committhe verses: she says a great deal about committing the verses. "

"If you would give me time to answer, " said Mrs. Clifford, smiling, "Ishould say both your teachers are quite right. You should 'get the senseof it, ' as Horace says, and after that commit the verses. "

"But, ma, do you think Horace should say 'heap, ' and 'no account, ' andsuch words?"

"It would certainly please me, " said Mrs. Clifford, "if he would try tospeak more correctly. My little boy knows how much I dislike some of hisexpressions. "

"There, Horace, " cried Grace, triumphantly, "I always said you talkedjust like the Dutch boys; and it's very, very improper!"

But just then it became evident that the molasses was boiled enough, forBarbara poured it into a large buttered platter, and set it out of doorsto cool. After this, the children could do nothing but watch the candytill it was ready to pull. 

Then there was quite a bustle to find an apron for Horace, and to makesure that his little stained hands were "spandy clean, " and "fluffed"all over with flour, from his wrists to the tips of his fingers. Gracesaid she wished it wasn't so much trouble to attend to boys; and, afterall, Horace only pulled a small piece of the candy, and dropped half ofthat on the nice white floor. 

Barbara did the most of the pulling. She was quite a sculptor when shehad plastic candy in her hands. Some of it she cut into sticks, and someshe twisted into curious images, supposed to be boys and girls, horsesand sheep. 

After Grace and Horace had eaten several of the "boys and girls, " to saynothing of "handled baskets, " and "gentlemen's slippers, " Barbarathought it high time they were "sound abed and asleep. "

So now, as they go up stairs, we will wish them a good night andpleasant dreams. 

CHAPTER II. 

CAMPING OUT. 

"What is the matter with my little son?" said Mr. Clifford, one morningat breakfast; for Horace sat up very stiffly in his chair, and refusedboth eggs and muffins, choosing instead a slice of dry toast and a glassof water. 

"Are you sick, Horace?" asked his mother, tenderly. 

"No, ma'am, " replied the boy, blushing; "but I want to get to be asoldier!"

Mr. Clifford and his wife looked at each other across the table, andsmiled. 

"O, papa, " said Grace, "I shouldn't want to be a soldier if I couldn'thave anything nice to eat. Can't they get pies and canned peaches andthings? Will they go without buckwheat cakes and sirup in the winter?"

"Ah! my little daughter, men who love their country are willing to makegreater sacrifices than merely nice food. "

Horace put on one of his lofty looks, for he somehow felt that hisfather 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 thingfor 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 Iought to go, she will make what is called a sacrifice. "

"Do not let us speak of it now, Henry, " said Mrs. Clifford, lookingquite pale. 

"O, my dear papa, " cried Grace, bursting into tears, "we couldn't liveif you went to the war!"

Horace looked at the acorn on the lid of the coffee-urn, but saidnothing. It cost his little heart a pang even to think of parting fromhis beloved father; but then wouldn't it be a glorious thing to hear himcalled General Clifford? And if he should really go away, wasn't itlikely that the oldest boy, Horace, would take his place at the head ofthe 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 forHorace to sit in the arm-chair and help the others to the butter, thetoast, and the meat. 

"Horace, " said Mr. Clifford, smiling, "it will be some years before youcan 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 madeHorace wince a little. "But the eating of dry bread is only a small partof the soldier's tough times, my boy. Soldiers have to sleep on the hardground, with knapsacks for pillows; they have to march, through wet anddry, with heavy muskets, which make their arms ache. "

"Look here, Barby, " said Horace, that evening; "I want a knapsack, tolearn to be a soldier with. If I have 'tough times' now, I'll get usedto it. Can't you find my carpet-bag, Barby?"

"Carpet-bag? And what for a thing is that?" said Barbara, rousing from anap, and beginning to click her knitting-needles. "Here I was asleepagain. Now, if I did keep working in the kitchen, I could sit up justwhat 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 herleft hand, after the German fashion. 

"But the carpet-bag, Barby: there's a black one 'some place, ' in thetrunk-closet or up-attic. Now, Barby, you know I helped pick thosequails 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 thefloor in the bathing-room. O, Barby, I'll sleep like a trooper!"

But Horace was a little mistaken. A hard, unyielding floor makes a poorbed; and when, at the same time, one's neck is almost put out of jointby 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;" andI am sorry to say that he employed some of the moon-light hours instudying the workmanship of his mother's watch, which had been left, byaccident, 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 quickthrob of fright, and he stole off to his chamber, undressed, and went tobed in the dark. 

Next morning he did not awake as early as usual, and, to his greatdismay, came very near being late to breakfast. 

"Good morning, little buzzard-lark, " said his sister, coming into hisroom 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 madeno 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 agirl? Part the way you ought to, and lie down smooth! We'll see whichwill beat!"

"Why, what in the world is this?" exclaimed Grace, as something heavydropped 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'mgoing down stairs, this very minute, to tell my mother you've beenhurting her beautiful gold watch!"

"Stop!" cried the boy, suddenly finding his voice; "I reckon I can fixit! I was meaning to tell ma! I only wanted to see that little thinginside 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 besoldiers and generals, " said Grace, shaking her ringlets; "but I'm goingright 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'tthere a little voice at your heart, and don't it say, you've donewicked?"

"There's a voice there, " replied the boy, pertly; "but it don't say whatyou think it does. It says, 'If your pa finds out about the watch, won'tyou catch it?'"

To do Horace justice, he did mean to tell his mother. He had been taughtto speak the truth, and the whole truth, cost what it might. He knewthat his parents could forgive almost anything sooner than a falsehood, or a cowardly concealment. Words cannot tell how Mr. Clifford hateddeceit. 

"When a _lie_ tempts you, Horace, " said he, "scorn it, if it looks everso 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 motherwore sorrowful faces. 

After breakfast, Mr. Clifford called him into the library. In the firstplace, he took to pieces the mangled watch, and showed him how it hadbeen 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 hemade no reply. 

"Answer me, Horace. "

"No, sir. "

"It will cost several dollars to pay for repairing this watch: don'tyou think the little boy who did the mischief should give part of themoney?"

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 tobuy fire-crackers. So you see, if he is truly sorry for his fault, heknows the way to atone for it. "

Horace's conscience told him, by a twinge, that it would be no more thanjust 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 manyshapes as if they had been made of gutta percha. This was a bad habit ofhis, 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 decidewhether he ought to give up any of his money. A tear trembled in each ofHorace's eyes, but, before they could fall, he caught them on his thumband forefinger. 

"Now, " continued Mr. Clifford, "I have something to tell you. I decidedlast 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 towait on the generals and things! I can wait on you. I can comb yourhair, and bring your slippers. If I could be a waiter, I'd go aflyin'. "

"Poor child, " laughed Mr. Clifford, stroking Horace's head, "you're sucha very little boy, only eight years old!"

"I'm going on nine. I'll be nine next New Year's Gift-day, " stammeredHorace, the bright flush dying out of his cheeks. "O, pa, I don't wantyou to go, if I can't go too!"

Mr. Clifford's lips trembled. He took the little boy on his knee, andtold 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 oftenfall into mischief; if he was always sure to _remember_. "

The boy's neck was twisted around till his father could only see theback 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 doit 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 alwaysmake amends for it as well as you can. If you do not, you're unjust anddishonest. "

I will not repeat all that Mr. Clifford said to his little son. Horacethought then he should never forget his father's good advice, nor hisown promises. We shall see whether he did or not. 

He was a restless, often a very naughty boy; but when you looked at hisbroad forehead and truthful eyes, you felt that, back of all his faults, there was nobleness in his boyish soul. His father often said, "He willeither make something or nothing;" and his mother answered, "Yes, therenever 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. Gracewas 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; butshe could not trust her voice to talk a great deal, or sing much to thebaby. 

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 friendswas dead and buried. The family were to break up housekeeping, andBarbara was very sorry. Now she would have to go to her home, a littleway back in the country, and work in the fields, as many German girls doevery summer. 

"O, my heart is sore, " said she, "every time I thinks of it. They willin 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 lastwords to Horace were these: "Always obey your mother, my boy, andremember 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 tobe, the greatest officer in Indiana!

If any body else had shown as much self-esteem as Horace did, the boyswould have said he had "the _big_ head. " When Yankee children think aplaymate conceited, they call him "stuck up;" but Hoosier children sayhe has "the _big_ head. " No one spoke in this way of Horace, however, for there was something about him which made everybody like him, inspite of his faults. 

He loved his play-fellows, and they loved him, and were sorry enough tohave him go away; though, perhaps, they did not shed so many tears asGrace'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, thaton the morning the family started for the east, there were a great manypeople "crying their hearts out of their eyes. " Still, I believe no onesorrowed 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 withthree children; but she needed the bracing air of New England, and sodid 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 hisnew mustache than he did of trunks, and checks, and tickets. 

Twenty times a day Mrs. Clifford wished her husband could have gone withher before he enlisted, for she hardly knew what to do with restlesslittle 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, forhe never remembered a caution five minutes. He delighted to run up anddown the narrow aisle, and, putting his hands on the arms of the seats, swing backward and forward with all his might. He became acquainted withevery lozenge-boy and every newspaper-boy on the route, and seemed to bein a high state of merriment from morning till night. 

Grace, who was always proper and well-behaved, was not a littlemortified 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, Iwill be greatly obliged. "

Mr. Lazelle would reply, "O, certainly, madam; be quite easy about thechild; he is not out of my sight for a moment!"

So saying, perhaps he would go in search of him, and find him under aseat playing with Pincher, his clothes covered with dust, and his caplying between somebody's feet. 

At such times Mr. Lazelle always said, --"Upon my word, you're a prettylittle fellow!" and looked as if he would like to shake him, if it werenot for soiling his gloves. 

Horace laughed when Mr. Lazelle called him "a pretty little fellow, " andthought 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 voicewhich Horace considered very amusing. 

"I'll wait till he gets through scolding, and goes to coaxing, " thoughtthe 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 hewould never again take charge of a lady travelling with children. At onetime he flew into a passion, and boxed the boy's ears. Horace felt verymuch like a wounded wasp. He knew Mr. Lazelle would not have daredstrike 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 verylikely to be missing; and when that sorely tried young gentleman wasalmost 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 enoughthat I should have the care of him, without being all the while anxiousabout you?"

"Yes, " chimed in Grace, pushing back her beautiful curls, "you don'tknow how ma and I fret about you. You'll kill poor ma before ever we canget you east!"

Horace hung his head for shame, and decided that it didn't "pay" topunish Mr. Lazelle, if his mother must suffer too. He meant, for hersake, to "turn over a new leaf, " though he did not say so. 

On the afternoon of their second day's ride, they reached the beautifulcity of Cleveland. Here they were to rest for a few hours. Their clotheswere sadly tumbled, their collars dust-color, and their faces and hairrough with cinders. A thorough washing and brushing, and some freshruffles and laces, gave a much tidier appearance to the whole party. 

After Grace and Horace were ready, Mrs. Clifford thought they might aswell 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 uponyou to take care of Horace, for he may forget. "

The children had been standing on the piazza for some time, watching thepeople passing, while Mr. Lazelle lounged near by, talking politics withsome gentlemen. In a little while Mrs. Clifford sent for Grace to go upstairs 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, stillgazing into the street, when, suddenly, he heard a faint sound ofmartial music: a brass band was turning the corner. Soon they were insight, 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 thatMr. Lazelle was in the parlor; but no, Horace was sure he must havecrossed the street to look at the band. 

"I'm going, too, " said he to himself. "Of course, where Mr. Lazellegoes, I can go, for he has the care of me!"

With that he dashed headlong into the crowd, looking here, there, andeverywhere for Mr. Lazelle. 

But, O, that music! Did a little boy's boots ever stand still when adrum was playing, "March, march away"? No doubt his father was keepingstep to just such sounds, on his path to martial glory! The fife andbugle 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, butit seemed as if the music almost drowned the voice of his conscience. 

In this way they turned street after street, till, suddenly, the bandand 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 theboxed ears. How could he ever find his way back to the hotel? It had notas yet entered his head to ask any one. 

He darted off at great speed, but, as it happened, in precisely thewrong direction. The houses grew smaller and farther apart, andpresently he came to a high, sandy cliff overlooking the lake. Now theshades 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 thetears would start, in spite of himself. 

At last, just as he was wondering which way to turn next, somebodytouched his shoulder, and a rough voice said, --

"Hullo, my little man! What you doin' in this ward? Come; don't you pullaway from me: I'm a city officer. Got lost, hey?"

Horace shook with fright. O dear, was it a crime, then, to get lost? Heremembered all the stories he had ever heard of lock-ups, andstate-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 yourname, my little man, before you got lost, and didn't get lost _much_?"

"My name is Horace Clifford, sir, " replied the boy, wondering why acruel 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'syou, we won't put you in the lock-up this time. "

Horace was very grateful to the officer for not handcuffing him on thespot; still he felt as if it was a great disgrace to be marched throughthe 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 surehe was not hurt anywhere. "It would have been good enough for you ifyou'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 hereyelids were very red from crying. 

"I'll never let go your hand again, Horace, " said she, "till we get tograndma's. You're just as _slippery_!"

Mr. Lazelle looked as if it would be an immense relief to him if MissGrace would keep her word; he thought he was undergoing a great trialwith 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 withHorace that night, nor how the boy's heart swelled with grief, andlove, and new resolutions. 

This adventure caused a day's delay, for it made the party too late forthe boat. Horace was so sorry for his foolish conduct, that he spent thenext day in the most subdued manner, and walked about the chamber ontiptoe, while Grace tried to soothe little Katie. 

But, in crossing the lake, he "forgot" again. His mother allowed him togo up on the hurricane deck with Mr. Lazelle, just for ten minutes; andthere he became acquainted with the pilot, who was struck with hisintelligence, and freely answered all the questions he asked about theengine, "the whistle, " and the steering. 

"O, pshaw!" said Horace; "I'll make a steamboat myself, and give it toGrace for a present!"

Full of this new plan, he left the pilot without so much as a "thankyou, " 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 topeople or things, and nearly ran over an Irish boy, who was drawing upwater in buckets for washing. Somebody shouted, "He's trying to killhisself, I do believe!"

Somebody rushed forward to seize the daring child by the collar of hisjacket, 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 hadjust sent Grace to call him, not feeling safe to trust him longer withMr. Lazelle. She rushed through the door of the state-room, and followedthe 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--itwas a life-preserver; that is, it would not sink--and the drowning boyhad 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, andHorace as well as ever, though a little pale, "I do believe there neverwas anybody had such an awful journey! _Do_ you suppose we'll ever getHorace home to grandma's?"

CHAPTER IV. 

AT GRANDPA PARLIN'S. 

It was over at last--the long, tedious journey, which Horace spoiled foreverybody, and which nobody but Horace enjoyed. 

When they drove up to the quiet old homestead at Willowbrook, andsomebody had taken the little baby, poor Mrs. Clifford threw herselfinto her mother's arms, and sobbed like a child. Everybody else cried, too; and good, deaf grandpa Parlin, with smiles and tears at the sametime, declared, --

"I don't know what the matter is; so I can't tell whether to laugh orcry. "

Then his daughter Margaret went up and said in his best ear that theywere just crying for joy, and asked him if that wasn't a silly thing todo. 

Grace embraced everybody twice over; but Horace was a little shy, andwould only give what his aunties called "canary kisses. "

"Margaret, I want you to give me that darling baby this minute, " saidMrs. Parlin, wiping her eyes. "Now you can bring the butter out of thecellar: it's all there is to be done, except to set the tea on thetable. "

Then grandma Parlin had another cry over little Katie: not such astrange thing, for she could not help thinking of Harry, the baby withsad 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 toheaven, but the tired part of him is in the garden. "

Yes, under a weeping-willow. Everybody was thinking just now of tiredlittle Harry, "the sweetest flower that ever was planted in thatgarden. "

"Why, Maria, " said Mrs. Clifford, as soon as she could speak, "how didyou ever travel so far with this little, little baby?"

"I don't know, mother, " replied Mrs. Clifford; "I think I could neverhave got here without Grace: she has been my little waiter, and Katie'slittle 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 muchtrouble as the baby; but she was too kind to wound her little boy'sfeelings. 

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 pleasantdining-room. 

First, there was cream-toast, made of the whitest bread, and thesweetest cream. 

"This makes me think of Mrs. Gray, " said Mrs. Clifford, smiling; "I hopeshe 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 yearago. 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 sometime. 

There was chicken-salad on the table. Margaret made that--putting in newbutter, because she knew Mrs. Clifford did not like oil. 

There was delicious looking cake, "some that had been touched withfrost, and some that hadn't, " as grandpa said, when he passed thebasket. 

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 tillthey had caught all the richness and sweetness of summer. 

"O, ma!" whispered Grace, "I'm beginning to feel so happy! I only wishmy father was here. "

After tea, grandpa took Horace and Grace on each knee, large as theywere, and sang some delightful evening hymns with what was left of hisonce fine voice. He looked so peaceful and happy, that his daughterswere reminded of the Bible verse, "Children's children are the crown ofold men. "

"I think now, " said Mrs. Clifford, coming back from putting the baby tosleep, "it's high time my boy and girl were saying, 'Good-night, andpleasant 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 whenhe was two years old. '_Her_ can't put me to bed, ' he would say; 'her'stoo _little_. '"

"I remember, " said Margaret, "how he dreaded cold water. When his mothercalled 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 auntMadge up stairs. Now, there was a certain small room, whose one windowopened upon the piazza, and it was called "the green chamber. " Itcontained a cunning little bedstead, a wee bureau, a dressing-table, andwashing-stand, all pea-green. It was a room which seemed to have beenmade and furnished on purpose for a child, and it had been promised toGrace in every letter aunt Madge had written to her for a year. 

Horace had thought but little about the room till to-night, when hisaunt 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 offlowers. 

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 thatnobody could reach it without a very tall ladder. 

"Now, " said aunt Madge, "the very first thing Grace hears in the morningwill 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 sometimesjealous; but she could not help knowing it now, for a very disagreeableexpression looked out at his eyes, and drew down the corners of hismouth. 

"Why, Horace dear, we have to put you in one of the back chambers, justas we did when you were here before; but you know it's a nice cleanroom, with white curtains, and you can look out of the window at thegarden. "

"But it's over the kitchen!"

"There, Horace, " said Grace, "I'd be ashamed! You don't act like alittle 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 thebaby. "

"But if I could have this little cunning room, I'd go a flyin'. Graceain't company any more than me. "

Aunt Madge remembered Horace's hit-or-miss way of using things, andthought of the elephant that once walked into a china shop. 

Grace laughed aloud. 

"Why, Horace Clifford, you'd make the room look like everything; youknow 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 withouthis usual good-night kiss, and when he repeated his prayer, I am afraidhe was thinking all the while about the green chamber. 

The next morning the children had intended to go into the garden brightand early. Grace loved flowers, and when she was a mere baby, just ableto toddle into the meadow, she would clip off the heads of buttercupsand primroses, hugging and kissing them like friends. 

Horace, too, had some fancy for flowers, especially flaring ones, likesunflowers and hollyhocks. Dandelions were nice when the stems wouldcurl without bothering, and poppies were worth while for little girls, he thought, because, after they are gone to seed, you can make them intopretty good teapots. 

He wanted to go out in the garden now for humming-birds, and to see ifthe dirt-colored toad was still living in his "nest, " in one of theflower-beds. 

But the first thing the children heard in the morning was the patteringof rain or the roof. No going out to-day. Grace was too tired to caremuch. Horace felt cross; but remembering how many messages hisgrandmother had sent to her "good little grandson, " and how often auntMadge had written about "dear little Horace, the nephew she was so proudof, " he felt ashamed to go down stairs scowling. If his good-morningsmile was so thin that you could see a frown through it, still it wasbetter than no smile at all. 

The breakfast was very nice, and Horace would have enjoyed the hotgriddle-cakes and maple sirup, only his aunt Louise, a handsome younglady 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 besomething bad, for with a child's quick eye he could see that his prettyaunt was inclined to laugh at him. In fact, he had quite an odd way oftalking, and his whole appearance was amusing to Miss Louise, who was avery lively young lady. 

"Horace, you were telling me last night about Mr. Lazelle: what did yousay was the color of his coat?"

"I said it was _blueberry_ color, " replied Horace, who could see, almostwithout looking up, that aunt Louise was smiling at aunt Madge. 

"He is a _musicianer_ too, I think you said, and his hair _crimps_. Dearme, what a funny man!"

Horace was silent, and made up his mind that he should be carefulanother time what he said before aunt Louise. 

Soon after breakfast he and Pincher went "up-attic" to see what theycould find, while Grace followed her grandmother and aunties from parlorto kitchen, and from kitchen to pantry. She looked pale and tired, butwas 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 tallerthan himself. Mrs. Clifford was shocked at first, but smiled the nextmoment, 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 screamedwith fright, and ran away as fast as she could. 

"I don't care, " cried she, coming back, a little ashamed at beinglaughed at; "how did _I_ know it wasn't loaded? Do you think 'twouldlook well for a little girl _not_ to be afraid of a gun?"

This speech amused everybody, particularly Horace, who was glad to haveGrace say a foolish thing once in a while. It raised his self-esteemsomehow; and, more than that, he liked to remember her little slips ofthe tongue, and tease her about them. 

It was not long before he had seen all there was to be seen in thehouse, and wanted to "_do_ something. " As for reading, that was usuallytoo 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 atevery trial. 

This was more than he could bear with patience; and, whenever he sawthat 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 jumpthat man yonder, so she'll take two of mine, and go right in theking-row!"

"But, Horace, " said Grace, gently, "what do I play for if I don't try tobeat?"

"There now, " cried he, "chase my men up to the king-row, so I can'tcrown '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'mgoing to _huff_ your man. See, I blow it, just this way; old Mr. Knightcalls it _huffing_. "

"Huff away then! but you stole one of those kings. I'll bet you stole itoff the board after I jumped it. "

"Now, Horace Clifford, " cried Grace, with tears in her eyes, "I neverdid 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 tospeak, "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 havespoken a great many sharp words to your kind sister?

"Shut the board right up, my child; and remember from this time never toplay checkers, or any other game, when you feel yourself growingfretful! As you sometimes say, 'It doesn't pay. '"

Horace closed the board, looking ashamed. 

"That's sound advice for everybody, " said aunt Madge, stroking herlittle nephew's hair. "If children always remembered it, they would getalong more pleasantly together--I know they would. "

Grace had been looking ill all the morning, and her mother now sawsymptoms of a chill. With all her tender anxiety she had not known howtired her little daughter was. It was two or three weeks before thechild was rested; and whenever she had a chill, which was every thirdday 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 forthe baby. "

And sometimes Mrs. Clifford would call Horace to come and take hissister's hand, just to assure her that he was not lying cold and dead inthe waters of Lake Erie. It was really touching to see how heavily thecares 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 thechildren go to school, as they had been kept at their studies for nearlynine months without a vacation, except Christmas holidays. 

But what was to be done with Horace? Aunt Louise, who was notpassionately fond of children, declared her trials were greater than shecould bear. Grace was a little tidy, she thought; but as for Horace, andhis dog Pincher, and the "calico kitty, " which he had picked up for apet!--Louise disliked dogs and despised kittens. Sometimes, as she toldMargaret, she felt as if she should certainly fly; sometimes she wassure she was going crazy; and then again it seemed as if her head wouldburst into a thousand pieces. 

None of these dreadful accidents happened, it is true; but a great manyother things did. Hammers, nails, and augers were carried off, and leftto rust in the dew. A cup of green paint, which for months had stoodquietly on an old shelf in the store-room, was now taken down andstirred with a stick, and all the toys which Horace whittled out werestained green, and set in the sun to dry. A pair of cheese-tongs, whichhung in the back room, a boot-jack, the washing-bench, which was oncered, --all became green in a very short time: only the red of the benchhad a curious effect, peeping out from its light and ragged coat ofgreen. 

The blue sled which belonged to Susy and Prudy was brought down from theshed-chamber, and looked at for some time. It would present a lovelyappearance, Horace thought, if he only dared cross it off with green. But as the sled belonged to his little cousins, and they were not thereto see for themselves how beautiful he could make it look, why, he mustwait till they came; and then, very likely, the paint would be gone. 

Of course, Horace soiled his clothes sadly: "that was always just likehim, " his aunt Louise said. 

This was not all. A little neighbor, Gilbert Brown, came to the house atall 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 thefence, 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 hiredman. 

"Hard-working boys! They are as destructive as army-worms, " declaredgrandpa, frowning, with a twinkle in his eye. 

Horace had a cannon about a foot long, which went on wheels, with a boxbehind it, and a rammer lashed on at the side--not to mention anAmerican flag which floated over the whole. With a stout string he drewhis cannon up to the large oilnut tree, and then with a real bayonetfixed to a wooden gun, he would lie at full length under the shade, calling himself a sharpshooter guarding the cannon. At these times woeto the "calico kitty, " or Grace, or anybody else who happened to gonear him! for he gave the order to "charge, " and the charge was mademost vigorously. 

Upon the whole, it was decided that everybody would feel easier andhappier if Horace should go to school. This plan did not please him atall, 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 shouldhave been a comfort to her. It was sad, indeed; for never did a kindmother try harder to "train up a child" in the right way. 

It did not take Horace a great while to renew his acquaintance with theschoolboys, who all seemed to look upon him as a sort of curiosity. 

"I never knew before, " laughed little Dan Rideout, "that my name wasDan-yell!"

"He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper a _tin-kup_, " said GilbertBrown. 

"Yes, " chimed in Willy Snow, "and he asks, 'Is school _took up_?' justas 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 theway he does! I'll bet _the ain't_ a boy can do it, unless it's aCahoojack. " Peter meant _Hoosier_. 

"Well, I wouldn't be seen saying _hoss_, " returned Horace, with somespirit; "that's _Yankee_. "

"I guess the Yankees are as good as the Cahoojacks: wasn't your mother aYankee?"

"Yes, " faltered Horace; "she was born up north here, in the FrigidZone; but she isn't so much relation to me as my father is, for her namewasn't Clifford. She wouldn't have been _any_ relation to me if shehadn't married my father!"

One or two of the larger boys laughed at this speech, and Horace, whocould never endure ridicule, stole quietly away. 

"Now, boys, you behave, " said Edward Snow, Willy's older brother; "he'sa smart little fellow, and it's mean to go to hurting his feelings. Comeback 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 myname. "

"Well, then, " said Edward Snow, winking to the other boys, "won't youplay with us, _Master Horace_?"

"I'll not go back to be laughed at, " replied he, stoutly: "when I'm homeI 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 littleWilly Snow; "we can't help it, you talk so funny. We don't meananything. "

"Well, " said Horace, quite restored to good humor, and speaking withsome 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 andtears round! 'Sei ruhig, ' he says: that means, 'hush your mouth and keepstill. '"

"Is he a Jew, and does he stay in a synagogue?"

"No, he is a German _Luteran_, or a Dutch _Deformed_, or something thatway. "

"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, andscreamin' 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 schoolmateslooked up at him in wonder and admiration. This was just what Horaceenjoyed; 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 respectfulastonishment. 

"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 ofwriting. 

It was not two days before he was at the head of that part of the schoolknown as "the small boys, " both in study and play; yet everybody likedhim, for, as I have said before, the little fellow had such a strongsense of justice, and such kindness of heart, that he was always afavorite, in spite of his faults. 

The boys all said there was nothing "mean" about Horace. He wouldneither abuse a smaller child, nor see one abused. If he thought a boywas doing wrong, he was not afraid to tell him so, and you may be surehe was all the more respected for his moral courage. 

Horace talked to his schoolmates a great deal about his father, CaptainClifford, who was going to be a general some day. 

"When I was home, " said he, "I studied pa's book of _tictacs_, and Iused to drill the boys. "

There was a loud cry of "Why can't you drill us? Come, let's us have acompany, and you be cap'n!"

Horace gladly consented, and the next Saturday afternoon a meeting wasappointed at the "Glen. " When the time came, the boys were all as joyfulas 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'mgoing to be captain, you must mind; will you? _say_. "

Horace was not much of a public speaker; he threw words together just asit 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 youwere 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 broughttheir 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 orbar'l to stand you on when you talk. "

After some time an empty flour barrel was brought, and placed uprightunder a tree, to serve as a dunce-block. 

"Now we'll begin 'new, " said the captain. "Those that want to bemustered, rise up their hands; but don't you snap your fingers. "

The caution came too late for some of the boys; but Horace forgave theseeming 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 insolo. 

"And our flag, " added Horace, as an after-thought. 

"And our flag, " repeated the boys, looking at the little banner of starsand stripes, which was fastened to the stump of a tree, and faintlyfluttered in the breeze. 

"Long may it wave!" cried Horace, growing enthusiastic, and pointingbackward to the flag with a sweep of his thumb. 

"There ain't a 'Secesh' in this company; there ain't a man but wants ourbattle 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 firmlytogether, as if it would shout scorn of secession if it dared speak. Itwas a loyal company; there was no doubt of that. Indeed, the captain wasso bitter against the South, that he had asked his aunt Madge if it wasright to let _southernwood_ grow in the garden. 

"Now, " said Horace, "Forward! March! 'Ploy column!--No, form a linefirst. Ten_tion_!"

A curved, uncertain line, not unlike the letter S, graduallystraightened itself, and the boys looked down to their feet as if theyexpected to see a chalk-mark on the grass. 

"Now, when I say, 'Right!' you must look at the buttons on my jacket--oron 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 thereseemed 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 beany punishin'. --Can't some of you whistle?"

Willy Snow struck up Yankee Doodle, which soon charmed the wayward feetof 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 InfantryTactics, 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. Ofcourse he meant a "hollow square. "

"Shall we holler all together?" cried a voice from the midst of theranks. 

The owner of the voice would have been "stood on the barrel, " if Horacehad been less busy thinking. 

"I've forgot how they holler, as true as you live; but I reckon it's alltogether, and open your mouths wide. "

[Illustration: STAND BY THE FLAG. --Page 85. ]

At this the young volunteers, nothing loath, gave a long, deafeningshout, which the woods caught up and echoed. 

Horace scratched his head. He had seen his father drill his men, but hecould not remember that he had ever heard them scream. 

A pitched battle came off next, which would have been a very peacefulone if all the boys had not wanted to be Northerners. But the feelingwas greatly changed when Horace joined the Southern ranks, saying "hedidn't care how much he played Secesh when everybody knew he was a goodUnion man, and his father was going to be a general. " After this therewas no trouble about raising volunteers on the rebel side. 

The whole affair ended very pleasantly, only there was some slashingright and left with a few bits of broken glass, which were used asswords; and several mothers had wounds to dress that night. 

Mrs. Clifford heard no complaint from her little son, although hisfingers were quite ragged, and must have been painful. Horace was reallya brave boy, and always bore suffering like a hero. More than that, hehad the satisfaction of using the drops of blood for red paint; and thefirst thing after supper he made a wooden sword and gun, and dashed themwith red streaks. 

CHAPTER VI. 

SUSY AND PRUDY. 

The Clifford children were very anxious to see Susy and Prudy, and itseemed a long while to wait; but the Portland schools had a vacation atlast, 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 timeshe went to the window to look out, the ball of her knitting-workfollowed her, as Grace said, "like a little kitten. "

There was great joy when the stage really drove up to the door. Thecousins 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 thestiffness wore away, and they were all as well acquainted as ever theyhad been, in about ten minutes. 

"Ain't that a bumpin' stage, though?" cried Horace; "just like ababy-jumper. "

"We came in it, you know, Susy, " said Grace; "didn't it shake like acorn-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 hadlast 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 soHorace thought. He liked her pretty face, her gentle ways, and said veryoften, 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 hecould; still Horace did not fancy her half as much as Prudy, who couldnot run much without falling down, and who was always sure to cry if shegot hurt. 

Grace and Susy were glad that Horace liked Prudy so well, for when theywere cutting out dolls' dresses, or playing with company, it waspleasant to have him take her out of the way. 

Prudy's mouth was not much larger than a button-hole, but she opened itas wide as she could when she saw Horace whittle out such wonderfultoys. 

He tried to be as much as possible like a man; so he worked with hisjacket off, whistling all the while; and when he pounded, he drew in hisbreath with a whizzing noise, such as he had heard carpenters make. 

All this was very droll to little Prudy, who had no brothers, andsupposed her "captain cousin" must be a very remarkable boy, especiallyas he told her that, if he hadn't left his tool-box out west, he couldhave done "a heap better. " It was quite funny to see her standing overhim with such a happy, wondering little face, sometimes singing snatchesof 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 "crossedoff with green;" but Susy would not consent. So Horace made a doll'ssled 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 bepainted green. 

But as Captain Horace was just preparing to add this finishing touch, alady arrived with little twin-boys, four years old. Aunt Madge came intothe shed to call Horace and Prudy. "O, auntie, " said Horace, "I don'tbelieve I care to play with those little persons!"

His aunt smiled at hearing children called "little persons, " but toldHorace it would not be polite to neglect his young visitors: it would bepositively rude. Horace did not wish to be considered an ill-manneredboy, and at last consented to have his hands and garments cleansed withturpentine 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 thatit was exceedingly hard work to be polite. 

When it was well over, Prudy said, "The next lady that comes here, Ihope she won't bring any little _double boys_! What do I love littleboys for, 'thout they're my cousins?"

After the sled was carefully dried, Horace printed on it the words "LadyJane, " in large yellow letters. His friend Gilbert found the paint forthis, and it was thought by both the boys that the sled could not havebeen finer if "Lady Jane" had been spread on with gold-leaf by asign-painter. 

"Now, Prudy, " said Horace, "it isn't, everybody can make such a sled asthat! 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 littleboys, make sleds for Prudy, and keep store with Gilbert, his mothermight have felt happy. 

But Horace was growing careless. His father's parting words, "Alwaysobey your mother, my son, and remember that God sees all you do, " didnot often ring in his ears now. Mr. Clifford, though a kind parent, hadalways been strict in discipline, and his little son had stood in awe ofhim. Now that he had gone away, there seemed to be some danger thatHorace might fall into bad ways. His mother had many serious fears abouthim, for, with her feeble health, and the care of little Katie, shecould not be as watchful of him as she wished to be. She remembered howMr. Clifford had often said, "He will either make something ornothing, " and she had answered, "Yes, there'll never be any half-wayplace 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 wefound up-attic?"

He knew that he was doing wrong when he tucked the powder slyly into hispocket. 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 crossedsome dry sticks. When they touched it off they ran away as fast aspossible; but it was a wonder they were not both blown up. It waspleasant, no doubt, to hear the popping of the powder; but they darednot laugh too loud, lest some one in the house should hear them, andcome 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 sheloved to make him happy, --"See, my son, what I have bought for you! Itis a present from your father, for in his last letter he asked me to getit. "

Horace fairly shouted with delight when he saw the beautiful Zouavesuit, gray, bordered with red, and a cap to match. If he had any twingesof 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 ofnice things to send to her husband. Grandma and aunt Madge baked a greatmany loaves of cake and hundreds of cookies, and put in cans of fruitand boxes of jelly wherever there was room. Aunt Louise made a nicelittle dressing-case of bronze kid, lined with silk, and Grace made apretty 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 inwood. But Horace thought the face looked like Prudy's, and named thesteamboat "The Prudy. " He also broke open his savings-bank, and beggedhis mother to lay out all the money he had in presents for the sicksoldiers. 

"Horace has a kind and loving heart, " said Margaret to Louise. "To besure he won't keep still long enough to let anybody kiss him, but hereally 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 wrongstories. I think there's hope of a boy who _scorns a lie_! See if hedoesn't come out right, Louise. Why, I expect to be proud of our Horaceone of these days!"

CHAPTER VII. 

IN THE WOODS. 

"O, ma, " said Horace, coming, into the house one morning glowing withexcitement, "mayn't I go in the woods with Peter Grant? He knows wherethere's heaps of boxberries. "

"And who is Peter Grant, my son?"

"He is a little boy with a bad temper, " said aunt Louise, frowningseverely at Horace. --If she had had her way, I don't know but everylittle 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 across and ignorant mother, who managed him so badly that he did not careabout trying to be good. Mrs. Grant seldom talked with him about God andthe Saviour; she never read to him from the Bible, nor told him to sayhis prayers. 

Mrs. Clifford answered Horace that she did not wish him to go into thewoods, and that was all that she thought it necessary to say. 

Horace, at the time, had no idea of disobeying his mother; but not longafterwards he happened to go into the kitchen, where his grandmother wasmaking 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, prayget some wintergreen, by all means. "

Horace's heart gave a wicked throb of delight. If some one wanted him togo _after_ something, of course he _ought_ to go; for his mother hadoften told him he must try to be useful. Strolling into the woods withPeter Grant, just for fun, was very different from going in soberly todig up roots for grandma. 

He thought of it all the way out to the gate. To be sure he might go andask his mother again, but "what was the use, when he knew certain sureshe'd be willing? Besides, wasn't the baby crying, so he mustn't go inthe room?"

These reasons sounded very well; but they could be picked in pieces, andHorace knew it. It was only when the baby was asleep that he must keepout of the chamber; and, as for being sure that his mother would let himgo into the woods, the truth was, he dared not ask her, for he knew shewould say, "No. "

He found Peter Grant lounging near the school-house, scribbling his nameon 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 stablethere 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 gotlost anywheres yet!"

"Poh! nor I either, " Horace was about to say; but remembering hisadventure in Cleveland, he drowned the words in a long whistle. 

They kept on up the steep hill for some distance, and then struck offinto 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; yetthey 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 inwords, 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, 'Iwonder, ' if you like; that's what we say out west. "

"Wait, " said Peter. "I only said, '_I_ want to know what other treesyou 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 rightsweet. Ugh!" added Horace, making a wry face; "you better look out whenthey're green: they pucker your mouth up a good deal worse'nchoke-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 towork. "

"Well, what's a tree of heaven?"

"O, Peter, for pity's sakes how do I know? It's a tree of heaven, Isuppose. It has pink hollyhocks growing on it. What makes you ask somany questions?"

Upon that the boys went to work picking boxberry leaves, which grew atthe 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 wasstrange 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 wellenough. It spangles 'round. See, here's some; the girls make wreaths ofit. "

It was _moneywort_; but Horace never doubted that Peter was telling thetruth, and supposed his grandmother would be delighted to see suchquantities of wintergreen. 

After some time spent in gathering this, Horace happened to rememberthat he wanted sarsaparilla. 

"I reckon, " thought he, "they'll be glad I came, if I carry home so manythings. "

Peter knew they could find sarsaparilla, for there was not a root of anysort which did not grow "in the pines;" of that he was sure. So theystruck still deeper into the woods, every step taking them farther fromhome. Pincher followed, as happy as a dog can be; but, alas! neverdreaming that serious trouble was coming. 

The boys dug up various roots with their jackknives; but they both knewthe 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 thedinner-bell to ring?"

"Pretty near, " replied Peter, squinting his eyes and looking at the skyas 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. Horaceremembered they were to have had salt codfish and cream gravy fordinner. Aunt Madge had said so; also a roly-poly with foaming sauce. Itmust now be long ago since the sugar and butter were beaten together forthat sauce. He wondered if there would be any pudding left. He was surehe 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 thesink, and drunk such deep draughts of water, when he didn't careanything about it! But now he was so thirsty, and there was not so muchas 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 atnoon, as usual, but they were too far off to hear it. It was weary workwinding in and out, in and out, among the trees and stumps. With tornclothes, bleeding hands, and tired feet, the poor boys pushed on. 

"Of course we're right, " said Peter, in a would-be brave tone: "don'tyou remember that stump?"

"No, I don't, Peter Grant, " replied Horace, who was losing hispatience: "I never was here before. Humph! I thought you could find yourway with your eyes shut. "

"Turn and go t'other way, then, " said Peter, adding a wicked word Icannot repeat. 

"I will, " replied Horace, coolly: "if I'd known you used such swearingwords 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 justnow, little as he liked him. "Where's our baskets?" said he, stoppingshort. 

"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, asharp cry of pain. He stood stock still, his brown eyes almost startingfrom their sockets with agony and fear. It proved that he had stumbledupon a fox-trap which was concealed under some dry twigs, and his rightfore-paw was caught fast. 

Here was a dilemma. The boys tried with all their might to set poorPincher 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 mydog you'll catch it. Poor little Pincher!" said Horace, patting himgently and laying his cheek down close to his face. 

The suffering creature licked his hands, and said with his eloquenteyes, --

"Dear little master, don't take it to heart. You didn't know I'd gethurt! You've always been good to poor Pincher. "

"I'd rather have given a dollar, " said Horace; "O, Pincher! I wish 'twasmy 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 homeand get somebody to come. "

"You just behave, Peter Grant, " said Horace, looking very angry. "Ishouldn't want to be _your_ dog! Just you hold his foot still, and I'lltry again. "

This time Horace examined the trap on all sides, and, being what iscalled an ingenious boy, did actually succeed at last in getting littlePincher'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 inarms. 

"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 knownothin'? 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 theState of Maine? I've ate 'em lots of times. "

Peter had once eaten a piece of bear-steak, or it might have beenmoose-meat, he was not sure which; but at any rate it had been broughtdown 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 rightroad! Perhaps they were walking straight into a den of bears. He huggedlittle Pincher close in his arms, soothing him with pet names; for thepoor 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' tocry. "

"I'll never go anywheres with you any more as long as I live, HoraceClifford!"

"Nobody wants you to, Pete Grant!"

Then they pushed on in dignified silence till Peter broke forth againwith wailing sobs. 

"I dread to get home! O, dear, I'll have to take it, I tell you. I guessyou'd cry if you expected to be whipped. "

Horace made no reply. He did not care about telling Peter that he toohad a terrible dread of reaching home, for there was something a greatdeal 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; "butshe'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 andprayed in low tones, --

"O God, I do want to be a good boy; and if I ever get out of this woodsI'll begin! Keep the bears off, please do, O God, and let us find theway out, and forgive me. Amen. "

Horace had never uttered a more sincere prayer in his life. Like manyolder people, he waited till he was in sore need before he called uponGod; but when he had once opened his heart to him, it was wonderful howmuch 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 Godbefore?"

[Illustration: IN THE WOODS. --Page 111. ]

CHAPTER VIII. 

CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. 

When Horace entered the yard, holding the poor dog in his arms, he feltwretched indeed. At that moment all the sulkiness and self-will werecrushed out of his little heart. It seemed to him that never, never hadthere lived upon the earth another boy so wicked as himself. 

He forgot the excuses he had been making up about going into the woodsbecause his grandmother wanted him to: he scorned to add falsehood todisobedience, and was more than willing to take his full share ofblame. 

"If ma would whip me like everything, " thought the boy, "I know I'd feelbetter. "

It was a long, winding path from the gate. The grounds looked verybeautiful in the golden light of the afternoon sun. The pinkclover-patch nodded with a thousand heads, and sprinkled the air withsweetness. 

Everything was very quiet: no one was on the piazza, no one at thewindows. The blinds were all shut, and you could fancy that the househad closed its many eyes and dropped asleep. There was an awe about suchperfect 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 grandmotherstopped with a bowl of gruel in her hand, and said, "O, Horace!" thatwas 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 lipsunspoken. 

"O, grandma!" said Horace, setting little Pincher down on a chair, andclutching the skirt of her dress, "I've been right bad: I'm sorry--Itell 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 herheart, and kissing him with a yearning fondness she had hardly evershown since he was a little toddling baby. "My darling, darling boy!"

Horace thought by her manner they must all have been sadly frightenedabout him. 

"I got lost in the woods, grandma; but it didn't hurt me any, onlyPincher got his foot caught. "

"Lost in the woods?" repeated she: "Grace thought you went home todinner with Willy Snow. "

So it seemed they had not worried about him at all: then what wasgrandma crying about?

"Don't go up stairs, dear, " said she, as he brushed past her and laidhis 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, andPrudy?"

"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 veryhungry. "

"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 seemedto Horace that she must be thinking of something else, or she wouldpity Pincher a great deal more. 

The cold dinner which she set out on the table was very tempting, and heate heartily; but after every mouthful he kept asking, "What could bethe matter? Was baby worse? Had anybody took sick?"

But his grandmother stood by the stove stirring gruel, and would answerhim nothing but, "I'll let you know very soon. "

She wanted the little boy to be rested and refreshed by food before shetold him a very painful thing. Then she took him up stairs with her intoher own chamber, which was quite shady with grape-vines, and so stillthat 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 thewaiter 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 hasbeen very good to you always, always. He loves you better than you caneven think. "

"Yes, grandma, " answered Horace, bewildered. 

"He is your dear Father in heaven, " she added, slowly. "He wants you tolove 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, yethaving 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 ingreat excitement. "Mr. Evans said they'd put him in colonel. He wascoming 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 puton 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 Iheard you. Ma wants you to come to her. "

Without speaking, Horace gave his hand to his sister, and went with herwhile 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 verytouching to her. 

"You dear little fatherless children, " she whispered, throwing her armsaround 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 Ilove 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 hadtouched her: there was something awful in the coldness of her face. Herbeautiful brown eyes shone bright and tearless; but there were darkhollows under them, deep enough to hold many tears, if the time shouldever 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 smoothingthe hair away from her cheeks with his small fingers, which meant tomove 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 lastingimpressions. There are some hours of joy or agony which they neverforget. This was such an hour for Horace. He could almost feel again onhis forehead the warm good-by kisses of his father; he could almost hearagain the words, --

"Always obey your mother, my son, and remember that God sees all youdo. "

Ah, he had not obeyed, he had not remembered. 

And that dear father would never kiss him, never speak to him again! Hehad not thought before what a long word Never was. 

O, it was dreadful to shut his eyes and fancy him lying so cold andstill on that bloody battle-field! Would all this awful thing be trueto-morrow morning, when he waked up?

"O, mamma, " sobbed the desolate child, "I and Grace will take care ofyou! Just forgive me, ma, and I'll be the best kind of a boy. I will, Iwill!"

Grandma had already led Grace away into the green chamber, where auntMadge 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 ourmayor would hang him! I do wish I could die, grandma. I don't want tokeep 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 movedabout softly, and spoke in low tones. Horace was not told that he mustgo to school, but he knew aunt Louise thought his shoes made a greatdeal of noise, and just now he wanted to please even her. More thanthat, it was very pleasant to see the boys; and while he was playinggames he forgot his sorrow, and forgot his mother's sad face. There wasone thing, however, which he could not do: he had not the heart to becaptain, and drill his company, just now. 

"Horace, " said Grace, as they were sitting on the piazza steps onemorning, "I heard ma tell grandma yesterday, you'd been a better boythis week than you had been before since--since--pa went away. "

"Did she?" cried Horace, eagerly; "where was she when she said it? Whatdid grandma say? Did aunt Madge hear her?"

"Yes, aunt Madge heard her, and she said she always knew Horace would bea good boy if he would only think. "

"Well, I _do_ think, " replied Horace, looking very much pleased; "Ithink 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 begood. "

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 roundinto things, you know! Then I have to sew, O, so much! I reckon youwouldn't find it very easy being a girl. "

"Poh! don't I have to feed the chickens, and bring in the eggs, and gofor the cows? And when we lived home----"

Here Horace broke down; he could not think of home without rememberinghis father. 

Grace burst into tears. The word "home" had called up a beautifulpicture 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 smileon his face, and was holding her hand. 

Ah! Grace, and Horace, and their mother would see many such pictures ofmemory. 

"Well, sister, " said Horace, speaking quite slowly, and looking down atthe grass, "what do I do that's bad?"

"Why, Horace, I shouldn't think you'd ask! Blowing gunpowder, andrunning off into the woods, and most killing Pincher, and going troutingdown 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 'byhokey, ' 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'mtrying to be like little Eva. "

"I don't want to be like Ally Glover, " replied Horace, making a wryface; "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, oranybody, that I'm going to be better. "

Grace promised, but she wondered why Horace should not wish his motherto 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 abright idea flashed across her mind, and of course she dropped her workand clapped her hands, though she was quite alone. 

"I'll make a merit-book like Miss All'n's, and put down black marks forhim when he's naughty. "

When Horace came home that night, he was charmed with the plan, for hewas really in earnest. His kind sister made the book very neatly, andsewed it into a cover of glossy blue paper. She thought they would tryit four weeks; so she had put in twenty-eight pages, each page standingfor 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. , ' youknow. When you blow gunpowder, that'll be 'B. G. '--no, 'B. G. P. ' forgunpowder 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 muchinterested; "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 putdown 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 littlethings, " 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, snappinghis fingers. 

"Why, there it is, 'one B. W. ' so quick!" cried Grace, holding up bothhands and laughing. 

Horace opened his mouth in surprise, and then clapped his hand over itin 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 saidyou 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 canhelp the poor creature, it is she. "

Mrs. Duffy was the village washerwoman, and a capital nurse. It was ananxious 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-lookingfut; but I've some intment here that'll do no har-rum, and it may hulpthe 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 thestove all day. "

Mrs. Duffy shook her head, and said, "he was a pooty craycher; 'twasmore the pities that he ever went off in the wuds. "

Horace hung his head. O, if he could have blotted out that day ofdisobedience!

"Wasn't it a real rebel, _heathen_ man, " cried Prudy, "to put the trapwhere Pincher sticked his foot in it?"

Pincher grew worse and worse. He refused his food, and lay in a basketwith a cushion in it, by the kitchen stove, where he might have been alittle 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 wasonly 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 lickHorace's hand, and look up at his face with eyes brimful of love andagony. 

Horace would sit by the half hour, coaxing him to eat a bit of broiledsteak or the wing of a chicken; but though the poor dog would gladlyhave pleased his young master, he could hardly force himself to swallowa mouthful. 

These were sad days. Grace put down now and then a "B. W. " in the bluebook; but as for disobedience, Horace had just now no temptation tothat. He could hardly think of anything but his dog. 

Pincher was about his age. He could not remember the time when he firstknew him. "O, what jolly times they had had together! How often Pincherhad trotted along to school, carrying the satchel with the school-booksin 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 headgently on his knee: "there wasn't one of them but just wished they hadhim. But, poh! I wouldn't have sold him for all the cannons andfire-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 secretshe 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 tohave you die! My own pa gave you to me, and you're the best dog thatever lived in this world. O, I didn't mean to catch your foot in thattrap! Eat the chicken, there's a good fellow, and we'll cure you allup. "

But Pincher couldn't eat the chicken, and couldn't be cured. His eyesgrew larger and sadder, but there was the same patient look in themalways. He fixed them on Horace to the last, with a dying gaze whichmade the boy's heart swell with bitter sorrow. 

"He wanted to speak, he wanted to ask me a question, " said Horace, withsobs he did not try to control. 

O, it was sad to close those beautiful eyes forever, those beseechingeyes, which could almost speak. 

Mrs. Clifford came and knelt on the stone hearth beside the basket, andwept freely for the first time since her husband's death. 

"Dear little Pincher, " said she, "you have died a cruel death; but yourdear little master closed your eyes. It was very hard, poor doggie, butnot so hard as the battle-field. You shall have a quiet grave, goodPincher; 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 holdthe nails and look on, Horace made a box for Pincher, while Abner dughis 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 toheaven. "

"Not forever'n ever amen?" gasped Prudy, in a low voice: "wouldn't he ifhe had a nice casket, and a plate on it neither?"

The sky and earth were very lovely that evening, and it seemed as ifeverybody ought to be heart-glad. I doubt if Horace had ever thoughtbefore what a beautiful world he lived in, and how glorious a thing itis 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 littlesparkles. The soft sky, and the twinkling water, seemed to be smiling ateach other, while a great way off you could see the dim blue mountainsrising up like clouds. Such a lovely world! Ah! poor Pincher. 

It looked very much as if Horace were really turning over a new leaf. Hewas still quite trying sometimes, leaving the milk-room door open whenpuss was watching for the cream-pot, or slamming the kitchen door with abang when everybody needed fresh air. He still kept his chamber in astate of confusion, --"muss, " Grace called it, --pulling the drawers outof the bureau, and scattering the contents over the floor; dropping hisclothes anywhere it happened, and carrying quantities of gravel upstairs in his shoes. 

Aunt Louise still scolded about him; but even she could not help seeingthat on the whole he was improving. He "cared" more and "forgot" less. He could always learn easily, and now he really tried to learn. Hislessons, instead of going through his head "threading my grandmother'sneedle, " went in and staid there. The blue book got a few marks, it istrue, but not so many as at first. 

You may be sure there was not a good thing said or done by Horace whichdid not give pleasure to his mother. She felt now as if she lived onlyfor her children; if God would bless her by making them good, she hadnothing more to desire. Grace had always been a womanly, thoughtfullittle girl, but at this time she was a greater comfort than ever; andHorace had grown so tender and affectionate, that it gratified her verymuch. He was not content now with "canary kisses;" but threw his armsaround 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 likeherself: he thought he ought to try to make her happy. 

Whenever he asked for money, as he too often did, she told him that nowhis father was gone, there was no one to earn anything, and it was bestto be rather prudent. He wanted a drum; but she thought he must wait awhile for that. 

They were far from being poor, and Mrs. Clifford had no idea ofdeceiving her little son. Yet he _was_ deceived, for he supposed thathis mother's pretty little porte-monnaie held all the bank-bills and allthe silver she had in the world. 

"O, Grace!" said Horace, coming down stairs with a very grave face, "Iwish 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, andthen continued in a high key, --

"Where, O where are the Hebrew children?"

"O, I'm going as a soldier, " replied Horace: "I thought everybody knewthat! 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 woulddo if _I_ was killed. "

"Well, please step out of the way, Horace; don't you see I'm sweepingthe piazza?"

"I can't tell, " pursued he, taking a seat on one of the stairs in thehall: "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, andsent 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; thenI'd always keep a horse, and you could ride. "

"Ride in a cart!" cried Grace, laughing. "Can't you think of anythingelse? Have you forgotten papa?"

"O, now I know, " exclaimed Horace, with shining eyes: "it's a lawyerI'll be, just like father was. I'll have a 'sleepy partner, ' the wayJudge Ingle has, and by and by I'll be a judge. "

"I know that would please ma, Horace, " replied Grace, looking at herlittle 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; nowyou 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 wishI 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 blackman'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 Indianwoman, 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 oncebeen filled by them: but the English came, a great many years ago, andshook off the red men just as a high wind shakes the red leaves off atree; and they were scattered about, and only a few were left alive. Sometimes the Oldtown Indians came round making baskets; but they werequiet and peaceable people. 

Horace and his friend "Grasshopper, " as they were strolling up theriver, came upon a tent made of canvas, and at the door of the tent sata little boy about their own age, with a bow and arrow in his hand, inthe act of firing. 

Grasshopper, who was always a coward, ran with all his might; but asHorace happened to notice that the arrow was pointed at something acrossthe river, he was not alarmed, but stopped to look at the odd littlestranger, who turned partly round and returned his gaze. His eyes werekeen and black, with a good-natured expression, something like the eyesof 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 boyunderstood, 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 withan 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 hereyes. Horace concluded she must have lost her back-comb. 

While he was looking at her with curious eyes, her daughter came to thedoor, feeling a little cross at the stranger, whoever it might be; butwhen she saw only an innocent little boy, she smiled pleasantly, showinga row of white teeth. Horace thought her rather handsome, for she wasvery straight and slender, and her eyes shone like glass beads. Her hairhe considered a great deal blacker than black, and it was braided andtied with gay red ribbons. She was dressed in a bright, large-figuredcalico, 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 boatin the bathing-tub. If they only "scooped" a little more they wouldanswer for tea-spoons. "Plenty big as I should want for tea-spoons, " hedecided, after another gaze at them. 

The young girl was used to being admired by her own people, and was notat all displeased with Horace for staring at her. 

"Me think you nice white child, " said she: "you get me sticks, me makeyou basket, pretty basket for put apples in. "

"What kind of sticks do you mean?" said Horace, forgetting that theypretended not to understand English. But it appeared that they knewvery well what he meant this time, and the Indian boy offered to go withhim 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'sgrounds, to the lower end of the garden, where stood some tall silverpoplars, 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 askedadvice, was far from feeling obliged to take it. He ran in great hasteto the field where his grandfather was hoeing potatoes, thinking, "If Iask, then I shan't get marked in the blue book anyhow. "

In this case Horace acted very properly. He had no right to cut thetrees, or allow any one else to cut them, without leave. To his greatdelight, his grandfather said he did not care if they clipped off a fewbranches where they would not show much. 

When Horace got back and reported the words of his grandfather, Wampumdid 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 afew 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 manyboughs 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 herolled 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 sortof boys he played with, and what they had to eat. The young Indianassured 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 inwigwam: when me lives in tent, me puts fires on grass;--keep off themthings, " he added, pointing at a mosquito in the air; "keep smoke outtent, " pointing upward to show the motion of the smoke. 

Horace felt so much pleased with his new companion, that he resolved totreat him to a watermelon. So, without saying a word to the boys, he raninto 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 hadadopted a new friend. 

"You may have a melon, but I think your mother would not like to haveyou play much with a strange boy. "

"He's going to make me a splendid basket; and besides, aren't Indiansand negroes as good as white folks? 'Specially _tame_ Indians, " saidHorace, not very respectfully, as he ran back, shoe-knife in hand, tocut 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 lifeof this Indian family. He was made welcome at their tent, and often wentin to see them make baskets. 

"I trust you, " said Mrs. Clifford; "you will not deceive me, Horace. Ifyou ever find that little Wampum says bad words, tells falsehoods, orsteals, I shall not be willing for you to play with him. You are veryyoung, and might be greatly injured by a bad playmate. "

The tent was rude enough. In one corner were skins laid one overanother: these were the beds which were spread out at night for thefamily. Instead of closets and presses, all the wearing apparel was hungon a long rope, which was stretched from stake to stake, in variousdirections, like a clothes-line. 

It was curious to watch the brown fingers moving so easily over thewhite strips, out of which they wove baskets. It was such pretty work!it brought so much money. Horace thought it was just the business forhim, and Wampum promised to teach him. In return for this favor, Horacewas to instruct the little Indian in spelling. 

For one or two evenings he appointed meetings in the summer-house, andreally went without his own slice of cake, that he might give it to poorWampum, after a lesson in "baker. "

He received the basket in due time, a beautiful one--red, white, andblue. 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 "thePines" 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 Inever 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 jokingwith little boys. 

"Look here, my fine fellow, " said he, "give us that painted concernyou've got on your arm, and we'll call it square. "

"No, no, Billy, " cried Horace, drawing away; "this is a present, and Icouldn't. But I'm learning to weave baskets, and I'll make you one--seeif I don't!"

Billy laughed, and went away whistling. He had no idea that Horace wouldever think of the matter again; but in truth the first article the boytried to make was a horse-basket. 

"Me tell you somethin, " said little Wampum, next morning, as he andHorace were crossing the field together. "Very much me wantum, --um, --um, "--putting his fingers up to his mouth in a manner whichsignified 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 tellwhat 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 rememberthat 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, megive 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 wantbimp--bumpin--jiggets. "

Horace's stout little heart wavered for a moment. He fancied moccasinsvery much. In his mind's eye he saw a pair shining with all the colorsof the rainbow, and as Wampum had said of the melons, "very much hewanted them. " How handsome they'd be with his Zouave suit!

But the wavering did not last long. He remembered the blue book whichhis 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 givethe watermelons. "

"No, " said Conscience; "'twould be a black S. ; _that_ stands forstealing! 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 mea bushel of 'em. "

After this, Horace was disgusted with his little friend, not rememberingthat there are a great many excuses to be made for a half-civilizedchild. They had a serious quarrel, and Wampum's temper proved to be verybad. If the little savage had not struck him, I hope Horace would havedropped his society all the same; because, after Wampum proved to be athief, it would have been sheer disobedience on Horace's part to playwith him any longer. 

Of course the plan of basket-making was given up; but our little Horacedid one thing which was noble in a boy of his age: perhaps heremembered what his father had said long ago in regard to the injuredwatch; but, at any rate, he went to Billy Green of his own accord, andoffered him the beautiful present which he had received from theIndians. 

"It's not a horse-basket, Billy: I didn't get to make one, " stammeredhe, in a choked voice; "but you said you'd call it square. "

"Whew!" cried Billy, very much astonished: "now look here, bub; that's alittle 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 finelittle shaver. "

To say that Horace was very happy, would not half express the delight hefelt as he ran home with the beautiful basket on his arm, his "ownestown, " beyond the right of dispute. 

The Indians disappeared quite suddenly; and perhaps it was nothingsurprising that, the very next morning after they left, grandpa Parlinshould find his beautiful melon-patch stripped nearly bare, with nothingleft 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 makebaskets; 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 auntMadge. They had a delightful time. Horace could not help missing Pinchervery much: still, in spite of the regret, it was a happier day than theone he and Peter Grant had spent "in the Pines. " He was beginning tofind, as all children do, how hard it is to get up "a good time" whenyou are pricked by a guilty conscience, and how easy it is to be happywhen you are doing right. 

They did not leave the woods till the sun began to sink, and reachedhome quite tired, but as merry as larks, with baskets nearly full ofberries. 

When Horace timidly told aunt Madge that he and Grace wanted to sell allthey had gathered, his aunt laughed, and said she would buy the fruit ifthey wished, but wondered what they wanted to do with the money: shesupposed it was for the soldiers. 

"I want to give it to ma, " replied Horace, in a low voice; for he didnot wish his aunt Louise to overhear. "She hasn't more than three billsin 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 secretdrawer 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, foryour mother wouldn't deceive you. "

"Not poor?" cried Horace, his face brightening suddenly; and he turnedhalf a somerset, stopping in the midst of it to ask how much a drumwould 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 theletters "D. , " "B. W. , " "B. G. P. , " and "F. , " on separate lines, oneabove another. But there were no figures before any of the letters butthe "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 badwords aren't swearin' words! I never did say such, though some of thefellows do, and those that go to Sabbath School too. "

"Yes, I'll tell her, " said Grace; "but she knows well enough that younever 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, andslammed 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 brothersas this sister felt in Horace. Grace had her faults, of which I mighthave told you if I had been writing the book about her; but she lovedHorace 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 kissedHorace and Grace, saying they grew dearer to her every day of theirlives. 

 * * * * *

One night, not long after this, Horace went to the post-office for themail. This was nothing new, for he had often gone before. A crowd of menwere sitting in chairs and on the door-stone and counter, listening tothe news, which some one was reading in a loud, clear voice. 

Without speaking, the postmaster gave Horace three letters and anewspaper. After tucking the letters into his raglan pocket, Horacerolled the paper into a hollow tube, peeping through it at the largetree standing opposite the post-office, and at the patient horseshitched 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 havethe 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'smore'n a minute going to the office and back. "

"Is this all?" said aunt Madge, as Horace gave a letter to grandma, oneto aunt Louise, and the paper to his grandfather. 

"Why, yes, ma'am, that's all, " replied Horace, faintly. It did seem, tobe sure, as if Mr. Pope had given him three letters; but as he could notfind another in his pocket, he supposed he must be mistaken, and saidnothing about it. He little knew what a careless thing he had done, andsoon went to bed, forgetting post-offices and letters in a strangedream 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 apair of shining gold muskets. 

A few mornings after the mistake about the letter, Mrs. Clifford satmending Horace's raglan. She emptied the pockets of twine, fish-hooks, jack-knife, pebbles, coppers, and nails; but still something rattledwhen she touched the jacket; it seemed to be paper. She thrust in herfinger, and there, between the outside and lining, was a crumpled, wornletter, addressed to "Miss Margaret Parlin. "

"What does this mean?" thought Mrs. Clifford. "Horace must have carriedthe letter all summer. "

But upon looking at it again, she saw that it was mailed at Washingtonabout two weeks before--"a soldier's letter. " She carried it down toMargaret, 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 youknow somebody hasn't written it to tell you he is sick?"

Aunt Madge grew quite pale, dropped the egg-beater, and carried theletter into the nursery to read it by herself. She opened it withtrembling fingers; but before she had read two lines her fingerstrembled worse than ever, her heart throbbed fast, the room seemed toreel about. 

There was no bad news in the letter, you may be sure of that. She satreading it over and over again, while the tears ran down her cheeks, andthe sunshine in her eyes dried them again. Then she folded her handstogether, and humbly thanked God for his loving kindness. 

When she was sure her sister Maria had gone up stairs, she ran out tothe 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 reallydreadful. I'm afraid somebody may die of joy. "

"I'm more afraid somebody'll die of curiosity, " said aunt Louise: "dospeak quick. "

"Well, Henry Clifford is alive, " said Margaret: "that's the blessedtruth! 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. Helay for weeks just breathing, and that was all. "

"But why did no one let us know it?" said Louise. "Of course Maria wouldhave gone to him at once. "

"There was no one to write; and when Henry came to himself there was nohope of him, except by amputation of his left arm; and after thatoperation he was very low again. "

"O, why don't you give us the letter, " said Louise, "so we can see forourselves?"

But she was too excited to read it; and while she was trying to collecther ideas, aunt Madge had to hunt for grandma's spectacles; and thenthe three looked over the surgeon's letter together, sometimes alltalking at once. 

Captain Clifford would be in Maine as soon as possible: so the lettersaid. A young man was to come with him to take care of him, and theywere 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 CaptainClifford's arrival. It was expected that aunt Madge would break the newsto his wife. 

"It's such a pity that little flyaway of a Horace didn't give you theletter in time, " said Louise; "and then we might have had some days toget used to it. "

"Wait a minute, dear, " said aunt Madge, as Susy came in for a drink ofwater: "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 herchecked apron nervously. 

When Mrs. Clifford entered the kitchen, she saw at once that somethinghad happened. Her mother, with a flushed face, was opening and shuttingthe stove door. Margaret was polishing a pie-plate, with tears in hereyes, and Louise had seized a sieve, and appeared to be breaking eggsinto 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 bothhands: "you look so sorrowful, dear, as if nothing would ever make youhappy 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 amistake of the papers. He's alive, and coming home to-night. "

All this as fast as she could speak. No wonder Mrs. Clifford wasshocked! First she stood quiet and amazed, gazing at her sister withfixed eyes: then she screamed, and would have fallen if her mother andMargaret 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 justalive!"

"Louise, bring some water at once, " said Mrs. Parlin, sternly. 

"O, mother, " sobbed Louise, returning with the water, "I didn't mean tobe so hasty; but you might have known I would: you should have sent meout of the room. "

This was very much the way Prudy talked when she did wrong: she had afunny way of blaming other people. 

It is always unsafe to tell even joyful news too suddenly; but Louise'sthoughtlessness had not done so much harm as they all feared. Mrs. Clifford recovered from the shock, and in an hour or two was wonderfullycalm, looking so perfectly happy that it was delightful just to gaze ather face. 

She wanted the pleasure of telling the children the story with her ownlips. Grace was fairly wild with joy, kissing everybody, and declaringit was "too good for anything. " She was too happy to keep still, whileas for Horace, he was too happy to talk. 

"Then uncle Henry wasn't gone to heaven, " cried little Prudy: "hasn't hebeen to heaven at all?"

"No, of course not, " said Susy: "didn't you hear 'em say he'd be hereto-night?--Now you've got on the nicest kind of a dress, and if you spotit 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 undereverybody'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 adornedwith autumn flowers and green garlands. 

Not only the kerosene lamps, but all the old oil lamps, were filled, andevery candle-stick, whether brass, iron, or glass, was used to hold asperm candle; so that in the evening the house at every window was allablaze with light. The front door stood wide open, and the piazza andpart of the lawn were as bright as day. The double gate had beenunlatched for hours, and everybody was waiting for the carriage to driveup. 

The hard, uncomfortable stage, which Horace had said was like ababy-jumper, would never do for a sick man to ride in: so Billy Greenhad driven to the cars in his easiest carriage, and aunt Madge had gonewith him, for she was afraid neither Billy nor the gentleman who waswith Captain Clifford would know how to wrap the shawls about himcarefully enough. 

I could never describe the joyful meeting which took place in thosebrilliantly lighted parlors. It is very rarely that such wonderfulhappiness falls to any one's lot in this world. 

While the smiles are yet bright on their faces, while Grace is clingingto 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 themand 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, whichwas open, and put in their noses to ask for something to eat. Flaxiegave 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. Itintroduces all the old favorites of the Prudy and Dotty books with newcharacters and funny incidents. It is a charming book, wholesome andsweet in every respect, and cannot fail to interest children undertwelve years of age. "--_Christian Register. _

 * * * * *

PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE. 

"How she kept it, why she kept it, and what a good time she had playingcook, and washerwoman, and ironer, is told as only Sophie May can tellstories. All the funny sayings and doings of the queerest and cunningestlittle woman ever tucked away in the covers of a book will please littlefolks and grown people alike. "--_Press. _

 * * * * *

AUNT MADGE'S STORY. 

"Tells of a little mite of a girl, who gets into every conceivable kindof scrape and out again with lightning rapidity, through the wholepretty little book. How she nearly drowns her bosom friend, andafterwards saves her by a very remarkable display of little-girlcourage. How she gets left by a train of cars, and loses her kitten andfinds it again, and is presented with a baby sister 'come down fromheaven, ' 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, 75cents. 

 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. "]