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 CAPTAIN HORACE.
 
 LITTLE PRODI'S C4PTAIHHOR1CE,
 
 LITTLE PBTJDY SERIES. 
 
 CAPTAIN HORACE 
 
 SOPHIE MAY, 
 
 BOSTON 1893 
 LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 
 
 10 MILK STRBBT NEXT '.' THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE "
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 
 
 LEE & SHEPARD, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY KEBECCA S. CLARKE. 
 
 LITTLE PBCDY'S CAPTAIN HORACE.
 
 TO 
 
 MY LITTLE NEPHEW 
 
 WILLY WHEELER. 
 
 FROM HIS AFFECTIONATE 
 
 ATJNT. 
 
 (S) 
 
 622812
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 Y /u wide-awake little boys, who make whistles 
 of' willow, and go fishing" M,d training, Horace 
 is very much like yon, I suppose. lie is by 
 no means perfect, but he is brave and kind, and 
 scorns a lie. I hope yoj. and he will shake 
 hands and be friends.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. MAKING CANDY, 5 
 
 II. CAMPING OUT, 15 
 
 III. TAKING A JOURNEY, 33 
 
 IV. AT GRANDPA I'ARLIN'S, 49 
 
 V. CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY, 68 
 
 VI. SUSY AND PRUDY, 87 
 
 VII. IN THE WOODS, 99 
 
 Vlll. CAPTAIN CLIFFORD, 117 
 
 IX. THE BLUE BOOK, 128 
 
 X. TRYING TO GET RICH, Ml 
 
 XI. THE LITTLE INDIAN, M'J 
 
 XII. A PLEASANT SURPRISE 167
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MAKING CANDY. 
 
 GRACE and Horace Clifford lived in In- 
 diana, and so were called "Hoosiers." 
 
 Their home, with its charming grounds, 
 was a little way out of town, and from the 
 front windows of the house you could look 
 out on the broad Ohio, a river which would 
 be very beautiful, if its yellow waters were 
 only once settled. As far as the eye could 
 iyjc, the earth was one vast plain, and, in 
 order to touch it, the sky seemed to stoop 
 very low ; whereas, in New England, the 
 gray-headed mountains appear to go up part 
 way to meet the sky. ( 5 )
 
 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 One fine evening in May, brown-eyed 
 Horace and blue-eyed Grace stood on th? 
 balcony, leaning against the iron railing, 
 watching the stars, and chatting together 
 
 One thing is very sure : they never dreamed 
 that from this evening their sayings and do- 
 ings particularly Horace's were to be 
 printed in a book. If any one had whis- 
 pered such a thing, how dumb Horace would 
 have grown, his chin snuggling down into 
 a hollow place in his neck ! and how ner- 
 vously Grace would have laughed ! walking 
 about very fast, and saying, 
 
 *'O, it's too bad, to put Horace and me 
 in a book ! I say it's too bad ! Tell them 
 to wait till my hair is curled, and I have 
 my new pink dress on ! And tell them tc 
 make Horace talk better ! He plays so 
 much with the Dutch boys. O, Horace isi.'i 
 <it to print!"
 
 MAKING CANDY. 7 
 
 This is what she might have said if she 
 had thought of being " put in a book ; " but 
 as she knew nothing at all about it, she 
 only stood very quietly leaning against the 
 balcony-railing, and looking up at the even- 
 ing sky, merry with stars. 
 
 " What a shiny night, Horace ! What do 
 the stars look like ? Is it diamond rings ? " 
 
 "I'll tell you, Gracie ; it's cigars they look 
 like just the ends of cigars when some- 
 body is smoking." 
 
 At that moment the cluster called the 
 " Seven Sisters " was drowned in a soft, 
 white cloud. 
 
 "Look," said Grace ; "there are some little 
 twinkles gone to sleep, all tucked up in a 
 coverlet. I don't see what makes you think 
 of dirty cigars ! They look to me like little 
 specks of gold harps ever so far off, so you 
 can't hear the music. O, Horace, don't you
 
 8 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 want to be an angel, and play on a beautiful 
 harp ? " 
 
 ' I don't know," said her brother, knitting 
 his brows, und thinking a moment j tf when I 
 can't live any longer, you know, then I'd like 
 to go up to heaven ; but now, I'd a heap 
 sooner be a soldier!'' 
 
 "O, Horace, you'd ought to rather be an 
 angel ! Besides, you're too little for a 
 soldier ! " 
 
 w But I grow. Just look at my hands : 
 they're bigger than yours, this minute!" 
 
 " Why, Horace Clifford, what makes them 
 BO black?" 
 
 "O, that's no account! I did it climbin' 
 trees. Barby tried to scour it off, but it 
 sticks. I don't care soldiers' hands ain't 
 white, are they, Pincher?'' 
 
 '.The pretty dog at Horace's feet shook bn 
 cars, meaning to say.
 
 MAKING CANDY. 9 
 
 M I should think not, little master ; soldiers 
 have very dirty hands, if you say so." 
 
 " Come," said Grace, who was tired ot 
 gazing at the far-off star-land ; " let's go 
 down and see if Barbara hasn't made that 
 candy : she said she'd be ready in half an 
 hour." 
 
 They went into the library, which opened 
 upon the balcony, through the passage, 
 down the front stairs, and into the kitchen, 
 Pincher following close at their heels. 
 
 It was a very tidy kitchen, whose white 
 floor was scoured every day with a scrub- 
 bing-brush. Bright tin pans were shining 
 upon the Avails, and in one corner stood a 
 highly polished cooking-stove, over which 
 Barbara Kinckle, a rosy-cheeked German 
 girl, was stooping to watch a kettle of 
 boiling molasses. Every now nnd then 
 she raised the spoon with which she was
 
 10 CAPTAIX HORACE. 
 
 stirring it, and let the half-made 
 drip back into the kettle in ropy streams 
 It looked very tempting, and gave out & 
 deli. -ions odor. Perhaps it was not strange 
 ihat the children thought they were kept 
 waiting a long while 
 
 '"Lock here, Grace," muttered Horace, 
 loud rnotigh 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 np her mind for the worst ; 
 " don't you know how it sugared off once 
 when ma was making it, and let the fire 
 go 'most out'?" 
 
 "Now just hear them childcrs," said good- 
 natured Barbara ; " where's the little boy and 
 irirl that wasn't to speak to me one word, 
 if I bilcd 'em some candies ? " 
 
 "There, now, Barby, I wasn't speaking to 
 you," said Horace ; "I mean I wasn't talking
 
 MAKING CANDY. ll 
 
 to her, Grace. Look here : I've heard you 
 *pell, but you didn't ask me my Joggerphy." 
 
 * Geography, you mean, Horace." 
 
 " Well, Ge-ography, then. Here's the 
 book : we begin at the Mohammedans." 
 
 Horace could pronounce that long name 
 very well, though he had no idea what it 
 meant. He knew there was a book called 
 the Koran, and would have told you Mr. 
 Mohammed wrote it ; but so had Mr. Col- 
 burn written an Arithmetic, and whether 
 both these gentlemen were alive, 01 both 
 dead, was more than he could say. 
 
 "Hold up your head," said Grace, with 
 dignity, and looking as much as possible 
 like tall Miss Allen, her teacher. ''Please 
 repeat your verse.'' 
 
 The first sentence read, "They consider 
 Moses and Christ as true prophets, but 
 Mohammed as the greatest and last."
 
 12 CAPTAIX HORACE. 
 
 " I'll tell you," said Horace : " they think 
 that Christ and Moses was good enough 
 prophets, but Mohammed was a heap 
 better." 
 
 " Why, Horace, it doesn't say any such 
 think in the book ! It begins, ' They 
 consider? " 
 
 " I don't care," said the boy, " Miss Jor- 
 dan tells us to get the sense of it. Ma, 
 musn't I get the sense of it?" he added, 
 as Mrs. Clifford entered the kitchen. 
 
 "But, mamma," broke in Grace, eagerly, 
 " our teacher wants us to commit the verses : 
 she says a great deal about committing the 
 verses '' 
 
 w If you would give me time to answer/' 
 said Mrs. Clifford, smiling, " I should say- 
 both your teachers are quite right. You 
 should 'get the sense of it,' as Horace 
 uys,- and after that commit the verses."
 
 MAKING CANDY. 13 
 
 "But, ma, do you think Horace should 
 say 'heap,' and 'no account,' and such 
 words?" 
 
 " It would certainly please me," said Mrs. 
 Clifford, "if he would try to speak more 
 correctly. My little boy knows how much 
 I dislike some of his expressions." 
 
 " There, Horace," cried Grace, trium- 
 phantly, " I always said you talked just 
 like the Dutch boys ; and it's very, very 
 improper ! " 
 
 But just then it became evident that the 
 molasses \vas boiled enough, for Barbara 
 poured it into a large buttered platter, and 
 sc-t it out of doors to cool. After this, the 
 children could do nothing but watch the 
 candy till it was ready to pull. 
 
 Then there was quite a bustle to find an 
 apron for Horace, and to make sure that his 
 little stained hands were "spandy clean,'
 
 14 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 and " fluffed " all over with flour, from hi* 
 wrists to the tips of his fingers. Grace 
 said she wished it wasn't so much trouble 
 to attend to boys ; and, after all, Plorace 
 only pulled a small piece of the candy, and 
 dropped half of that on the nice white floor. 
 
 Barbara did the most of the pulling. She 
 was quite a sculptor when she had plastic 
 candy in her hands. Some of it she cut 
 into sticks, and some she twisted into curi- 
 ous images, supposed to be boys and girls, 
 horses and sheep. 
 
 After Grace and Horace had eaten several 
 of the "boys and girls," to say nothing of 
 "handled baskets," and "gentlemen's slip- 
 pers," Barbara thought it high time they 
 were "sound abed and asleep." 
 
 So now, as they go up stairs, we will 
 wish them a good night and pleasant 
 (1 roams.
 
 OUT. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 CAMPING OUT. 
 
 AT is the matter with my little son?' 
 
 ul Mr. Clifford, one morning at breakfast ; 
 for Horace sat up very stiffly in his chair, 
 j'.nc 1 . refused both eggs and muffins, choos- 
 ing instead a slice of dry toast and a glass 
 of water. 
 
 " Are you sick, Horace ? " asked his 
 mother, tenderly. 
 
 w No, ma'am," replied the boy, blushing: 
 ?? but I want to get to be a soldier ! " 
 
 Mr. Clifford and his wife looked at each 
 other across the table, and smiled. 
 
 " O, papa," said Grace, " T shouldn't want 
 2
 
 16 CAPTAIN IIOKACE. 
 
 to be a soldier if I couldn't have anything 
 nice to eat. Can't they get pies and canned 
 peaches and things? Will they go without 
 buckwheat cakes and sirup in the winter?" 
 
 " Ah ! my little daughter, men who lovo 
 their country are willing to make greater 
 sacrifices than merely nice food." 
 
 Horace put on one of his lofty looks, for he 
 somehow 7 felt that his father was praising him. 
 
 "Pa," said Grace, "please tell me w r hat's 
 a sacrifice, anyhow?" 
 
 " A sacrifice, my daughter, is the giving 
 up of a dear or pleasant thing for the sake 
 of duty : that is very nearly what it means. 
 For instance, if your mamma consents to 
 let me go to the war, because she thinks I 
 ought to go, she will make what is called n 
 sacrifice." 
 
 " Do not let us speak of it now, Henry," 
 said Mrs. Clifford, looking quite pule.
 
 CAMPING OUT. 17 
 
 w O, my dear papa," cried Grace, bursting 
 into tears, " we couldn't live if you went t-j 
 the war ! " 
 
 Horace looked at the acorn on the lid of 
 the coffee-urn, but said nothing. It cost his 
 little heart a pang even to think of parting 
 from his beloved father ; but then wouldn't 
 it be a glorious thing to hear him called 
 General ' Clifford ? And if he should really 
 go away, wasn't it likely that the oldest 
 boy, Horace, would take his place at the 
 head of the table? 
 
 Yes, they should miss papa terribly ; but 
 he would only stay away till he " got a gen- 
 eral ; " and for that little while it would bo 
 pleasant for Horace to sit in the arm-chaii 
 and help the others to the butter, the toast, 
 and the meat. 
 
 " Horace," said Mr. Clifford, smiling, " it 
 be some years before you can be a
 
 18 CAPTAIN HOI! ACE. 
 
 soldier: why do you begin uow to eat dry 
 bread?" 
 
 " I want to get used to it, &ir. f ' 
 
 < c That indeed I " said Mr. Clifford, with 
 a, good-natured laugh, which made Horace 
 wince a little. " But the eating of dry bread 
 is only a small part of the soldier's tough 
 times, my boy. Soldiers have to sleep on 
 the hard ground, with knapsacks for pillows ; 
 they have to march, through wet and dry, 
 with heavy muskets, which make their arms 
 ache." 
 
 "Look here, Barby," said Horace, that 
 evening ; "I want a knapsack, to learn to be 
 a soldier with. If I have ' tough times' now, 
 I'll get used to it. Can't you iiiid m 
 carpet-bag, Barby?" 
 
 K Carpet-bag? And what for a thing is 
 that ? " said Barbara, rousing from a nap, 
 nd beginning to click her knitting-needles.
 
 CAMPING OUT. IS 
 
 f Here I was asleep again. Now, if I did 
 keep working in the kitchen, I could sit uj 
 just what time I wants to; but when I sits 
 down, I goes to sleep right ofl'." 
 
 And Barbara went on knitting, putting 
 the yarn over the needle with her left hand, 
 after the German fashion. 
 
 " But the carpet-bag, Barby : there's a 
 black one ' some place,' in the trunk-closet 
 or up-attic. Now, Barby, you know I 
 helped pick those quails yesterday." 
 
 " Yes, yes, dear, when I gets my eyes 
 open." 
 
 "I would sleep out doors, but ma says 
 I'd get cold ; so I'll lie on the floor in the 
 bathing-room. O, Barby, I'll sleep like a 
 trooper ! " 
 
 But Horace was a little mistaken. A 
 hard, unyielding floor makes a poor bed', 
 and when, at the same time, one's neck ia
 
 20 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 almost put out of joint by a carpetbag 
 stuffed with newspaper, it is not easy to 
 go to sleep. 
 
 In a short time the little boy began to 
 feel tired of " camping out ; " and I am sorry 
 to say that he employed some of the moon- 
 light hours in studying the workmanship of 
 his mother's watch, which had been left, by 
 accident, hanging on a nail in the bathing- 
 room. 
 
 He felt very guilty all the while ; and 
 when, at last, a chirr-chirr from the watch 
 told that mischief had been done, his heart 
 gave a quick throb of fright, and he stole 
 off to his chamber, undressed, and went to 
 bed in the dark. 
 
 Next morning he did not awake as early 
 as usual, and, to his great dismay, came 
 very near being late to breakfast. 
 
 " Good morning, little buzzard-lark," said
 
 CAMPING OUT. 21 
 
 his sister, coming into his room just as 
 he was thrusting his arms into his jacket. 
 
 "Ho, Grade ! why didn't you wake me up?" 
 
 :t 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, 'Grade Clifford, let me 
 alone ! ' You know you would, Horace." 
 
 The little boy stood by the looking-glass 
 finishing his toilet, and made no reply 
 
 " Don't you mean to behave ? " said he, 
 talking to his hair. "There, now, you've 
 parted in the middle ! Do you 'spose I'm 
 going to look like a girl? Part the way 
 you ought to, and lie down smooth ! We'll 
 see which will beat ! " 
 
 ''Why, what in the world is this?" ex- 
 claimed Grace, as sometmng heavy drc pped 
 t her feet.
 
 22 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 It was her mother's watch, which had 
 fallen out of Horace's pocket. 
 
 "Where did you get this watch?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Why, Horace, it doesn't tick : have you 
 been playing with it?" 
 
 Still no answer. 
 
 "Now, that's just like you, Horace, to 
 shut your mouth right up tight, and not 
 speak a word when you're spoken to. I 
 never saw such a boy ! I'm going down 
 stairs, this very minute, to tell my mother 
 you've been hurting her beautiful gold 
 watch ! " 
 
 w Stop ! '' cried the boy, suddenly finding 
 his voice ; " I reckon I can fix it ! I was 
 meaning to tell ma ! I only wanted to see 
 that little thing inside that ticks. - I'll bet 
 I'll fix it. I didn't GO to hurt it, Grace ! " 
 
 W O, yes, you feel like you could mem]
 
 CAMTING OUT. 23 
 
 \\atchcs, and fire guiis, and be soldiers and 
 generals," said Grace, shaking her ringlets ; 
 " but I'm going right down to tell ma ! " 
 
 Horace's lips curled with scorn. 
 
 "That's right, Gracie ; run and tell!" 
 
 " But, Horace, I ought to tell," said Grace, 
 meekly ; " it's my duty ! Isn't there a little 
 voice at your heart, and don't it say, you've 
 done wicked?" 
 
 ' There's a voice there," replied the boy, 
 pertly; "bat it don't say what you think 
 it does. It &ays, ' If your pa finds out about 
 the watch, we n't you catch it?' ' 
 
 To do Horace justice, he did mean to tell 
 his mother. He had been taught to speak 
 the truth, and the whole truth, cost what 
 it might. He knew that his parents could 
 forgive almost anything sooner than a false- 
 hood, or a cowardly concealment. Words 
 cannot tell how Mr. Clifford hated deceit.
 
 24 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 "When a lie tempts you, Horace, 
 he, " scorn it, if it looks ever so white ! Put 
 your foot on it, and crush it like a snake ! " 
 
 Horace ate dry toast again this morning, 
 mt DO one seemed to notice it. If he had 
 dared look up, he would have seen that his 
 father and mother wore sorrowful faces. 
 
 After breakfast, Mr. Clifford called him 
 into the library. In the first place, he took 
 to pieces the mangled watch, and showed 
 him how it had been injured. 
 
 " Have you any right to meddle with 
 things which belong to other people, my 
 son?" 
 
 Horace's chin snuggled down into the 
 hollow place in his neck, and he made no- 
 reply. 
 
 "Answer me, Horace." 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " It will cost several dollars to pay for
 
 CAMPING OUT. 25 
 
 repairing this watch : don't you think the 
 little boy who did the mischief should give 
 part of the money ? " 
 
 Horace looked distressed ; his face began 
 to twist itself out of shape. 
 "This very boy has a good many pieces 
 of silver which were given him to buy fire- 
 crackers. So you. see, if he is truly sorry 
 for his fault, he knows the way to atone 
 for it." 
 
 Horace's conscience told him, by a twinge, 
 that it would be no more than just for him 
 to pay what he could for mending the 
 watch. 
 
 "Have you nothing to say to me, my 
 child?" 
 
 For, instead of speaking, the boy was 
 working his features into as many shapes as 
 if they had been made of gutta percha. This 
 was a bad habit of his, though, when ho
 
 26 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 was doing it, he had no idea of * making up 
 faces." 
 
 His father told him he would let him have 
 the whole day to decide whether he ought 
 to give up any of his money. A tear trem- 
 bled in each of Horace's eyes, but, before 
 they could fall, he caught them on his 
 thumb and forefinger. 
 
 "Now," continued Mr. Clifford, "I have 
 something to tell you. I decided last night 
 to enter the army." 
 
 " O, pa," cried Horace, springing up, 
 eagerly; "mayn't I go, too?" 
 
 "You, my little son?" 
 
 " Yes, pa," replied Horace, clinging to 
 his father's knee. " Boys go to wait on the 
 generals and things ! I can wait on you. 
 I can comb your hair, and bring youi 
 slippers. If I could be a waiter, I'd go 
 a flyin'."
 
 CAMPING OUT. 27 
 
 " Poor child," laughed Mr. Clifford, strok- 
 ing Horace's head, "you're such a very little 
 boy, only eight years old ! " 
 
 " I'm going on nine. I'll be nine next 
 New Year's Gift-day," stammered Horace, 
 the bright flush dying out of his cheeks. 
 " O, pa, I don't want you to go, if I can't 
 go too ! " 
 
 Mr. Clifford's lips trembled. He took the 
 little boy on his knee, and told him how the 
 country was in danger, and needed all its 
 brave men. 
 
 "I should feel a great deal easier about 
 leaving my dear little family," said he, w if 
 Horace never disobeyed his mother ; if he 
 did not so often fall into mischief; if he 
 was always sure to remember " 
 
 The boy's neck was twisted around till 
 his father could only see the back of his 
 head.
 
 28 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 "Look here, pa," said he, at last, throw- 
 ing out the words one at a time, as if every 
 one weighed a Avhole pound ; " I'll give ma 
 that money ; I'll do it to-day." 
 
 "That's right, my boy! that's honest I 
 You have given me pleasure. Remember, 
 when you injure the property of another, 
 you should always make amends for it as 
 well as ^ou can. If you do not, you're 
 unjust and dishonest." 
 
 I will not repeat all that Mr. Clifford said 
 to his little son. Horace thought then he 
 should never forget his father's good advice, 
 nor his own promises. We shall see whethei 
 he did or not. 
 
 He was a restless, often a very naughty 
 boy ; but when you looked at his broad 
 forehead and truthful eyes, you felt that, 
 back of all his faults, there was nobleness 
 in his boyish soul. His father often said,
 
 MR, CLIFFORD AND HIS SON. Page 27.
 
 CAMPING OUT. 2& 
 
 * He will either make something or noth- 
 ing ; " and his mother answered, '' Yes, 
 there never will be any half-way place for 
 Horace." 
 
 Now that Mr. Clifford had really en- 
 listed, everybody looked sad. Grace was 
 often in tears, and said, 
 
 "We can't any of us live, if pa goes to 
 the war." 
 
 But when Horace could not help crying, 
 he always said it was because he " had the 
 earache ; " and perhaps he thought it was. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford tried to be cheerful, for 
 she was a patriotic woman ; but she could 
 not trust her voice to talk a great deal, 
 or sing much to the baby. 
 
 As for Barbara Kinckle, she scrubbed the 
 floors, and scoured the tins, harder than 
 ever, looking all the whiile as if every one 
 of her friends was dead and buried. The
 
 30 CAl'TAIX HOILACE. 
 
 family were to break up housekeeping:, and 
 Barbara was very sorry. Xow she would 
 have to go to her home, a little way back 
 in the country, and work in the fields, as 
 many German girls do every summer. 
 
 f 'O, my heart is sore," said she, "every 
 time I thinks of it. They will in the cars 
 go off, and whenever again I'll sec the 
 kliny (little) childers I knows not." 
 
 It was a sad day when Mr. Clifford bade 
 good by to his family. His last words to 
 Horace were these : " Always obey your 
 mother, my boy, and remember that God 
 sees all you do." 
 
 He was now "Captain Clifford," and went 
 away at the head of his company, looking 
 like, what he really was, a brave and noble 
 gentleman. 
 
 Grace wondered if he ever though* of 
 the bright new buttons on his coat ; ind
 
 CAMPING OUT. 31 
 
 Horace walked about among his school- 
 follows with quite an air, very proud of 
 being the son of a man who either was 
 now, or was going to be, the greatest 
 officer in Indiana ! 
 
 If any body else had shown as much self- 
 esteem as Horace did, the boys would have 
 said he had "the lig head." When Yankee 
 children think a playmate conceited, they 
 call him "stuck up;" but Hoosier children 
 say he has "the big head." No one spoke 
 in this way of Horace, however, for there 
 was something about him which made every 
 body like him, in spite of his faults. 
 
 He loved his play-fellows, and they loved 
 him, and were sorry enough to have him 
 go away ; though, perhaps, they did not 
 shed so many tears as Grace's little mates, 
 who said, "they never'd have any more 
 good times : they didn't mean to try." 
 3
 
 o2 CAPTAIN HOUACE. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford, too, left many warm friends ; 
 and it is sate to say, that on the morning 
 the family started tor the east, there we re 
 a great many people " crying their hearts 
 out of their eyes." Still, I believe no one 
 sorrowed more sincerely than faithful Bar- 
 bara Kinckle.
 
 TAKL\<; A JOURXEY. 35 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TAKING A JOURNEY. 
 
 IT was a great cflbrt for Mrs. Clifford tc 
 take a journey to Maine with three children ; 
 but she needed the bracing air of New Eng- 
 land, and so did Grace and the baby. 
 
 To be sure they had the company of a 
 gentleman who was going to Boston ; but 
 he was a, very } r oung man indeed, who 
 thought a great deal more of his new mus- 
 tache than he did of trunks, and checks, 
 and tickets. 
 
 Twenty times a day Mrs. Clifford wished 
 her husband could have gone with her be- 
 fore he enlisted, for she hardly knew what
 
 34 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 to do with restless little Horace. As for 
 sitting still, it was more than the boy could 
 do. He would keep jerking his inquisitive 
 little head out of the window, for he never 
 remembered a caution five minutes. He 
 delighted to run up and down the narrow 
 aisle, and, putting his hands on the arms 
 of the scats, SAving backward and forward 
 with all his might. He became acquainted 
 with every lozenge-boy and every newspaper- 
 boy on the route, and seemed to be in a 
 high state of merriment from morning till 
 night. 
 
 Grace, who was always proper and well- 
 behaved, Avas not a little mortified by Hor- 
 ace's rough manners. 
 
 ' lie means no harm," Mrs. Clifford would 
 say, with a smile and a sigh ; " but, Mr. La- 
 zclle, if you will be so kind as to Avatch 
 him a little, I will be greatly obliged."
 
 TAKIXC A JOURNEY. 35 
 
 Mr. Lazollc would reply, "O, certainty, 
 madam : be quite easy about the child ; he 
 is not out of my sight for a moment ! " 
 
 So saying, perhaps he would go in search 
 of him, and find him under a seat playing 
 with Pincher, his clothes covered with dust, 
 and his cap lying between somebody's feet. 
 
 At such times Mr. Lazellc always said. 
 "Upon my word, you're a pretty little 
 fellow ! " and looked as if he would like to 
 shake him, if it were not for soiling his 
 gloves. 
 
 Horace laughed when Mr. Lazelle called 
 him "a pretty little fellow," and thought it 
 a fine joke. He laughed, too, when the 
 young man told him to " come out," for 
 there was something in the pettish tone of 
 Hs voice which Horace considered very 
 amusing. 
 
 " I'll wait till he gets through scolding,
 
 36 CAPTAIN HOliACE. 
 
 and goes to coaxing," thought the boy : " he's 
 a smart man ! can't make such a little fellow 
 mind ! " 
 
 Mr. Lazelle was very much vexed with 
 Horace, and firmly resolved that he would 
 never again take charge of a lady travelling 
 with children. At one time he flew into 
 a passion, and boxed the boy's ears. Hor- 
 ace felt very much like a wounded wasp. 
 He knew Mr. Lazelle would not have dared 
 strike him before his mother, and from that 
 moment he despised him as a " sneak." 
 
 Whenever Mr. Lazelle was looking for 
 him in great haste, he was very likely to 
 be missing ; and when that sorely tried 
 young gentleman was almost in despair, a 
 saucy little head would appear at the car- 
 u Indow, and a small voice would shout, 
 
 " Ho, Mr. Lazelle ! why don't you come 
 ahead ? I beat you in ! "
 
 TAKING A JOUKNEY. 37 
 
 " Horace," said Mrs. Clifford, wearily, 
 * you don't know how you tire me ! Here 
 is this dear baby that I have to hold in my 
 arms ; isn't it enough that I should have 
 the care of him, without being all the while 
 anxious about you? " 
 
 "Yes," chimed in Grace, pushing back 
 her beautiful curls, " you don't knoAV how 
 ma and I fret about you. You'll kill poor 
 ma before ever we can get you cast ! " 
 
 Horace hung his head for shame, and de- 
 cided that it didn't " pay " to punish Mr. 
 Lazelle, if his mother must suffer too. He 
 meant, for her sake, to "turn over a new 
 leaf," though he did not say so. 
 
 On the afternoon of their second day's 
 ride, they reached the beautiful city of 
 Cleveland. Here they were to rest for a 
 few hours. Their clothes were sadly tum- 
 bled, their collars dust-color, and their faces
 
 '68 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 and hair rough with cinders. A thorough 
 washing and brushing, and some fresh ru ( !!''. 
 and laces, gave a much tidier appearance tc 
 the whole party. 
 
 After Grace and Horace were ready, Mrs. 
 Clifford thought they might as well go down 
 stairs while she tried to rock little Katie to 
 sleep. 
 
 " Be sure not to go away from the house," 
 said she. "Grace, I depend upon yon to 
 take care of Horace, for lie may forget." 
 
 The children had been standing on the 
 piazza for some time, watching the peo- 
 ple passing, while Mr. Lazcllc lounged 
 near by, talking politics with some gentle- 
 men. In a little while Mrs. Clifford sent 
 for Grace to go up stairs and amuse the 
 poor baby, who could not be rocked tr. 
 Bleep. 
 
 For a few moments after she had gone
 
 TAKING A JOUKXEY. 9 
 
 Horace stood near the door, still gazing into 
 the .street, when, suddenly, he heard a faint 
 sound of martial music : a brass band wad 
 aiming the corner. Soon they were ir 
 sight, men : >i handsome uniform, drawing 
 music from various instruments, picking, 
 blowing, or beating it out, as the case 
 might be. 
 
 It was glorious, Horace thought. He 
 :ould not keep still. lie ran out, and threw 
 up his cap before he knew it almost, shout- 
 ing with delight, 
 
 "Ho, Mr. Lazelle! -ain't that jolly? IIo, 
 Mr. Lazelle ! where are you, anyhow?" 
 
 Probably, if the boy had stopped to think, 
 ho might have remembered that Mr. Lazclle 
 was in the parlor ; but no, Horace was sure 
 he must have crossed the street to look at 
 the band. 
 
 '' I m going, too," said he to himself.
 
 40 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 '" Of course, where Mr. Lazelle goes, I can 
 go, for he has the care of me ! " 
 
 With that he dashed headlong into the 
 ?rowd, looking here, there, and everywhere 
 For Mr. Lazelle. 
 
 But, O, that music! Did a little boy's 
 boots ever stand still when a drum was 
 playing, " March, march away"? No doubt 
 his father was keeping step to just such 
 sounds, on his path to martial glory ! The 
 fife and bugle whistled with magical voices, 
 and seemed to say, 
 
 " Follow, follow, follow on ! '' 
 
 And Horace followed ; sometimes think- 
 ing he was in search of Mr. Lazelle, some- 
 times forgetting it altogether. He knew 
 he was doing very wrong, but it seemed as 
 if the music almost drowned the voice of 
 his conscience. 
 
 Ill this way they turned street after street,
 
 TAKING A JOURNEY. 4\ 
 
 till, suddenly, the band and the crowd en- 
 tered a large public building. Then the 
 music died out, and with it the fire of 
 eagerness in the little boy's soul. 
 
 Where was Mr. Lazelle? If he could see 
 him now, he would forgive the boxed ears 
 How could he ever find his way back to the 
 hotel? It had not as yet entered his head 
 to ask any one. 
 
 He darted off at great speed, but, as it 
 happened, in precisely the wrong direction. 
 The houses grew smaller and farther apart, 
 and presently he came to a high, sandr 
 cliff overlooking the lake. Now the shades 
 of night began to fall, and his stout heart 
 almost failed him. The longing grew so 
 strong to see mother, and Grace, and baby, 
 that the tears would start, in spite of 
 himself. 
 
 At last, just as he Avas wondering which
 
 42 CAPTAIN IIOHACE. 
 
 way to turn next, somebody touched his 
 shoulder, and a rough voice said, 
 
 "Hullo, my little man! \Vhat you dom' 
 in this ward ? Come ; don't you pull awaj 
 from me : I'm a city officer. Got lost, hey ? ' 
 
 Horace shook with fright. O dear, was 
 it a crime, then, to get lost? He remem- 
 bered all the stories he had ever heard of 
 lock-ups, and state-prisons, and handcuffs. 
 
 " O, I didn't mean any harm, sir," cried 
 he, trying to steady his voice : " I reckon I 
 ain't lost, sir ; or, if I am, I ain't lost 
 much ! " 
 
 " So, so," laughed the policeman, good- 
 naturedly ; "and what was your name, my 
 little man, before you got lost, and didn't 
 get lost mucJt ? " 
 
 "My name is Horace Clifford, sir," rcnlicd 
 the boy, wondering why a cruel policeman 
 should want to lau"h.
 
 TAKING y JOURNEY. 43 
 
 * 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 
 .nit to run off? Come, now ; don't be sulky. 
 Give us your hand, and I guess, scein' it's 
 you. we won't put you in the lock-up this 
 time." 
 
 Horace was very grateful to the officer 
 for not handcuffing him on the spot; still 
 he felt as if it was a great disgrace to bo 
 marched through the city by a policeman. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford, Grace, and Mr. Lazelle 
 met them on the way. 
 
 " O, my dear, clear son," cried Mrs. Clif- 
 ford, as soon as she could speak ; " do you 
 know how you've frightened us all?" 
 
 "I followed the band," stammered Horace 
 T I was looking for Mr. Lazcllc." 
 
 "You're a naughty, mean little boy," crieci 
 G'ace, when she had made sure he was not
 
 44 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 , \ 
 
 hurt anywhere. " It would have been good 
 enough for you if you'd drowned in the 
 lake, and 'the bears had ate you up ! ' 
 
 Still she kissed her naughty brother, und 
 it was to be noticed that her eyelids were 
 very red from crying. 
 
 " I'll never let go your hand again, Hor- 
 ace," said she, "till we get to grandma's. 
 You're just as slippery!" 
 
 Mr. Lazelle looked as if it would be an 
 immense relief to him if Miss Grace would 
 keep her word ; he thought he was under- 
 going a great trial with Horace. 
 
 "It's a shame," said he to himself, "that a 
 perfect lady, like Mrs. Clifford, should have 
 such a son ! I'd enjoy whipping him for 
 her sake ! Why in the world don't she train 
 him?" 
 
 Mr. Lazelle did not know of the faithful 
 talk Mrs Clifford had with Horace thyt
 
 TAKING A JOURNEY. 45 
 
 night, nor how the boy's heart swelled witii 
 grief, and love, and new resolutions. 
 
 This adventure caused a day's delay, rbr 
 it made the party too late for the boat. 
 Horace was so sorry for his foolish conduct, 
 that he spent the next day in the most sub- 
 dued manner, and walked about the cham- 
 ber on tiptoe, while Grace tried to soothe 
 little Katie. 
 
 But, in crossing the lake, he "forgot" 
 again. His mother allowed him to go up 
 on the hurricane deck with Mr. Lazelle, 
 just for ten minutes ; and there he became 
 acquainted with the pilot, who was struck 
 with his intelligence, and freely answered 
 all the questions he asked about the engine, 
 r 'thc whistle," and the steering. 
 
 "O, pshaw!" said Horace; "I'll make a 
 steamboat myself, and give it to Grace for 
 u present ! "
 
 46 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 Full of this new plan, he left the pilot 
 without so much as a " thank you," running 
 .lown 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 no- 
 body. 
 
 Down another flight of stairs, out across 
 trunks, and bales, and ropes, he pushed his 
 way to get a good sight of the deck. He 
 paid no heed to people or things, and nearly 
 ran over an Irish boy, who was draAving 
 up water in buckets for washing. Some- 
 body shouted, "He's trying to kill hissclf, 
 I do believe ! " 
 
 Somebody rushed forward to seize the 
 daring child by the collar of his jacket, but 
 too late ; he had fallen headlong into the 
 lake! 
 
 A scream went up from the deck thai
 
 TAKING A JOURNEY. 47 
 
 pierced the air, "Boy overboard! Help! 
 help! help!" 
 
 Mrs. Clifford heard, and knew, by in- 
 stinct, that it was Horace. She had just 
 cut Grace to call him, not feeling safe to 
 trust him longer with Mr. Lazelle. She 
 rushed through the door of the state-room, 
 and followed the crowd to the other side 
 of the boat, crying, 
 
 f ' O, can't somebody save him ! " 
 
 There was no mistaking the mother's 
 voice ; the crowd made way for her. 
 
 " Safe ! safe an.d sound ! *' was the shout 
 now. f> All right ! " 
 
 The Irish lad, at Horace's first plunge, 
 had thrown him his bucket it was a life- 
 preserver; that is, it would not sink and 
 the drowning boy had been drawn up by 
 means of a rope attached to the bail. 
 
 "Ma," said Grace, when they were all
 
 48 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 safely in the cars at Buffalo, and Horace as 
 well as ever, though a little pale, "I do 
 believe there never was anybody had such 
 an awful journey ! Do you suppose we'll 
 ever get Horace home to grandma's?"
 
 AT GRANDPA PAULIN'S. 49 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AT GRANDPA PARLIN'S. 
 
 IT was over at last the long, tedious 
 journey, which Horace spoiled for everybody, 
 and which nobody but Horace enjoyed. 
 
 When they drove up to the quiet old 
 homestead at "Willowbrook, and somebody 
 had taken the little baby, poor Mrs. Clif- 
 ford threw herself into her mother's arms, 
 and sobbed like a child. Everybody else 
 cried, too ; and good, deaf grandpa Parlin, 
 with smiles and tears at the same time, 
 Jeclared, 
 
 " I don't know what the matter is j so 
 I can't tell whether to laugh or cry.'
 
 50 OALTAIN HORACE. 
 
 Theii his daughter Margaret went up and 
 said in his best car that they were just 
 crying for joy, and asked him if that wasn't 
 a silly thing to da. 
 
 Grace embraced everybody twice over ; 
 but Horace was a little shy, and would only 
 give what his aunties called "canary kisses." 
 
 "Margaret, I want you to give me that 
 darling baby this minute," said Mrs. Parlin, 
 wiping her eyes. " Now you can bring tho 
 butter out of the cellar : it's all there is to be 
 done, except to set the tea on the table." 
 
 Then grandma Parlin had another cry 
 over little Katie : not such a strange thing, 
 for she could not help thinking of Harry, 
 tLe baby with sad eyes and pale face, Avho 
 had been sick there all the summer before, 
 and was now an angel. As little Prudy had 
 said, " God took him up to heaven, but the 
 tired part of him is in the garden."
 
 AT (iKANOI'A I'AIILIN'.S. 51 
 
 Yes, under a weeping-willow. Every- 
 body was thinking just now of tired little 
 Harry, " the sweetest flower that ever was 
 planted in that garden." 
 
 "Why, Maria," said Mrs. Clifford, as soon 
 as she could speak, "how did you ever travel 
 so far with tiilis little, little baby?" 
 
 "I don't know, mother," replied Mrs. 
 Clifford ; " I think I could never have get 
 here without Grace : she has been my little 
 waiter, and Katie's little nurse." 
 
 Grace blushed with delight at this well- 
 deserved praise. 
 
 "And Horace is so large now, that he 
 "vas some help, too, I've no doubt," said 
 jiis prauamother. 
 
 "L would have took the baby," cricu 
 Horace, speaking up very quickly, before 
 any one else had time to answer, "I would 
 have took the baby, but she wouldn't let m<i- r
 
 52 CAPTAIN I1011ACE. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford might have said that Horace 
 himself had been as much trouble as the 
 baby ; but she was too kind to wound her 
 little boy's feelings. 
 
 It was certainly a very happy party who 
 met around the tea-table at Mr. Purlin's that 
 evening. It was already dusk, and the large 
 globe lamp, with its white porcelain shade, 
 gave a cheery glow to the pleasant dining- 
 room. 
 
 First, there was cream-toast, made of the 
 whitest bread, and the sweetest cream. 
 
 " This makes me think of Mrs. Gray," 
 said Mrs. Clifford, smiling; "I hope she is 
 living yet." 
 
 " She is," said Margaret, " but twelve 
 years old." 
 
 Grace looked up in surprise. 
 
 " Why, that's only a little girl, aunt 
 
 Madge ! "
 
 AT GRANDPA 1'AULIN'S. 53 
 
 "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'ni ! they were white ducks ; ami 
 how they did swim ! It was a. year ago. 
 I suppose Horace doesn't remember." 
 
 " Poll ! ye.s, I do ; they were ttpin^footed f " 
 
 " Why, Horace," said Grace, laughing; 
 r 'y>;ti mean web-footed!" 
 
 Horace bent his eyes on his plate, and 
 did not look up again for some time. 
 
 There was chicken-salad on the table. 
 Margaret made that putting in new butter, 
 because she knew Mrs. Clifford did nol 
 like oil. 
 
 There was delicious looking cake, " some 
 that had been touched with frost, and some 
 that hadn't," as grandpa said, when he 
 passed the basket.
 
 54 CAITAIN HORACE. 
 
 But the crowning glory of the supper 
 was a dish of scarlet strawberries, which 
 looked as if they had been drinking dew- 
 drops and sunshine till they had caught 
 all the richness and sweetness of summer. 
 
 r O, ma!" whispered Grace, "I'm begin- 
 ning to feel so happy ! I only wish my 
 father was here." 
 
 After tea, grandpa took Horace and Grace 
 on each knee, large as they were, and sang 
 some delightful evening hymns with what 
 was left of his once fine voice. He looked 
 so peaceful and happy, that his daughters 
 were reminded of the Bible verse, " Chil- 
 dren's children are the crown of old men." 
 
 "I think now," said Mrs. Clifford, coining 
 back from putting the baby to sleep, " it's 
 high time my boy and girl were saying, 
 'Good-night, and pleasant dreams.'' 
 
 " Aunt Madge is going up stairs with us ; 
 uren't you, auntie ? "
 
 AT GIJAXDPA TAKLIN'S. 55 
 
 "Yes, Horace ; your other auntie wouldn't 
 do, I suppose," said Louise. " That makes 
 me think of the way this same Horace used 
 'o treat me when he was two years old. 
 ' Her can't put me to bed,' he would say; 
 'hcr's too little:" 
 
 "I remember," said Margaret, "how he 
 dreaded cold water. When his mother 
 called him to be washed, and said, f Ma 
 doesn't want a little dirty boy,' he would 
 look up in her face, and say, 'Does mamma 
 want 'ittle cold boy?'" 
 
 The happy children kissed everybody 
 good-night, and followed their aunt Madge 
 up stairs. Now, there was a certain small 
 room, whose one window opened upon the 
 piazza, and it was called "the green cham- 
 ber." It contained a cunning little bed- 
 stead, a wee bureau, a dressing-table, and 
 washing-stand, all pea-green. It was a
 
 50 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 room which seemed to have been made and 
 furnished on purpose for a child, and it had 
 been promised to Grace in every letter 
 unit Madge had written to her for a ycai 
 
 Horace had thought but little about the 
 room till to-night, when his aunt led Grace 
 into it, and he followed. It seemed so fresh 
 and sweet in "the green chamber," and on 
 the dressing-table there was a vase of flow- 
 ers. 
 
 Aunt Madge bade the children look out 
 of the window at a bird's nest, which was 
 snuggled into one corner of the piazza- 
 roof, so high up that nobody could reach 
 it without a very tall ladder. 
 
 "Now," said aunt Madge, "the very first 
 thing Grace hears in the morning will prob- 
 ably be bird-music." 
 
 Grace clapped her hands. 
 
 w And where am / going to sleep ? " said
 
 AT GRANDPA PARLIN'S. 5? 
 
 Horace, who had been listening, and looking 
 on in silence. His aunt had forgotten that 
 he was sometimes jealous ; but she could not 
 help knowing it now, for a very disagreeable 
 expression looked out at his eyes, and drew 
 doAvn the corners of his mouth. 
 
 "Why, Horace dear, we have to put you 
 in one of the back chambers, just as we did 
 when you were here before ; but you know 
 it's a nice clean room, with white curtains, 
 and you can look out of the window at the 
 garden." 
 
 " But it's over the kitchen ! " 
 
 "There, Horace," said Grace, "I'd be 
 ashamed ! You don't act lil^e a little gen . 
 tl email ! What would pa say ? " 
 
 " Why couldn't I have the big front cham- 
 ber?" said the little bey, shuffling his feet, 
 and looking down at his shoes. 
 
 " l.ccause," said aunt Madge, smiling, 
 w that is for your mother and the baby."
 
 58 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 "But if I could have this little cunning 
 
 D 
 
 room, I'd go a fly in'. Grace ain't company 
 any more than me." 
 
 Aunt Madge remembered Horace's hit-or 
 miss way of using things, and thought of 
 the elephant that once walked into a china 
 shop. 
 
 Grace laughed aloud. 
 
 "Why, Horace Clifford, you'd make the 
 room look like everything ; you know you 
 would ! O, auntie, you ought to see ho\v 
 he musses up my cabinet ! I have to hide 
 the key ; I do so ! " 
 
 Horace took the room which was given 
 him, but he left his sister without nis usual 
 good-night kiss, and when he repeated his 
 prayer, I am afraid he was thinking all the 
 while about the green chamber. 
 
 The next morning the children had in- 
 tended to go into the jjarden bright and
 
 AT GKANDPA PAKLIN'S. 5& 
 
 early , Grace loved flowers, and when she 
 was a mere baby, just able to toddle into 
 the meadow, she would clip off the heads 
 of buttercups and primroses, hugging and 
 kissing them like friends. 
 
 Horace, too, had some fancy for flowers, 
 especially flaring ones, like sunflowers and 
 hollyhocks. Dandelions were nice when the 
 stems would curl without bothering, and 
 poppies were worth while for little girls, 
 he thought, because, after they are gone 
 to seed, you can make them into pretty 
 good teapots. 
 
 He wanted to go out in the garden now 
 for humming-birds, and to see if the dirt- 
 colored toad was still living in his " nest," 
 in one of the flower-beds. 
 
 But the first thing the children heard in 
 the morning was the pattering of rain or 
 the roof. No going out to-day. Grace waa
 
 60 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 too tired to care much. Horace felt cross \ 
 but remembering how many messages his 
 grandmother had sent to her "good little 
 grandson," and how often aunt Madge had 
 written about "dear little Horace, the nephew 
 she was so proud of," he felt ashamed to go 
 down stairs scowling. If his good-morning 
 smile was so thin that you could see a frown 
 through it, still it was better than no smile 
 at all. 
 
 The breakfast was very nice, and Horace 
 would have enjoyed the hot griddle-cakes 
 and maple sirup, only his aunt Louise, a 
 handsome young lady of sixteen, watched 
 him more than he thought was quite polite, 
 saying every now and then, 
 
 w Isn't he the image of his father? Just 
 such a nose, just such a mouth ! Ho eats 
 fast, too ; that is characteristic ! " 
 
 Horace did not know what "character-
 
 AT GRANDPA PAKLIN'S. 6\ 
 
 istic " meant, but thought it must be some- 
 thing bad, for with a child's quick eve he 
 could see that his pretty aunt was 'iiclined 
 to laugh at him. In fact, he had quite an 
 odd way of talking, and his whole appear- 
 ance was amusing to Miss Louise, who was 
 a very lively young lady. 
 
 '"Horace, you were telling me last night 
 about Mr. Lazelle : what did you say was 
 the color of his coat ? " 
 
 "I said it was blueberry color," replied 
 Horace, who could see, almost without look- 
 ing up, that aunt Louise was smiling at aunt 
 Madge. 
 
 "lie is a musicianer too, I think you 
 said, and his hair crimps. Dear me, what 
 a funny man I " 
 
 Horace was silent, and made up his mind 
 that he should be careful another time what 
 he said before aunt Louise.
 
 ()2 CAPTAIN' HORACE. 
 
 Soon after breakfast he and Pinchcr went 
 'up-attic" to sec what they could find, while 
 Grace followed her grandmother and aunties 
 from parlor to kitchen, and from kitchen to 
 pantry. She looked pale and tired, but was 
 so happy that she sang every now and then 
 at the top of her voice, forgetting that little 
 Katie was having a nap. 
 
 Pretty soon Horace came down stairs with 
 an old, rusty gun much taller than himself. 
 Mrs. Clifford was shocked at first, but smiled 
 the next moment, as she remembered what 
 an innocent thing it was, past its "prime" 
 before she was of Horace's age. 
 
 The little boy playfully pointed the gun 
 towards Grace, who screamed with fright, 
 and ran away as fast as she could. 
 
 "I don't care," cried she, coming back, 
 little ashamed at being laughed at- "how did 
 / know it wasn't loaded? Do you think
 
 AT GHAXDPA PAIILIX'S. 03 
 
 'twould look well for a little girl not to be 
 afraid of a gun ? " 
 
 This speech amused everybody, particu- 
 Hrly Horace, who was glad to have Grace 
 jay a foolish thing once in a while. It 
 raised his self-esteem -somehow ; and, more 
 than that, he liked to remember her little 
 slips of the tongue, and tease her about 
 them. 
 
 It was not long before he had seen all 
 there was to be seen in the house, and 
 wanted to " do something." As for reading, 
 that was usually too stupid for Horace. 
 Grace kindly offered to play checkers with 
 him ; but she understood the game so much 
 better than he did, that she won at every 
 trial. 
 
 This was more than he could bear with 
 patience ; and, whenever he saw that she was 
 (raining upon him, he wanted to " turn it 
 into a give-qame"
 
 64 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 "But that isn't fair, Horace." 
 
 " Well, ma, just you see how mean Giace 
 is ! There, she wants me to jump that man 
 yonder, so she'll take two of mine, and go 
 right in the king-row ! " 
 
 "But, Horace," said Grace, gently, "what 
 do I play for if I don't try to beat ? " 
 
 "There now," cried he, "chase my men up 
 to the king-row, so I can't crown 'em, do ! " 
 
 "Just what I'm doing," replied Grace, 
 coolly. 
 
 "Well, I should think you'd better take 
 'em all, and be done with it ! Before I'd be 
 so mean as to set traps!" 
 
 " Look, Horace," said Grace ; "you didn't 
 jump when you ought to, and I'm going to 
 liuff your man. See, I blow it, just this 
 way ; old Mr. Knight calls it huffing " 
 
 " Huff away then ! but you stole one of 
 those kings. I'll bet you stole it off the 
 board after I jumped it."
 
 AT <;u.\M>i'A PAULIN'S. 65 
 
 "Now, Horace Clifford," cried Grace, with 
 tears in her eyes, " I never did such a thing 
 as to steal a king ; and if you say so I won't 
 play ! " 
 
 "Horace," said Mrs. Clifford, who had 
 been trying for some time to speak, "what 
 do you play checkers for?" 
 
 "Ma'am? Why, to beat, of course." 
 
 " Well, do you consider it work, or play?" 
 
 "Work, or play? Why, it's a game, ma; 
 so it's play." 
 
 "But Grace was so obliging that she 
 wished to amuse you, my son. Does it 
 amuse you? Doesn't it make you cross? 
 Do you know that you have spoken a 
 great many sharp words to your kind 
 sister? 
 
 "Shut the board right up, my child; and 
 remember from thio time never to play 
 checkers, or any other game, when you fecJ
 
 56 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 yourself growing fretful ! As you some, 
 dines say, 'It doesn't pay.'" 
 
 Horace closed the board, looking ashamed. 
 
 "That's sound advice for everybody," said 
 mnt Madge, stroking her little nephew's 
 hair. " If children always remembered it, 
 they would get along more pleasantly to- 
 gether I know they would." 
 
 Grace had been looking ill all the morn- 
 ng, and her mother now saw symptoms of 
 A chill. With all her tender anxiety she 
 had not known how tired her little daughter 
 was. It was two or three weeks before the 
 child was rested ; and whenever she had a 
 chill, which was every third day for a while, 
 Bhe was delirious, and kept crying out, 
 
 "O, do see to Horace, mamma! Mr. La- 
 zelle will forget ! O, Horace, now don't let 
 go my hand ! I've got the bundles, mamma, 
 and the milk for the baby."
 
 AT GRANDPA "AKLIX'S. l>7 
 
 And sometimes Mrs. Clifford would call 
 Horace to come and take his sister's hand, 
 just to assure her that he Avas not lying coW 
 and dead in the waters of Lake Erie. It 
 was really touching to see how heavily the 
 cares of the journey had weighed on the 
 dear girls youthful spirits.
 
 CAPTAIN HOKACE. 
 
 CHAPTER V- 
 
 CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. 
 
 AT first Mrs. Clifford thought she did no;; 
 care about having the children go to school, 
 as they had been kept at their studies for 
 nearly nine months without a vacation, ex- 
 cept Christmas holidays. 
 
 But what was to be done with Horace? 
 Aunt Louise, who was not passionately fond 
 of children, declared her trials were greater 
 than she could bear. Grace was a little 
 I idy, she thought ; but as for Horace, and 
 his dog Pincher, and the "calico kitty," 
 which he had picked up for a pet ! Louise 
 disliked dogs and despised kittens. Some-
 
 CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. 69 
 
 times, as she told Margaret, she felt as if 
 she should certainly fly ; sometimes she was 
 sure she was going crazy ; and then again it 
 seemed as if her head would burst into a 
 thousand pieces. 
 
 None of these dreadful accidents hap- 
 pened, it is true ; but a great many other 
 things did. Hammers, nails, and augers 
 were carried off, and left to rust in the dew. 
 A cup of green paint, Avhich for months had 
 stood quietly on an old shelf in the store- 
 room, was now taken down and stirred with 
 i stick, and all the toys which Horace whit- 
 tled out were stained green, and set in the 
 sun to dry. A pair of cheese-tongs, which 
 hung in the back room, a boot-jack, the 
 washing-bench, which was once red, all 
 became green in a very short time : only the 
 red of the bench had a curious effect, peep- 
 ing out from its light and ragged coat of 
 oreen.
 
 70 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 The blue sled which belonged to Susy and 
 Prudy was brought down from the shed- 
 chamber, and looked at for some time. It 
 would present a lovely appearance, Horace 
 thought, if he only dared cross it oft* with 
 green. But as the sled belonged to his 
 little cousins, and they were not there to see 
 for themselves how beautiful he could make 
 it look, why, he must wait till they came ; 
 and then, very likely, the paint would be 
 gone. 
 
 Of course, Horace soiled his clothes sadly : 
 "that was always just like him," his aunt 
 Louise said. 
 
 This was not all. A little neighbor, 
 Gilbert Brown, came to the house at all 
 hours, and between the two boys there was 
 a noise of driving nails, firing pop-guns, 
 shouting and running from morning till 
 night.
 
 CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. 71 
 
 They built a " shanty " of the boards 
 which grandpa was saving to mend the 
 fence, and in this shanty they " kept store," 
 trading in crooked pins, home-made toys, 
 twine, and jack-knives. 
 
 "Master chaps, them children are," said 
 Abner, the good-natured hired man. 
 
 " Hard-working boys ! They are as de- 
 structive as army-worms," declared grandpa, 
 frowning, with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 Horace had a cannon about a foot long, 
 which went on wheels, with a box behind it, 
 and a rammer lashed on at the side not to 
 mention an American flag which floated over 
 the whole. With a stout string he drew his 
 cannon up to the large oilnut tree, and then 
 with a real bayonet fixed to a wooden gun, 
 he would lie at full length under the shade, 
 calling himself a sharpshooter guarding the 
 cannon. At these times woe to the " calicu
 
 J'2 CAITAIN HORACE. 
 
 kitty," or Grace, or anybody else who hap- 
 pened to go ncur him ! for he gave the order 
 to "charge," and the charge was made most 
 vigorously. 
 
 Upon the whole, it was decided that 
 everybody would feel easier and happier if 
 Horace should go to school. This plan did 
 not please him at all, and he went Avith 
 sulky looks and a very bad grace. 
 
 His mother sighed; for though her little 
 boy kept the letter of the law, which says, 
 " Children, obey your parents*," he did not 
 do it in the spirit of the commandment, 
 "Honor thy father and thy mother." 
 
 In a thousand ways Mrs. Clifford was 
 made unhappy by Horace, who should have 
 been a comfort to her. It was sad, indeed ; 
 for never did a kind mother try harder to 
 * train up a child " in the right way. 
 
 It did not take Horace a great while to
 
 CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY 7ii 
 
 renew his acquaintance with the schoolboys, 
 who all seemed to look upon him as a sort 
 of curiosity. 
 
 " I never knew before," laughed little Dan 
 Hideout, " that my name was Dan-yell ! " 
 
 " He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper a 
 tin-kup" said Gilbert Brown. 
 
 "Yes," chimed in Willy Snoiv, "and he 
 asks, 'Is school took up?' just as if it was 
 knitting-work that was on needles." 
 
 " How he rolls his r's ! " said Peter Grant. 
 M You can't say hor-r-se the way he does ! 
 I'll bet the ain't a boy can do it, unless it's a 
 Cahoojack." Peter meant Hoosier. 
 
 "Well, I wouldn't be seen saying hoss" 
 returned Horace, with some spirit ; " that's 
 Yankee." 
 
 "I guess the Yankees arc as good as the 
 Cahoojacks : wasn't your mother a Yankee?" 
 
 "Yes," faltered Horace ; "she was born up
 
 74 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 north here, in the Frigid Zone , but she isn't 
 so much relation to me as my father is, for 
 her name wasn't Clifford. She wouldn't 
 have been any relation to me if she hadnl 
 married my father ! " 
 
 One or two of the larger boys laughed at 
 this speech, and Horace, who could never 
 endure ridicule, stole quietly away. 
 
 "Now, boys, you behave," said Edward 
 Snow, Willy's older brother; "he's a smart 
 little fellow, and it's mean to go to hurting 
 his feelings. Come back here, Spunky 
 Clifford ; let's have a game of Id xp>j ! " 
 
 Horace was " as silent as a stone." 
 
 "lie don't like to be called Spunky 
 Clifford," said Johnny Bell ; " do you, 
 Horace ? " 
 
 "The reason I don't like it," replied I!K 
 boy, "is because it's not my name." 
 
 "Well, then," said^dward Snow, winking
 
 CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. 75 
 
 to the other boys, " won't you play with us, 
 ^Faster Horace? 1 " 
 
 "I'll not go back to be laughed at," 
 replied he, stoutly: "when I'm home 1 play 
 with Hoosier boys, and they're politer than 
 Yankees." 
 
 ' Twas only those big boys," said Johnii}> 
 Bell; "now they've gone off. Come, let's 
 play something." 
 
 " I should think you'd be willing for us to 
 laugh," added honest little Willy Snow ; "we 
 can't help it, you talk so funny. We don't 
 mean anything." 
 
 "Well," said Horace, quite restored to 
 jjood humor, and speaking with some dig- 
 -nty, "you may laugh at me one kind of a 
 ?vay, but if you meivn humph when you 
 laugh, I won't stand it." 
 
 "IFbonV stand it!" echoed Peter Grant; 
 "ain't that Dutch?"
 
 76 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 " Dutch ? " replied Horace : " I'll show you 
 what Dyche is ! We have a Dyche teacher 
 coine in our school every 'day, and he stamps 
 his foot and tears round ! ' Sei ruhig,' he 
 says : that means, ' hush your mouth and 
 keep still.'" 
 
 " Is he a Jew, and does he stay in a syna- 
 
 gogue? 
 
 " No, he is a German Luteran, or a Dutch 
 Deformed, or something that way." 
 
 " What do you learn in ? " said Johnny 
 Bell. 
 
 "Why, in little German Readers: what 
 else would they be ? " 
 
 "Does it read like stories and verses? " 
 
 '' I don't know. He keeps hitting the 
 books with a little sw'tch, and scrcamin' out 
 as if the house was afire." 
 
 " Come, say over some Dutch ; woon't you, 
 Horace ? "
 
 CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. 77 
 
 So the little boy repeated some German 
 poetry, while his schoolmates looked up at 
 him in wonder and admiration. This was 
 just what Horace enjoyed ; and he continued, 
 with sparkling eyes, 
 
 "1 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 np to twenty, as last as he 
 could speak. 
 
 " You can't any of yon write Dutch ; can 
 you? You give me a slate now, and I'll 
 write it all over so you couldn't read a word 
 >f it." 
 
 "Ain't it very hard to make?" asked the 
 boys in tones of respectful astonishment. 
 
 "I reckon you'd think 'twas hard, it's so 
 lull of little quirls , but / can write it us 
 easy as English.''
 
 78 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 This was quite true, for Horace made very 
 hard work of any kind of writing. 
 
 It was not two days before he was at the 
 head of that part of the school known as 
 " the small boys," both in study and play ; 
 yet everybody liked him, for, as I have said 
 before, the little fellow had such a strong 
 sense of justice, and such kindness of heart, 
 that he was always a favorite, in spite of his 
 faults. 
 
 The boys all said there was nothing 
 "mean" about Horace. He would neither 
 abuse a smaller child, nor see one abused. 
 If he thought a boy was doing wrong, ho 
 was not afraid to tell him so, and you may 
 be sure he was all the more respected for his 
 moral courage. 
 
 Horace talked to his schoolmates a great 
 deal about his father, Captain Clifford, who 
 was going to be a general some day.
 
 CA1TAIX OF A COMPANY. 79 
 
 "When I was home," said he, "I studied 
 pa's book of tictacs, and I used to drill the 
 boys." 
 
 There was a loud cry of " Why can't you 
 drill us? Come, let's us have a company, 
 and you be cap'n ! " 
 
 Horace gladly consented, and the next 
 Saturday afternoon a meeting was appointed 
 at the " Glen." When the time came, the 
 boys Avcre all as joyful as so many squirrels 
 suddenly let out of a cage. 
 
 "Xow look here, boys," said Horace, 
 brushing back his "shingled hair," and walk- 
 ing about the grove with the air of a lord. 
 "First place, if I'm going to be captain, 
 you must mind; will you? xay" 
 
 Horace was not much of a public speaker; 
 he threw words together just as it happened; 
 but there was so much meaning in the twist- 
 ings of his face, the jcrking.s of his head,
 
 80 CAPTAIN II011ACE. 
 
 and the twiriings of his thumbs, that if you 
 were looking at him you must know what he 
 meant. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " piped the little boys in 
 chorus. 
 
 "Then I'll muster you in," said Horace, 
 grandly. " Has everybody brought their 
 guns? I mean sticks, you know!" 
 
 "Ay, ay!- 
 
 "I want to be corporal," said Peter Grant. 
 
 " I'll be major," cried Willy Snow. 
 
 "There, you've spoke," shouted the cap- 
 tain. "I wish there was a tub or bar'l to 
 stand you on when you talk." 
 
 After some time an empty flour barrel was 
 brought, and placed upright under a tree, to 
 serve as a dunce-block. 
 
 " Xow we'll begin 'new," said the captain, 
 * Those that want to be mustered, rise ny 
 their hands ; but don't you snap your fingers."
 
 r.VITAIX OF A COMPANY. 81 
 
 The caution came too late for some of th 
 hoys ; but Horace forgave the seeming di? 
 respect, Knowing that no harm was intended 
 
 " Now, boys, what arc you fighting about? 
 Say, For our country!" 
 
 "For our country," shouted the soldiers, 
 some in chorus, and some in solo. 
 
 "And our flag," added Horace, as an 
 after-thought. 
 
 "And our flag," repeated the boys, look- 
 ing at the little banner of stars and stripes, 
 which was fastened to the stump of a tree, 
 and faintly fluttered in the breeze. 
 
 " Long may it wave ! " cried Horace, 
 growing enthusiastic, and pointing back- 
 ward to the flag with a sweep of his thumb. 
 
 " There ain't a ' Secesh ' in this company ; 
 there ain't a man but wants our battle to 
 beat ! If there is, we'll muster him out 
 double-quick."
 
 82 CA1TAIX 1 1 Oil ACE. 
 
 A few caps were flourished in the air, and 
 every mouth was set firmly together, as if it 
 would shout scorn of secession if it dared 
 apeak. It was a loyal company ; there was 
 no doubt of that. Indeed, the captain was 
 so bitter against the South, that he had asked 
 his aunt Madge if it was right to let south- 
 ernwood grow in the garden. 
 
 "Now," said Horace, "Forward! March! 
 'Ploy column ! No, form a line first. Ten- 
 tion!" 
 
 A curved, uncertain line, not unlike the 
 letter S, gradually straightened itself, and 
 the boys looked down to their feet as if 
 they expected to see a chalk-mark on the 
 grass. 
 
 "Now, when I say, 'llight !' yon must look 
 at the buttons on my jacket or on yours, 
 I've forgot which ; on yours, I reckon. 
 Rbht ! Kight at 'em ! Eight at the buttons !"
 
 C\iTVIN OF A COMPANY. 83 
 
 Obedient to orders, every boy's head 
 drooped in a moment. 
 
 " Stop ! " said Horace, knitting his brows ; 
 M that's enough ! " For there seemed to be 
 something wrong, he could not tell what. 
 
 " Now you may ' 'bout face ; ' that means 
 whirl round. Now march ! one, two, quick 
 time, double-quick ! " 
 
 "They're stepping on my toes," cried 
 barefooted Peter Grant. 
 
 "Hush right up, private, or I'll stand you 
 on the bar'l." 
 
 "I wish't you would," groaned little Peter ; 
 "it hurts." 
 
 "Well, then, I shan't," said the captain, 
 decidedly, " for 'twouldn't be any punishiii'. 
 Can't some of you whistle ? " 
 
 Willy Snow struck up Yankee Doodle, 
 which soon charmed the wayward feet of 
 the little volunteers, and set them to march- 
 ing in good time.
 
 84 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 Afterward their captain gave instructions 
 in "groundin' arms," 'stackin' arms," "firm'/' 
 and " countin' a march/' by which he meant 
 'countermarching." He had really read a 
 good many pages in Infantry Tactics, and 
 had treasured up the military phrases with 
 some care, though he had but a confused 
 idea of their meaning. 
 
 "Holler-square!" said he, when he could 
 think of nothing else to say. Of course he 
 meant a "hollow square." 
 
 "Shall we holler all together?" cried a 
 voice from the midst of the ranks. 
 
 The OAvner of the voice would have been 
 "stood on the barrel," if Horace had been 
 less busy thinking. 
 
 "I've forgot how they holler, as true as 
 you live ; but I reckon it's all together, 
 and open your mouths wide." 
 
 At this the young volunteers, nothing
 
 STAND BY THE FLAG. Page 85.
 
 CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. ' 85 
 
 loath, gave a long, deafening shout, which 
 (he woods caught up and echoed 
 
 Horace scratched his head. lie had seen 
 his father drill his men, but he could not 
 remember that he had ever heard them 
 scream. 
 
 A pitched battle came off next, which 
 would have been a very peaceful one if ::i! 
 the boys had not wanted to be Northerner.-. 
 But the feeling was greatly changed when 
 Horace joined the Southern ranks, saying 
 w he didn't care how much he played Secesh 
 when everybody knew he was a good Union 
 man, and his father was going to be a 
 general." After this there was no trouble 
 about raising volunteers on the rebel side. 
 
 The whole affair ended very pleasantly, 
 only there was some slashing right and left 
 with a few bits of broken glass, which were 
 used as swords ; and several mothers had 
 wounds to dress that night. -
 
 86 . CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford heard no complaint from hei 
 little son, although his fingers were quite 
 ragged, and must have been painful. Hor- 
 ace was really a brave boy, and always bore 
 suffering like a hero. More than that, he 
 had the satisfaction of using the drops of 
 blood for red paint ; and the first thing after 
 supper he made a wooden sword and gun, 
 and dashed them with red streaks.
 
 SUSY AM) I'UUDY. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SUSY AND PRUDY. 
 
 THE Clifford children were very anxious 
 to see Susy and Prudy, and it seemed a 
 
 lon<r while to wait : but the Portland schools 
 o 
 
 had a vacation at last, and then it was time 
 to expect the little cousins. 
 
 The whole family were impatient to see 
 them and their excellent mother. Grandma 
 lost her spectacles very often that afternoon, 
 and every time she went to the window to 
 look out, the ball of her knitting-work fol- 
 /owed her, as Grace said, "like a little 
 kitten." 
 
 There was great joy when the stage realty
 
 K# C.MTAIN HORACE. 
 
 drove up to the door. The cousins wore 
 rather shy of each other at first, and Prudy 
 hid her face, all glowing with smiles and 
 Mushes, in her plump little hands. But the 
 stiffness wore away, and they were all as 
 M'ell acquainted as ever they had been, in 
 ibout ten minutes^ 
 
 "Ain't that a bumpiu' stage, though?" 
 ?ried Horace ; '"just like a baby-juniper." 
 
 "We came in it, you know, Susy," said 
 Grace ; "didn't it shake like a corn-popper?" 
 
 "I want to go and see the piggy and 
 clucks," said Prudy. 
 
 "Well," whispered Susy, "wait till after 
 supper." 
 
 The Cliffords were delighted with their 
 little cousins. When they had last seen 
 Prudy, which was the summer before, they 
 had loved her dearly. Xow she was past 
 five, and "a good deal cuuninger than ever j"
 
 SUSY AND PRUDY. 89 
 
 jr so Horace thought. He liked her prettj 
 face, her gentle ways, and said very often, 
 f he had such a little sister he'd "o a 
 
 
 To be sure Susy was just his age, and 
 could run almost as fast as he could ; still 
 Horace did not fancy her half as much as 
 Prndy, who could not run much without 
 falling down, and who was always sure to 
 cry if she got hurt. 
 
 Grace and Susy were glad that Horace 
 liked Prudy so well, for when they were 
 cutting out dolls' dresses, or playing with 
 company, it was pleasant to have him take 
 her out of the way. 
 
 Prudy 's mouth was not much larger than 
 a button-hole, but she opened it as wide as 
 she could when she saw Horace whittle out 
 such wonderful toys. 
 
 He tried to be as much as possible like a
 
 90 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 man ; so he worked with his jacket off, 
 whistling all the while ; and when he 
 pounded, he drew in his breath with a 
 whizzing noise, such as he had heard car- 
 penters make. 
 
 All this was very droll to little Prudy, 
 who had no brothers, and supposed her 
 " captain cousin " must be a very remarkable 
 boy, especially as he told her that, if lie 
 hadn't left his tool-box out west, he could 
 have done rt a heap better." It was quite 
 funny to see her standing over him with 
 such a happy, wondering little face, some- 
 times singing snatches of little songs, which 
 were sure to be wrong somewhere, such as, 
 
 '' Little kinds of deedness, 
 
 Little words of love, 
 Make this earthen needn't, 
 Like the heaven above." 
 
 She thought, as Horace did, that her sled
 
 SUST AND PRUDY. 91 
 
 would look very well "crossed off with 
 green ; " but Susy would not consent. So 
 Horace made a doll's sled out of shingles, 
 
 C 
 
 with turncd-up runners, and a tongue of 
 string. This toy pleased Prudy, and no 
 one had a right to say it should not be 
 painted green. 
 
 But as Captain Horace was just preparing 
 to add this finishing touch, a lady arrived 
 with little twin-boys, four years old. Aunt 
 Madge came into the shed to call Horace 
 and Prudy. "O, auntie," said Horace, "I 
 don't believe I care to play with those 
 little persons ! " 
 
 His aunt smiled at hearing children called 
 T little persons," but told Horace it would 
 not be polite to neglect his young visitors : 
 it would be positively rude. Horace did 
 not wish to be considered an ill-mannered 
 boy, and at last consented to have his hands
 
 92 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 and garments cleansed with turpentine tc 
 erase the paint, and to go into the nursery 
 to see the " little persons." 
 
 It seemed to him and Prudy that the visit 
 lasted a great while, and that it was exceed 
 ingly hard work to be polite. 
 
 When it was well over, Prudy said, "The 
 next lady that comes here, I hope she won't, 
 bring any little double boys! What do I 
 love little boys for, 'thout they're my 
 cousins ? " 
 
 After the sled was carefully dried, Horace 
 printed on it the Avords "Lady Jane," in 
 large yellow letters. His friend Gilbert 
 found the paint for this, and it was though* 
 by both, the boys that the sled could not 
 have been finer if " Lady Jane " had bcei 
 spread on with gold-leaf by a sign-painter. 
 
 "Now, Prudy," said Horace, "it isn't 
 everybody can make such a .sled as that J
 
 SUSY AND PRUDY. 93 
 
 It's right strong, too ; as strong as why, 
 it's strong enough to ' bear up an egg ' ! " 
 
 O O 1 OO 
 
 If Horace hud done only such innoeent 
 things as to "drill" the little boys, make 
 sleds for Prudy, and keep store with Gil- 
 bert, his mother might have felt happy. 
 
 But Horace was growing careless. His 
 father's parting words, "Always obey your 
 mother, my son, and remember that God 
 sees all you do," did not often ring in his 
 ears now. Mr. Clifford, though a kind 
 parent, had always been strict in discipline, 
 and his little son had stood in awe of him. 
 Now that he had gone aAvay, there seemed to 
 be some danger that Horace might full intc 
 
 c-j <_> 
 
 bad ways. His mother had many serious- 
 fears about him, for, with her feeble health, 
 and the care of little Katie, she could not b? 
 as watchful of him as she wished to be. 
 She remembered how Mr. Clifford had often
 
 94 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 said, "He will either make something on 
 nothing," and she had answered, "Yes, 
 there'll never be any half-way place for 
 Horace." She sighed now as she repeated 
 !ier own words. 
 
 In his vo3'agcs of discovery Horace had 
 found some gunpowder. "Mine!" said he 
 to himself: "didn't aunt Madge say we 
 could have everything we found up-attic ? " 
 
 He knew that he was doing wrong Avhen 
 he tucked the powder slyly into his pocket. 
 He knew he did wrong when he showed it 
 to Gilbert, saying, 
 
 "Got any matches, Grasshopper?" 
 
 They dug holes in the ground for the 
 powder, and over the powder crossed some 
 dry sticks. When they touched it off they 
 ran away as fast as possible ; but it was a 
 wonder they were not both blown up. It 
 was pleasant, no doubt, to hear the popping
 
 SUSY AND PRUDY. 95 
 
 of the powder ; but they dared not laugh 
 too loud, lest some one in the house should 
 h-3;ir them, and come out to ask what they 
 :ould be playing that was so remarkably 
 funny. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford little thought what a naughty 
 thing Horace had been doing, when she 
 called him in one day, and said, with a 
 smiling face, for she loved to make him 
 happy, "See, my son, what I have bought 
 for you ! It is a present from your father, 
 for in his last letter he asked me to get it." 
 
 Horace fairly shouted with delight when 
 he saw the beautiful Zouave suit, gray, 
 bordered with red, and a cap to match. If 
 he had any twinges of conscience about 
 receiving this present, nobody knew it. 
 
 Here is the letter of thanks which he 
 wrote to his father : 
 7
 
 96 CAI'TAIN 110IUCE. 
 
 "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 arc going to tram with paper caps. 
 
 "I get up the cows and have a good time. 
 
 " Good-by. From your son, 
 
 "HORACE P. CLIFFORD. 
 
 "P. S. Ma bought me the soldier- 
 clothes. I thank you." 
 
 About this time Mrs. Clifford was trying to 
 put together a barrel of nice things to sen;"' 
 to her husband. Grandma and aunt Madge 
 b.-iked a great many loaves of cake and 
 hundreds of cookies, ahd put in cans of fruit
 
 SUSY AM) PKUDY. 97 
 
 and boxes of jelly wherever there was room. 
 Aunt Louise made a nice little dressing-case 
 of bronze kid, lined with silk, and Grace 
 made a pretty pen-wiper and pin-ball 
 Horace whittled out a handsome steamboat, 
 with (jreeu pipes, and the figure-head of au 
 old man's face carved in wood. But Horace 
 thought the face looked like Prudy's, and 
 named the steamboat "The Prudy." He 
 also broke open his savings-bank, and 
 begged his mother to lay out all the money 
 he had in presents for the sick soldiers. 
 
 "Horace has a kind and loving heart," 
 said Margaret to Louise. "To be sure he 
 won't keep still long enough to let anybody 
 kiss him, but he really loves his parents 
 dearly." 
 
 "Well, he's a terrible try-patience, said 
 Louise. 
 
 "Wait a while ! He is wilful and naughty,
 
 08 CA1TAIN HOliACE. 
 
 but ho never tells wrong stories. I think 
 there's hope of a boy who scorns a Ifc.' 
 See if he doesn't come out right, Louise. 
 Why, I expect to be proud of our Horace 
 one of these days ! "
 
 IN THE WOODS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN THE WOODS. 
 
 "O. MA," said Horace, coming into the 
 house one morning glowing with excitement, 
 w mayn't I go in the woods with Peter 
 Grant? He knows where there's heaps of 
 boxberries." 
 
 "And who is Peter Grant, my son?" 
 "lie is a little boy Avith a bad temper," 
 said aunt Louise, frowning severely at Hor- 
 i< < i . If she had had her way, I don't know 
 but every little boy in town would have 
 been tied to a bed-post by a clothes-line* 
 As I have already said, aunt Louise was not 
 remarkably fond of children, and when tliey
 
 100 CA1TA1N I1OKACE. 
 
 were naughty it was hard for her to forgiv* 
 them. 
 
 She disliked little Peter; but she nevet 
 stopped to think mat he had a cross and 
 ignorant mother, who managed him so badly 
 that he did not care about trying to be good. 
 Mrs. Grant seldom talked with him about 
 God and the Saviour ; she never read to him 
 from the Bible, nor told him to say his 
 prayers. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford answered Horace that she 
 lid not wish him to go into the woods, and 
 hat was all that she thought it necessary to 
 say. 
 
 Horace, at the time, had no idea of diso- 
 beying his mother ; but nor long afterwards 
 ho happened to go into the kitchen, where 
 his grandmother was making beer. 
 
 " What do you make it of, grandma ? * 
 saiol he.
 
 IN THE WOODS. 101 
 
 "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 'some- 
 place,' and dig roots for you?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, my dear," said she inno- 
 cently ; " and if you should go, pray get 
 some wintcrgreen, by all means." 
 
 Horace's heart gave a wicked throb of 
 delight. If some one wanted him to go 
 after something, of course he oucjld to go ; 
 tor his mother had often told him he must 
 try to be useful. Strolling into the woods 
 with Peter Grant, just for fun, was very 
 different from going in soberly to dig up 
 roots for grandma. 
 
 He thought of it all the way out to the 
 gate. To be sure he might go and ask his
 
 102 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 mother again , but "what was the use, when 
 he knew certain sure she'd be willing? 
 Besides, wasn't the .baby crying, so he 
 mustn't go in the room?" 
 
 These reasons sounded very well ; but 
 they could be picked in pieces, and Horace 
 knew it. It was only when the baby was 
 asleep that he must keep out of the cham- 
 ber ; and, as for being sure that his mother 
 would let him go into the woods, the truth 
 was, he dared not ask her, for he knew she 
 would say, "No." 
 
 He found Peter Grant lounging near the 
 school-house, scribbling his name on the 
 clean white paint under one of the windows. 
 
 Peter's black eyes twinkled. 
 
 "Going, ain't you, cap'n ! dog and all? 
 But where's your basket? Wait, and I'll 
 fetch one." 
 
 "There," said he, coming back again, "I
 
 IN THE WOODS. 103 
 
 got that out of the stable there at the 
 tavern ; l>illy Green is hostler : Billy knows 
 me." 
 
 "AYcll, 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 mij way in the dark. I 
 never got lost anywheres yet ! " 
 
 "Poll! nor I either," Horace was about 
 to say ; but remembering his adventure in 
 Cleveland, he drowned the words in a long 
 whistle. 
 
 They kept on up the steep hill for some 
 distance, and then struck off into the forest. 
 The straight pine trees stood up solemn and 
 stiff. Instead of tender leaves, they bristled 
 ail over with dark green " needles." They 
 had no blessings of birds' nests in their
 
 104 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 branches ; yet they gave out a pleasant odor, 
 which the boys said was " nice." 
 
 "But they aren't so splendid, Peter, as 
 aur trees out west don't begin ! They 
 grow so big you can't chop 'em down. I'll 
 leave it to Pincher ! " 
 
 " Chop 'ein down ? I reckon it can't be 
 done ! " replied Pincher not in words, but 
 by a wag of his tail. 
 
 "Well, how do you get 'em down then, 
 cap'n?" 
 
 w We cut a place right 'round 'cm: 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 ! " 
 
 '"Xo, you DON'T want to know, Peter, foi 
 I just told you ! You may say, 'I wonder,' 
 if you like : that's what we say out west." 
 
 " Wait," said Peter. " I only said, ' J. want
 
 IN THE WOODS. 105 
 
 io know what other trees you have ; ' that's 
 ;vhat I meant, but you shet me right up/' 
 
 " O, there's the butternut, and tree of 
 heaven, and papaw, and 'simmon, and 
 right smart sprinkle ' of wood-trees." 
 
 "What's a 'simmon?" 
 
 " O, it looks like a little baked apple, all 
 wrinkled up ; but it's right sweet. Ugh ! " 
 r.'.ldcd Horace, making a wry. face,- "you 
 better look out when they're green : they 
 pucker your mouth up a good deal worse'n 
 choke-cherries." 
 
 "What's a papaw?" 
 
 "A papaw? Well, it's a curious thing, 
 not much account. The pigs eat it. It 
 tastes like a custard, right soft and mellow. 
 Come, let's 2:0 to work." 
 
 "Well, what's a tree of heaven?" 
 
 " O, Peter, for pity's sakes how do I 
 know? It's a tree of heaven, I suppose.
 
 106 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 It has pink hollyhocks growing on it. 
 What makes you ask so many questions?" 
 
 Upon that the boys went to work picking 
 boxberry leaves, -which grew at the roots of 
 the pine trees, among the soft moss and last 
 year's cones. Horace was very anxious to 
 gather enough for some beer ; but it was 
 strange how many it took to fill such " enor- 
 mous big baskets." 
 
 "Now," said Horace, "I move we look 
 over yonder for some wintergreen. You 
 said you knew it by sight." 
 
 rt Winfergreen ? wintergreen ? " echoed 
 Peter: "O, yes, I know it well enough. 
 It spangles 'round. See, here's some ; the 
 girls make wreaths of it." 
 
 It was moneywort; but Horace ncvci 
 doubted that Peter was telling the truth; 
 and supposed his grandmother would be 
 delighted to see such quantities of winter- 
 green.
 
 IN THE WOODS. 107 
 
 After some time spent in gathering this, 
 Horace happened to remember that he 
 wanted sarsaparilla. 
 
 "I reckon," thought he, "they'll be glad 
 I came, if I carry home so many things." 
 
 Peter knew they could find sarsaparilln, 
 for there was not a root of any sort which 
 did not grow " in the pines ; " of that he was 
 sure. So they struck still deeper into the 
 woods, every step taking them farther from 
 home. Pincher followed, as happy as a dog 
 can be ; but, alas ! never dreaming that seri- 
 ous trouble was coming. 
 
 The boys dug up various roots with their 
 jackknives ; but they both knew the taste of 
 sarsaparilla, and could not be deceived. 
 
 " We hain't come to it yet," said Peter ; 
 w but it's round here somewheres, I'll bet a 
 dollar." 
 
 " I'm getting hungry," said Horace : " isn't 
 it about time for the dinner-bell to ring* "
 
 108 CAPTAIN' HORACE. 
 
 "Pretty near," replied Peter, squinting 
 his eyes and looking at the sky as if there 
 was a noon-mark up there, and he was the 
 boy to find it. " That bell will ring in fifteen 
 minutes : you see if it don't." 
 
 But it did not, though it was high noon, 
 certainly. Hours passed. Horace remem- 
 bered they were to have had salt codfish and 
 cream gravy for dinner. Aunt Madge had 
 said so ; also a roly-poly with foaming 
 sauce. It must now be long ago since the 
 sugar and butter were beaten together for 
 that sauce. He wondered if there would be 
 any pudding left. He was sure he should 
 like it cold, and a glass of water with ice 
 in it. 
 
 O, how many times he could have gone 
 to the barrel which stood by the sink, and 
 drunk such deep draughts of water, when 
 he didn't care anything about it ! But now
 
 CAPTAIN HORACE LOST. Page 42.
 
 IN THE WOODS. 109 
 
 he was so thirsty, and there was not so 
 much as a teaspoonful of water to be found ! 
 
 "I motion we go home," said Horace, for 
 ut 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, /know." 
 
 " Pshaw ! no, it ain't, no such a thing." 
 
 But they were really going the wrong 
 way. The village bell had rung at noon, as 
 usual, but they were too far off to hear it. 
 It was weary work winding in and out, in 
 and out, among the trees and stumps. 
 V/ith torn clothes, bleeding hands, and tired 
 feet, the poor boys pushed on. 
 
 " Of course we're right," said Peter, in a 
 would-be brave tone : " don't yon remember 
 that stump?" 
 
 "No, I don't, Peter Grant," replied Hor-
 
 ilO CAPTAIX HORACE. 
 
 ace, who was losing his patience: "I. nevei 
 was here before. Humph ! I thought you 
 could find your way with your eyes shut." 
 
 " Turn and go t'other way, then," said 
 Peter, adding a wicked word I cannot re- 
 peat. 
 
 " I will," replied Horace, coolly : " if I'd 
 known you used such swearing words I 
 never'd have come ! " 
 
 " Hollo, there ! " shouted Peter, a few mo- 
 ments after, "I'll keep with you, and risk it, 
 cap'n." 
 
 " Come on, then," returned Horace, who 
 was glad of Peter's company just now, little 
 as he liked him. " Where's our baskets?" 
 said he, stopping short. 
 
 "Sure enough," cried Peter; "but we 
 can't go back now." 
 
 They had not gone far when they wore 
 startled by a cry from Pincher, a sharp cry
 
 IN THE WOODS. Ill 
 
 of pain. He stood stock still, his brown 
 oyrs almost starting from their sockets with 
 agony and fear. ' It proved that he had 
 stumbled upon a fox-trap which was con- 
 cealed under some dry twigs, and his right 
 fore-paw was caught fast. 
 
 Here was a dilemma. The boys tried 
 with all their might to set poor Pincher free ; 
 but it seemed as if they only made matters 
 worse. 
 
 " What an old nuisance of a dog ! " cried 
 Peter; "just as we'd got to goin' on the 
 right road." 
 
 "Be still, Peter Grant! Hush your 
 mouth ! If you say a word against my dog 
 you'll catch it. Poor little Pincher ! " said 
 Horace, patting him gently and laying his 
 .Jieck down close to his face. 
 
 The suffering creature licked his hands, 
 ond said with his eloquent eyes, 
 8
 
 112 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 "Dear little master, don't take it to heart! 
 You didn't know I'd get hurt ! You've 
 always been good to poor Pincher." 
 
 "I'd rather have given a dollar," said Hor- 
 ace ; " O, Pincher ! I wish 'twas my foot ; I 
 tell you I do ! " 
 
 They tried again, but the trap held the 
 dog's paw like a vice. 
 
 "I'll tell you what," said Peter; "we'll 
 leave tiic dog here, and go home and get 
 somebody to come." 
 
 "You just behave, Peter Grant," said 
 Horace, looking very angry. "I shouldn't 
 want to be your dog ! Just you hold his 
 foot still, and I'll try again." 
 
 This time Horace examined the trap on 
 all sides, and, being what is called an in- 
 genious boy, did actually succeed at last in 
 getting little Pincher's foot out. 
 
 " Whew ! I didn't think you could," said 
 Peter, admiringly.
 
 IN THE WOODS. 113 
 
 " You couldn't, Peter ; you haveu't sense 
 enough." 
 
 The foot was terribly mangled, and 
 Pincher had to be carried home in arms. 
 
 "I should like to know, Peter, who set 
 that trap. If my father was here, he'd have 
 him in the lock-up."' 
 
 " Poh ! it wasn't set for dogs," replied 
 Peter, in an equally cross tone, for both tho 
 boys were tired, hungry, and out of sorts. 
 "Don't you know nothin'? That's a bear, 
 trap ! " 
 
 " A bear-trap ! Do you have bears up 
 here?" 
 
 " O, yes, dear me, suz : hain't you seen 
 none since you've been in the State of Maine ? 
 Ive ate 'cm lots of times." 
 
 Peter had once eaten a piece of bear- 
 steak, or it might have been moose-meat, 
 be was not sure which; but at any rate u
 
 114 CAI'TAIN HORACE. 
 
 had been brought down from Mooscheud 
 Lake. 
 
 " Bears 'round here ?" thought Horace, in 
 a fright. 
 
 He quickened his paee. O, if he could 
 only be sure it was the right road ! Perhaps 
 they were walking straight into a den of 
 bears. He hugged little Pineher close in 
 his arms, soothing him with pet names ; for 
 the poor dog continued to moan. 
 
 " O, dear, dear ! " cried Peter, " don't you 
 feel awfully?" 
 
 "I don't stop to think of my feelings," 
 replied Horace, shortly. 
 
 "Well, I wish we hadn't come I do." 
 
 "So do I, Peter. I won't play 'hookey' 
 ugain ; but I'm not a-goin' to cry." 
 
 " I'll never go anywheres with you any 
 n\\re as long as I live, Horace Clifford ! " 
 
 ' Nobody wants you to, Pete Grant ! '"
 
 IN THE WOODS. 11 
 
 Then they pushed on in dignified silence 
 till Peter broke forth again with wailing 
 sobs. 
 
 "I dread to get home ! O, dear, I'll have 
 to take it, I tell you. I guess you'd cry if 
 you expected to be whipped." 
 
 Horace made no reply. He did not care 
 about telling Peter that he too had a terrible 
 dread of reaching home, for there was some- 
 thing a great deal Averse than a whipping, 
 and that was, a mother's sorrowful face. 
 
 " I shouldn't care if she'd whip me right 
 hard," thought Horace; "but she'll talk to 
 me about God and the Bible, and O, she'll 
 look so white '! " 
 
 "Peter, you go on ahead," said he aloud. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " O, I want to rest a minute with Pincher/ 
 
 It was some moments before Peter would 
 go, and then he went grumbling. As soon
 
 116 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 as ho was out of sight, Horace threw him- 
 self on his knees and prayed in low tones, 
 
 " O God, I do want to be a good boy ; and 
 if I ever get out of this woods I'll begin ! 
 Keep the bears off, please do, O God, and 
 let us find the way out, and forgive me. 
 Amen." 
 
 Horace had never uttered a more sincere 
 prayer in his life. Like many older people, 
 he waited till he was in sore need before he 
 called upon God ; but when he had once 
 opened his heart to him, it was wonderful 
 how much lighter it felt. 
 
 He rose to his feet and struggled on, say- 
 ing to Pincher, "Poor fellow, poor fellow, 
 don't cry : we'll soon be home." 
 
 "Hollo there, cap'n ! " shouted Peters 
 * we're comin' to a clearinV 
 
 "Just as I expected," thought Horace; 
 " why didn't I pray to God before ? "
 
 Iw THE WOODS. Page 111.
 
 CA1TAIX CLIFFORD. HV 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. 
 
 WHEN Horace entered the yard,- holding 
 the poor dog in his arms, he felt wretched 
 indeed. At that moment all the sulkincss 
 and self-will were crushed out of his liltb 
 heart. It seemed to him that never, never 
 had there lived upon the earth another boy 
 so wicked as himself. 
 
 He forgot the excuses he had been making 
 up about going into the woods because his 
 grandmother wanted him to : he scorned 
 to add falsehood to disobedience, and was 
 more than willing to take his full share 
 _>f blame.
 
 118 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 "If ma would whip me like everything! 
 thought the hoy, "I know I'd feel better." 
 
 It was a long, winding path from the gaU. 
 The grounds looked very beautiful in tae 
 golden light of the afternoon sun. The 
 pink elover-patch nodded with a thousand 
 heads, and sprinkled the air with sweetness. 
 
 Everything was very quiet : no one was 
 on the piazza, no one at the windows. The 
 blinds were all shut, and you could fancy 
 that the house had closed its many eyes and 
 dropped asleep. There was an awe about 
 such perfect silence. "Where could Grace 
 be, and those two dancing girls, Susy and 
 Prudy?" 
 
 He stole along to the back door, and 
 lifted the latch. His grandmother stopped 
 with a bowl of gruel in her hand, and said $ 
 " O, Horace !" that was all ; but she could say 
 no more for tears. She set down the bowl f
 
 CAITAIX CLIFFORD. 110 
 
 and went up to him, trying to speak ; but the 
 v/ords trembled on her lips unspoken. 
 
 "O, grandma ! " said Horace, setting little 
 Pincher down on a chair, and clutching the 
 skirt of her dress, "I've been right bad : I'm 
 sorry I tell you I am." 
 
 His grandmother had never heard him 
 speak in such humble tones before. 
 
 "O, Horace !" she sobbed again, this time 
 clasping him close to her heart, and kissing 
 him with a yearning fondness she had hardly 
 ever shown since he was a little toddling 
 baby. " My darling, darling boy ! " 
 
 Horace thought by her manner they must 
 all have been sadly frightened about him. 
 
 "I got lost in the woods, grandma; but 
 it didn't hurt me any, only Pincher got his 
 foot caught." 
 
 " Lost in the woods ? " repeated she : 
 " Grace thought you went home to dinner 
 with Willy Snow."
 
 120 OA1TALN I1OKACE. 
 
 So it seemed they had not worried about 
 him at all : then what was grandma crying 
 about ? 
 
 "Don't go up stairs, dear," said she, as he 
 brushed past her and laid his hand on the 
 latch of the chamber door. 
 
 " But I want to see ma." 
 
 " Wait a little," said Mrs. Parlin, with a 
 fresh burst of tears. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter, grandma ; and 
 where's Grace, and Susy, and Prudy?" 
 
 "Grace is with your mother, and the other 
 children are at aunt Martha's. But if you've 
 been m the woods all day, Horace, you must 
 be very hungry." 
 
 " You've forgot Pincher, grandma." 
 
 The boy would not taste food till tho 
 log's foot had been bandaged, though, all 
 the w r hile his grandmother was doing up tho 
 wound, it seemed to Horace that she must
 
 CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. 121 
 
 he thinking of something else, or she would 
 pity Pincher a great deal more. 
 
 The cold dinner which she set out on the 
 table was very tempting, and he ate heart- 
 ily ; but after every mouthful he kept ask- 
 ing, "What could be the matter? Was 
 baby worse? Had anybody took sick?" 
 
 But his grandmother stood by the stove 
 stirring gruel, and would answer him noth- 
 ing but, " I'll let you know very soon." 
 
 She wanted the little boy to be rested and 
 refreshed by food before she told him a very 
 painful thing. Then she took him up stairs 
 with her into her own chamber, which was 
 quite shady with grape-vines, and so still 
 that you could only hear the buzzing of two 
 :>r three flics. 
 
 She had brought a bowl of hot gruel on a 
 little waiter. She placed the waiter on the 
 top of her washing-stand, ;uid seated herself
 
 122 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 on the bed, drawing Horace down beside 
 her. 
 
 " My dear little grandson," said she, 
 stroking his bright hair, " God has beci: 
 very good to you always, always. He loves 
 you better than you can even think." 
 
 "Yes, grandma," answered Horace, be- 
 wildered. 
 
 " He is your dear Father in heaven," she 
 added, slowly. "He wants you to love him 
 with all your heart, for now you have no 
 other father ! " 
 
 Horace sprang up from the bed, his eyes 
 wild with fear and surprise, yet having no 
 idea what she meant. 
 
 " Why, my father's captain in the army 
 He's down South ! " 
 
 " But have you never thought, dear, that 
 he might be shot?" 
 
 "No, I never," cried Horace, running tc
 
 CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. 123 
 
 the window and back again in great excite- 
 ment. "Mr. Evans said they'd put him in 
 colonel. He was coming home in six 
 months. He couldn't be shot ! " 
 
 " My dear little boy ! " 
 
 "But O, grandma, is he killed? Say 
 quick ! " 
 
 His grandmother took out of her pocket 
 a Boston Journal, and having put on her 
 spectacles, pointed with a trembling finger 
 to the list of "killed." One of the first 
 names was "Captain Henry S. Clifford." 
 
 "O, Horace!" said Grace, opening the 
 door softly, " I just thought I heard you. 
 Ma wants you to come to her." 
 
 Without speaking, Horace gave his hand 
 to his sister, and went with her ^'hile their 
 grandmother followed, carrying the bowl of 
 gruel. 
 
 At the door of Mrs. Clifford's room they
 
 124 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 i 
 
 met aunt Louise coming out. The sight of 
 Horace and Grace walking tearfully, hand in 
 hand, was very touching to her. 
 
 "You dear little fatherless children," she 
 whispered, throwing her arms around them 
 both, and dropping tears and kisses on their 
 faces. 
 
 "O, I can't, I can't bear it," cried Grace; 
 " my own dear papa, that I love best of any 
 one in all the world ! " 
 
 Horace ran to his mother, and throwing 
 Himself on the bed beside her, buried his 
 face in the pillows. 
 
 " O, ma ! I reckon 'tisn't true. It's 
 another Captain Clifford/' 
 
 His mother lay so very white and still 
 that Horace drew away when he had touched 
 her : there was something awful in the cold- 
 ness of her face. Her beautiful brown eyes 
 shone bright and tearless ; but there were
 
 CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. 125 
 
 dark hollows under them, deep enough to 
 hold many tears, if the time should ever 
 come when she might shed them. 
 
 "O, little Horace," whispered she, "moth- 
 er's little Horace ! " 
 
 w Darling mamma ! " responded the boy, 
 kissing her pale lips and smoothing the hair 
 a\vay from her cheeks with his sinall fingers, 
 which meant to move gently, but did not 
 know how. And then the young, childish 
 heart, with its little load of grief, was pressed 
 close to the larger heart, whose deep, deep 
 sorrow only God could heal. 
 
 They are wrong who say that liitle chil- 
 dren cannot receive lasting impression.!. 
 There are some hours of joy or agony which 
 they never forget. This was such an houi 
 for Horace. He could almost feel ngsvti en 
 his forehead the warm good-by kis.sc.i ?f 
 his father ; he could almost hear again U 
 words?,
 
 120 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 " Always obey your mother, my son, and 
 remember that God sees all you do.'' 
 
 Ah, he had not obeyed, he had not 
 remembered. 
 
 And that dear father would never kiss 
 him, never speak to him again ! lie had 
 not thought before what a long word Never 
 was. 
 
 O, it was dreadful to shut his eyes and 
 fancy him lying so cold and still on that 
 bloody battle-field ! Would all this awful 
 thing be true to-morrow morning, when ho 
 waked up? 
 
 "O, mamma," sobbed the desolate child, 
 " I and Grace will take care of you ! Just 
 forgive me, ma, and I'll be the best kind of 
 a boy. I will, I will!" 
 
 Grandma had already led Qrace away into 
 the green chamber, where aunt Madge sat 
 with the baby. The poor little girl would 
 not be comforted.
 
 CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. 127 
 
 W O, grandma," she cried, "if we could 
 know who it was that shot pa our mayor 
 would hang him ! I do wish I could die, 
 grandma. 1 don't want to keep living and 
 living in this great world without my 
 father ! " 
 
 9
 
 CAPTAIN HOUACil* 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE BLUE BOOK. 
 
 DAYS passed, but there vvas the same hush 
 upon the house. Everybody moved about 
 softly, and spoke in low tones. Horace was 
 not told that he must go to school, but hp 
 knew aunt Louise thought his shoes made a 
 great deal of noise, and just now he wanted 
 to please even her. More than that, it was 
 very pleasant to see the boys ; and while he 
 was playing games he forgot his sorrow, and 
 forgot his mother's sad face. There was one 
 thing, however, which he could not do : he- 
 had not the heart to be captain, and drill his 
 company, just now. 
 
 "Horace," said Grace, as they were sit-
 
 THE 1JLUK BOOK. 121) 
 
 ting on the piazza steps one morning, " I 
 heard ma tell grandma yesterday, you'd been 
 a better boy this week than you had been 
 before since since pa went away." 
 
 "Did she?" cried Horace, eagerly ; "where 
 was she when she said it? What did 
 grandma say ? Did aunt Madge hear her ? " 
 
 "Yes, aunt Madge heard her, and she 
 said she always knew Horace would be a 
 good boy if he would only think." 
 
 "Well, I do think," replied Horace, look- 
 ing very much pleased ; " I think about all 
 the time." 
 
 "But then, Horace, you know how you've 
 acted some days ! " 
 
 "Weil, I don't care. Aunt Madge says 
 'tisn't so easy for boys to be good/' 
 
 Grace opened her round blue eyes in 
 wonder. 
 
 "Why, Horace, I have to make my o\vu
 
 130 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 heel, and sweep and dust my room, and take 
 care of my drawers. Only think of that ; 
 and Prudy always round into things, yon 
 know ! Then I have to sew, O, so much ! I 
 reckon you wouldn't find it very easy being 
 a girl." 
 
 "Poh! don't I have to feed the chickens, 
 and bring in the eggs, and go for the cows? 
 And when we lived home - 
 < Here Horace broke down ; he could not 
 think of home without remembering his 
 father. 
 
 Grace burst into tears. The word "home" 
 had called up a beautiful picture of her 
 father and mother sitting on the sofa in the 
 library, Horace and Pincher lying on the 
 floor, the door open from the balcony, and 
 the moon filling the room with a soft light : 
 her father had a smile on his face, and was 
 holding her hand.
 
 THE KLUE HOOK. 131 
 
 All ! Grace, and Horace, and their mother 
 would see many such pictures of memory. 
 
 " Well, sister," said Horace, speaking 
 quite slowly, and looking down at the gra.x 
 " what do I do that's bad ? " 
 
 "Why, Horace, I shouldn't think you'd 
 ask ! Blowing gunpowder, and running ofT 
 into the woods, and most killing Pincher, 
 and going trouting down to the 'crick' with 
 your best clothes on, and disobeying your 
 ma, and " 
 
 " Sayin' bad words," added Horac r ' 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' Avords, you know, 
 but 'shucks,' and 'gallus,' and 'bully,' and 
 'by hokey,' and 'by George;' and it's the 
 last time." 
 
 " O, I'm so glad, Horace ! " cried Grace,
 
 132 CAITAIN HORACE. 
 
 clapping her hands and laughing ; " and you 
 won't blow any more powder?" 
 
 Horace shook his head. 
 
 l 'Nor run off again? Why, you'll be like 
 ATiy Glover, and you know I'm trying to be 
 like little Eva." 
 
 "I don't want to be like Ally Glover," 
 replied Horace, making a wry face ; " he's 
 lame, and besides, he's too dreadful good." 
 
 "Why, Horace," said his sister, solemnly; 
 "anybody can't be too good ; 'tisn't possible." 
 
 "Well, then, he's just like a girl that's 
 what ! I'm not going to be ' characteristic ' 
 any more, but I don't want to be like a girl 
 neither. Look here, Grace ; it's school time. 
 Now don't you ' let on ' to ma, or anybody, 
 hat I'm going to be better." 
 
 Grace promised, but she wondered why 
 Horace should not wish his mother to kiu, >v 
 he was trying to be good, when it would 
 make her so happy.
 
 THP: BLUE BOOK. 133 
 
 "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 
 jftcr he had gone. At last a bright idea 
 flashed across her mind, and of course she 
 dropped her work and clapped her hands, 
 though she was quite alone. 
 
 " I'll make a merit-book like Miss All'n's, 
 and put down black marks for him when 
 he's naughty." 
 
 When Horace came home that night, he 
 was charmed with the plan, for he was really 
 in earnest. His kind sister made the book 
 very neatly, and sewed it into a cover of 
 glossy blue paper. She thought they would 
 try it f.jtir weeks ; so she had pat in twenty - 
 3ight pages, each page standing for one day. 
 
 "Now," said she, "when you say one bn.l 
 word I'll put down 'one B. WV for short; 
 but when you say two bad words, 'twill be
 
 131 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 'two B. W.,'you know. When you blov? 
 gunpowder, that'll bo ' B. G.' no, 'B. G 
 P.,' for gunpowder is two words." 
 
 "And when I run off, 'twill be <R. O.' * 
 " Or ' R. A.,' said Grace, for f ran away.' ' 
 'And f T.' for 'troutin',' said Horace, who 
 was getting very much interested ; " and 
 and ' P. A. L.' for 'plaguing aunt Louise,' 
 and ' C. lor ' characteristic,' and ' L. T.' for 
 ' losing things.' " 
 
 "O, dear, dear, Horace, the book won't 
 begin to hold it ! We mustn't put down 
 those little things." 
 
 " But, Grace, you know I shan't do 'era 
 any more." 
 
 Grace shook her head, and sighed. w We 
 won't put down all those little things," re 
 peated she; "we'll have ' D.' for ' disobedi- 
 ence,' and ' B. W.,' and O! one thing I 
 forgot < F.' for ' falsehood."
 
 THE ULLL; BOOK. 135 
 
 * Well, you won't get any F's out of me, 
 by hokey," said Horace, snapping his fingers. 
 
 "Why, there it is, 'one 13. W.' so quick !' 
 cried Grace, holding up both hands anO 
 laughing. 
 
 Horace opened his mouth in surprise, and 
 then clapped his hand over it in dismay. It 
 was not a very fortunate beginning. 
 
 " Look here, Grace," said he, making a 
 wry face; "I move we call that no 'count, 
 and commence new to-morrow ! " 
 
 So Grace waited till next day before she 
 dated the merit-book. 
 
 All this while Pincher's foot was growing 
 no better. Aunt Louise said you coi:M 
 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."
 
 130 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 "Why not send for Mrs. Duffy?" sug 
 gested aunt Madge. "If any one can help 
 the poor creature, it is she." 
 
 Mrs. Duffy was the village washerwoman, 
 and a capital nurse. It was an anxious 
 moment for little Horace, when, she un- 
 wrapped the crushed paw, Pinchcr moan- 
 ing all the while in a way that went to the 
 heart. 
 
 "Wull," said Mrs. Duffy, who spoke 
 with a brogue, " it's a bad-looking fut ; but 
 I've some intmcnt here that'll do no liar-rum, 
 and it may hulp the poor craycher." 
 
 She put the salve on some clean linen 
 cloths, and bound up the wound, bidding 
 them al? oe very careful that the dog " didn't 
 stir his fut." 
 
 " O, but he don't want to stir ! " said Hor- 
 ace. " He just lies down by the stove all 
 day."
 
 THE BLUE BOOK. 137 
 
 Mrs. Duffy shook her head, and said, " he 
 was a pooty craycher ; 'twas more the pities 
 that he ever went off in the wuds." 
 
 Horace hung his head. O, if he could 
 have blotted out that day of disobedience ! 
 
 "Wasn't it a real rebel, heathen man," 
 cried Prudy, " to put the trap where Pincher 
 sticked his foot in it? " 
 
 Pincher grew worse and worse. He re- 
 fused his food, and lay in a basket with a 
 cushion in it, by the kitchen stove, where he 
 might have been a little in the way, though 
 not even aunt Louise ever said so. 
 
 If Grace, or Susy, or Prudy, went up to 
 him, he made no sign. It was only when 
 he saw his little master that he would wag 
 his tail for joy ; but even that effort seemed 
 to tire him, and he liked better to lick 
 Horace's hand, and look up at his face with 
 eyes brimful of love and agony.
 
 8 C A IT A IX HORACE. 
 
 Horace would sit by the half hour, coax- 
 ing him to eat a bit of broiled steak or the 
 wing of a chicken ; but though the poor dog 
 would gladly have pleased his young master,, 
 he could hardly force himself to swallow a 
 mouthful. 
 
 These were sad days. Grace put down 
 now and then a "B. W." in the blue book: 
 but as for disobedience, Horace had just 
 now no temptation to that. lie could hardly 
 think of anything but his dog. 
 
 Pincher was about his age. He could not 
 remember the time when he first knew him. 
 "O, what jolly times they had had together ! 
 How often Pincher had trotted along to 
 school, carrying the satchel with the school- 
 nooks in his teeth. Why, the boys till 
 loved him, they just loved him so." 
 
 "No, sir," said Horace, talking to himself, 
 and laying the dog's head gently on hia
 
 TiiE 11LUK BOOK. 139 
 
 knee: "there wasn't one of them but just 
 wished they had him. But, poh ! I wouldn't 
 have sold him for all the cannons and tiro- 
 crackers in the United States. No, not for a 
 real drum, either; would I, Pincher?" 
 
 Horace really believed the dog understood 
 him, and many were the secrets he had 
 poured into his faithful ears. Pincher would 
 listen, and wink, and wag his tail, but was 
 sure to keep everything to himself. 
 
 "I tell you what it is, Pincher," Horace 
 burst forth, "I'm not going to have you die ! 
 My own pa gave you to me, and you're the 
 best dog that ever lived in this world. O, 
 I didn't mean to catch your foot in that trap I 
 Eat the chicken, there's a good fellow, and 
 ".ve'll cure you all up." 
 
 But Pincher couldn't eat the chicken, and 
 couldn't be cured. His eyes grew larger 
 and sadder, but there was the same patient
 
 140 CAPTAIN 1IOKACK. 
 
 look in them always. He fixed them or- 
 Horace to the last, with a dying gaze which 
 made the boy's heart swell with bitter 
 sorrow. 
 
 " He wanted to speak, he wanted to ask 
 me a question," said Horace, with sobs he 
 did not try to control. 
 
 O, it was sad to close those beautiful 
 eyes forever, those beseeching eyes, which 
 could almost speak. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford came and knelt on the stone 
 hearth beside the basket, and wept freely 
 for the first time since her husband's death. 
 
 "Dear little Pincher," said she, "yon have 
 died a cruel death ; but your dear little 
 master closed your eyes. It was very hard, 
 poor doggie, but not so hard as the battle- 
 field. You shall have a quiet grave, good 
 Pincher; but wheie have they buried out 
 brave soldier ? "
 
 CAPTAIN HORACE AND HIS DOG. Pag 188.
 
 Tl/Vi.NU TO GET UICII. 141 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 TKYING TO GET IUCH. 
 
 WITH his own hands, and the help of 
 Grasshopper, who did little but hold the 
 nails and look on, Horace made a box for 
 Pinchcr, while Abncr dug his grave under a 
 tree in the grove. 
 
 It was evening when they all followed 
 Pin.cher 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 : 
 vt we ought to cry." 
 
 " What makes me feel the worst," *md 
 sober little Susy, "he won't go to heaven."
 
 142 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 " Not forever'n ever amen ? '' gasped 
 Prudy, in a low voice : " wouldn't he if ho 
 had a nice casket, and a plate on it neither?" 
 
 The sky and earth were very lovely that 
 evening, and it seemed as if everybody 
 ought to be heart-glad. I doubt if Horace 
 had ever thought before what a beautiful 
 world he lived in, and how glorious a thing 
 it is to be alive ! He could run about and 
 do what he pleased with himself; but alas, 
 poor Pincher ! 
 
 The sun was setting, and the river looked 
 uncommonly full of little sparkles. ' The 
 soft sky, and the twinkling water, seemed to 
 be smiling at oach other, while agreat way 
 off you could ee the dim blue mountains 
 rising up like clouds. Such a lovely world ! 
 Ah ! poor Pincher. 
 
 It looked vevy much as if Horace were 
 really turning over a new leaf. He was .still
 
 TRYING TO GET RICH. 143 
 
 quite trying sometimes, leaving the milk- 
 room door open when puss was watching for 
 the cream-pot, or slamming the kitchen door 
 with a bang when everybody needed fresh 
 air. He still kept his chamber in a state of 
 confusion, " muss," Grace called it, 
 pulling the drawers out of the bureau, and 
 scattering the contents over the floor ; drop- 
 ping his clothes anywhere it happened, and 
 carrying quantities of gravel up stairs in 
 his shoes. 
 
 Aunt Louise still scolded about him ; hat 
 even she could not help seeing that on the 
 whole he was improving. He "cared" 
 more and "forgot" less. He could always 
 learn easily, and now he really tried to 
 learn. His lessons, instead of going through 
 his head " threading my grandmother's nee- 
 dle," went in and staid there. The bine 
 book got a few marks, it is true, but not so 
 many as at first.
 
 144 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 You may be sure there was not a good 
 thing said or done by Horace which did not 
 give pleasure to his mother. She felt n>>w 
 as if she lived only for her children ; if God 
 would bless her by making them good, she 
 had nothing more to desire. Grace had 
 always been a womanly, thoughtful little 
 girl, but at this time she was a greater com- 
 fort than ever ; and Horace had grown so 
 tender and affectionate, that it gratified hoi- 
 very much. He was not content now with 
 " canary kisses ; " but threw his arms around 
 her neck very often, saying, with his lips 
 close to her cheek, 
 
 " Don't feel bad, ma : I'm going to take 
 care of you." 
 
 For his mother's grief called forth his 
 manliness. 
 
 She meant to be cheerful ; but Horace 
 knew she did not look or seem like herself:
 
 TRYING TO GET RICH. 145 
 
 he thought ho ought to try to make her 
 happy. 
 
 Whenever he asked for money, as he ton 
 often did, she told him that now his father 
 was gone, there was no one to earn any- 
 thing, and it Avas best to be rather prudent. 
 
 
 He wanted a drum ; but she thought he 
 
 must wait a Avhile for that. 
 
 They were far from being poor, and Mrs. 
 Clifford had no idea of deceiving her little 
 son. Yet he was deceived, for he supposed 
 that his mother's pretty little portc-monnaie 
 held all the bank-bills and all the silver she 
 had in the world. 
 
 "O, Grace!" said Horace, coming down 
 stairs with a very grave face, "I wish I was 
 grown a man : then I'd earn money like 
 sixty." 
 
 Grace stopped her singing long enough to
 
 146 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 ask what he meant to do, and then continued 
 in a high key, 
 
 '"* Where, O where are the Hebrew chil 
 hen?" 
 
 "O, I'm going as a soldier," replied Hor- 
 ace : " I thought everybody knew that ! 
 The colonels make a heap of money ! " 
 
 "But, Horace, you might get shot just 
 think ! " 
 
 "Then I'd dodge when they fired, for I 
 don't know what you and ma would do if 1 
 was killed." 
 
 "Well, please step out of the way, Hor- 
 ace ; don't you see I'm sweeping the piazza?" 
 
 "I can't tell," pursued he, taking a seat on 
 one of the stairs in the hall : " I can't tell 
 certain sure ; but I may be a minister." 
 
 This was such a funny idea, that Grace 
 made a dash with her broom, and sent the 
 dirt Hying the wrong way.
 
 TUYIXG TO GET RICH. 147 
 
 " Why, Horace, you'll never be good 
 enough for a minister ! " 
 
 "What'll you bet?" replied he, looking a 
 little mortified. 
 
 " H ou're getting to be a dear good little 
 boy, Horace," said Grace, soothingly ; " but 
 I don't think you'll ever be a minister." 
 
 "Perhaps I'd as soon be a shoemaker," 
 continued Horace, thoughtfully : " they get 
 a great deal for tappin' boots." 
 
 His sister made no reply. 
 
 "See here, now, Grace: perhaps you'd 
 rather I'd be a tin-pedler ; then I'd always 
 keep a horse, and you could ride." 
 
 "Ride in a cart!" cried Grace, laughing. 
 "Can't you think of anything else? Have 
 you forgotten papa?" 
 
 "O, now I know," exclaimed Horace, with 
 shining eyes : " it's a lawyer I'll be, just like 
 father was. I'll have a 'sleepy partner,' the
 
 148 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 way Judge Ingle bus, and by and by I'll be 
 a judge." 
 
 "I know that would please ma, Horace," 
 replied Grace, looking at her little brother 
 with a good deal of pride. 
 
 Who knew but he might yet be a judge? 
 She liked to order him about, and have him 
 yield to her : still she had great faith in 
 Horace. 
 
 " But, Grace, after all that I'll go to war, 
 and turn out a general ; now you see if I 
 don't." 
 
 "That'll be a great while yet," said Grace, 
 sighing. 
 
 "So it will," replied Horace, sadly; "and 
 ma needs the money now. I wish I could 
 earn something right off Avhilc 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,
 
 THE LITTLE INDIAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE LITTLE INDIAN. 
 
 PRUDY came into the house one day in a 
 great fright, and said they'd "better hide th- 1 
 bul>y, for there was a very wicked woman 
 round." 
 
 "Her hair looks like a horse's tail," said 
 she, " and she's got a black man's hat on her 
 head, and a table-cloth over her." 
 
 Aunt Madge took Prudy in her la}), and 
 told her it was only an Indian woman, who 
 uad no idea of harming any one. 
 
 " What are Xindians? " asked the child. 
 
 Her aunt said they were sometimes called 
 "red men." The country had once been filled
 
 150 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 by them: but the English came, a great 
 many years ago, and shook off the red men 
 just as a high wind shakes the red leaves off 
 a tree ; and they were scattered about, and 
 only a few were left alive. Sometimes the 
 Oldtown Indians came round making bas- 
 kets ; but they were quiet and peaceable 
 people. 
 
 Horace and his friend "Grasshopper," as 
 they were strolling up the river, came upon 
 a tenf made of canvas, and at the door of 
 the tent sat a little boy about their own age, 
 with a bow and arrow in his hand, in the 
 act of firing. 
 
 Grasshopper, who was always a coward, 
 ran with all his might ; but as Horace hap- 
 pened to notice that the arrow was pointed 
 at something across the river, lie was not 
 alarmed, but stopped to look :it the odd 
 little stranger, who turned partly roud and
 
 THE LITTLE INDIAN. 151 
 
 returned his gaze. His eyes were keen and 
 black, with a. good-natured expression, some- 
 thing like the eyes of an intelligent dog. 
 
 "What's your name, boy ? " said Horace. 
 
 " Me no understand." 
 
 - 1 asked what your name is," continued 
 Horace, who was sure the boy understood, 
 in spite of his blank looks. 
 
 " Me no hurt white folks ; me bunkum 
 Indian." 
 
 "Well, what's your name, then? What 
 do they call you?" 
 
 No answer, but a shake of the head. 
 
 "I reckon they call you John, don't they?" 
 
 Here the boy's mother appeared at the 
 door. 
 
 "His name no John! Eshy-ishy-oshy 
 aeeshy - George - Wampum - Shoony - Katoo < 
 short name, speak um quick! Jaw-awn! 
 Great long name ! " drawled she, stretching
 
 152 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 it out as if it were made of India rubber, 
 and scowling with an air of disgust. 
 
 "What docs she mean by calling 'John' 
 long?" thought Horace. 
 
 The woman wore a calico dress, short 
 enough to reveal her brown, stockingless 
 feet and gay moccasous. 
 
 Her hair was crow-black, and strayed 
 over her shoulders and into her eyes. Hor- 
 ace concluded she must have lost her back- 
 comb. 
 
 While he was looking at her with curious 
 eyes, her daughter came to the door, feeling 
 a little cross at the stranger, whoever i* 
 might be ; but when she saw only an inno- 
 cent little boy, she smiled pleasantly, show- 
 ing a row of white teeth. Horace thought 
 her rather handsome, for she was very 
 straight and slender, and her eyes shone like 
 glass beads. Her hair he considered a great
 
 THE LITTLE INDIAN. 153 
 
 deal blacker than black, and it was braided 
 and tied with gay red ribbons. She \vas 
 dressed in a bright, large-figured calico, and 
 from her ears were suspended the longest, 
 yellowest, queerest, ear-rings. Horace 
 thought they were shaped like boat-pad- 
 dles, and would be pretty for Prudy to use 
 when she rowed her little red boat in the 
 bathing-tub. If they only "scooped" a 
 little more they would answer for tea-spoons. 
 "Plenty big as I should want for tea-spoons," 
 he decided, after another gaze at them. 
 
 The yonng girl was used to being admired 
 by her own people, and was not at all dis- 
 pleased with Horace for staring at her. 
 
 "Me think you nice white child," said 
 she: "you get me sticks, me make you 
 basket, pretty basket for put apples in." 
 
 "What kind of sticks do you mean?" 
 said Horace, forgetting that they pretended
 
 154 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 not to understand English. But it appeared 
 that they knew very well what he meant this 
 time, and the Indian boy offered to go with 
 him to point out the place where the wood 
 was to be found. Grasshopper, who had 
 only hidden behind the trees, now came ont 
 and joined the boys. 
 
 "Wampum," as he chose to be called, led 
 them back to Mr. Purlin's grounds, to the 
 lower end of the garden, where stood some 
 tall silver poplars, on which the Indians had 
 looked with longing eyes. 
 
 "Me shin them trees," said Wampum; 
 "me make you basket." 
 
 "Would you let him, Grasshopper?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; your grandfather won't 
 care." 
 
 "Perhaps he might; you don't knew,' 
 said Horace, who, after he had asked adru-e, 
 was far from feeling obliged to take it. II'
 
 THE LITTLE INDIAN. 155 
 
 ran in groat haste to the field \vhere his 
 grandfather was hoeing potatoes, thinking, 
 "If I ask, then I shan't get marked in the 
 blue book anyhow." 
 
 In this case Horace acted verj r properly. 
 He had no right to cut the trees, or allow 
 any one else to cut them, without leave. To 
 his great delight, his grandfather said he did 
 not care if they clipped oft* a few branches 
 where the}^ would not show much. 
 
 When Horace got back and reported the 
 words of his grandfather, Wampum did not 
 even smile, but shot a glance at him as keen 
 as an arrow. 
 
 "Me no hurt trees," said he, gravely ; and 
 he did not : he only cut off a few limbs froir 
 caeh one, leaving the trees as handsome as 
 ever. 
 
 "Bully for you ! " cried Horace, forgetting 
 the blue book.
 
 156 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 "He's as spry as a squirrel," said Grass- 
 hopper, in admiration ; " how many boughs 
 has he got? One, two, three." 
 
 " Me say 'em. quickest," cried little Wain 
 ptim. "Een, teen, teddery, peddery, bimp s 
 satter, latter, doc, doinmy, dick." 
 
 "That's ten," put in Horace, who was 
 keeping 'count. 
 
 "Een-dick," continued the little Indian, 
 "teen -dick, teddery -dick, peddery -dick, 
 buir.pin, een-bumpin, tcen-bumpin, tcddery- 
 bmnpin, peddery-bumpin, jiggets." 
 
 "Hollo !" cried Grasshopper ; "that's twen- 
 ty ; jiggets is twenty;" and he rolled over 
 0:1 the ground, laughing as if he had made 
 a great discovery. 
 
 Little by little they made Wampum tell 
 how he lived at home, what sort of boys he 
 played with, and what they had to eat. 
 The young Indian assured them that at Old-
 
 THE LITTLE INDIAN. 157 
 
 town tf lie lived in a house good as white 
 folks ; lie ale moose-meat, ate sheep-meat, 
 ate cow-meat." 
 
 " Cook out doors, I s'pose," said Grass- 
 hopper. 
 
 \Vampimi looked very severe. "When 
 me lives in wigwam, me has fires in wigwam : 
 when me lives in tent, me puts fires on 
 grass; keep off them things/ he added, 
 pointing at a mosquito in the air ; " keep 
 smoko out tent," pointing upward to show 
 '/he motion of the smoke. 
 
 Horace felt so much pleased with his new 
 companion, that h^ resolved to treat him to 
 a watermelon. So ; without saying a word 
 to the boys, he ran into the house to ask his 
 grandmother. 
 
 w What! a whole watermelon, Horace?" 
 
 " res, grandma, we thtvo ; me, and Grass- 
 hopper, and Wampum."
 
 153 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 Mrs. Parlin could not help smiling to &*" 
 how suddenly Horace had adopted a ue\v 
 friend. 
 
 "You may have a melon, but I think your 
 mother would not like to have you piay 
 much with a strange boy." 
 
 "He's going to make me a splendid bas- 
 ket ; and besides, aren't Indians and negroes 
 as good as white folks? 'Specially tame 
 Indians," said Horace, not very respectfully, 
 as he ran back, shoe-knife in hand, to cut 
 the watermelon. 
 
 This was the beginning of a hasty friend- 
 ship between himself and Wampum. For a 
 few days there was nothing so charming tt 
 Horace as the wild life of this Indian family, 
 He was made w r elcomc at their tent, and 
 often went in to see them make baskets. 
 
 'I trust you," said Mrs. Clifford; "you 
 ".'ill not deceive me, Horace. If yen ever
 
 THE LITTLE INDIAN. 159 
 
 find that little Wampum says bad words, 
 tells falsehoods, or steals, I shall not be will- 
 ing for you to play with him. You are very 
 y rung, and might be greatly injured by r 
 bad playmate." 
 
 The tent was rude enough. In one corner 
 were skins laid one over another : these were 
 the beds which were spread out at night for 
 the family. Instead of closets and presses, 
 all the wearing apparel was hung on a long 
 rope, which was stretched from stake to 
 stake, in various directions, like a clothes- 
 line. 
 
 It was curious to watch the brown fingers 
 moving so easily over the white strips, out 
 
 of which they wove baskets. It was such 
 
 
 pretty work ! it brought so much money. 
 
 Horace thought it was just the business for 
 him, and Wampum promised to teach him. 
 Tn return for this favor. Horace was to in- 
 struct the little Indian in spelling.
 
 100 CAPTAIN HOKACE. 
 
 For jne or two evenings he appointed 
 meetings in the summer-house, and really 
 went without his own Slice cf cake, that he 
 might give it to poor Wampum, after a les- 
 son in " baker." 
 
 He received the basket in due timA 
 beautiful one red, white, and blue. Just 
 as he was cany ing it home on his arm, he 
 met Billy Green, the hostler, who stopped 
 him, and asked if he remembered going into 
 " the Pines " one day with Peter Grant ? 
 ' Torace had no reason to forget it, surely. 
 
 "Seems to me yc^ van away with my 
 horse-basket," said Billy ; " but I never 
 knew till yesterday what had 'come of it." 
 
 "ThAre. now," replied Horace, quite crest- 
 fallen ; "Peter Grant took that! I forge;; 
 all about it." 
 
 What shculd be done? It would never 
 do to ask his mother for the .oioney, since,
 
 THE LITTLE INDIAN. 161 
 
 us he believed, she had none to spare. Billy 
 was fond of joking with little boys. 
 
 "Look here, my fine fellow," said he, 
 " give us that painted concern you've got on 
 your arm, and we'll call it square." 
 
 "No, no, Billy," cried Horace, drawing 
 away ; " this is a present, and I couldn't. 
 But I'm learning to weave baskets, and I'll 
 make you one see if I don't ! " 
 
 Billy laughed, and went away whistling. 
 He had no idea that Horace would ever 
 think of the matter again ; but in truth the 
 first article the boy tried to make was a 
 horse-basket. 
 
 ''Me tell you somethin," said little "\Vum- 
 pum, next morning, as he and Horace were 
 crossing the field together. "Very much 
 me want um, urn, um," -- putting hi:? 
 tingers up to his mouth in a manner whi<-li 
 signified that he meant something to cat.
 
 162 CAiTAlN HORACE. 
 
 " Don't understand," said Horace : " say it 
 in English." 
 
 "Very much me want um," continued 
 Wampum, in a beseeching tone. "No tell 
 what you call um. E'enamost water, no 
 quite water ; e'enamost punkiu, no quite 
 punkin." 
 
 " Poll ! you mean watermelon," laughed 
 Horace : " should think you'd remember that 
 as easy as pumpkin." 
 
 "Very much me want um," repeated 
 Wampum, delighted at being understood ; 
 "me like um." 
 
 "Well," replied Horace, "they aren't mine." 
 
 "O, yes. Ugh! you've got 'em. Melon- 
 water good ! Me have melon-waters, me 
 give you moc-suns." 
 
 "I'll ask my grandpa, Wampum." 
 
 Hereupon the crafty litt?e Indian shook 
 his head.
 
 7IIE LITTLE INDIAN. 103 
 
 " You ask ole man, me no give you moo 
 suns ! Me no want cat, me want bimp 
 bumpin jiggets." 
 
 Horace's stout little heart wavered for ;: 
 moment. He fancied moccasins very mud:. 
 In his mind's eve he saw a pair shining with 
 
 f 1 O 
 
 all the colors of the rainbow, and as AVam- 
 j)um had said of the melons, "very much ho 
 wanted them." How handsome they'd be 
 with his Zouave suit ! 
 
 But the wavering did not last long. He 
 remembered the blue book which his mother 
 was to see next week ; for then the month 
 would be out. 
 
 "It wouldn't be a 'I).,'" thought he, "for 
 nobody told me not to give the water- 
 melons." 
 
 "No," said Conscience; "'twould be a 
 black S. ; that stands for stealing ! AVhat, .1 
 boy with a dead father, a dead soldier-
 
 164 CAPTAIN* HORACE. 
 
 father, steal! A boy called Horace Clif- 
 ford ! The boy whose father had said, 'Re- 
 member God sees all you do ! ' 
 
 "Wampum," eaid Horace, firmly, "you 
 just stop that kind of talk ! Moccasins are 
 right pretty ; but I wouldn't stea/, no, not if 
 you gave me a bushel of 'em." 
 
 After this, Horace was disgusted with his 
 little friend, not remembering that there are 
 a great many excuses to be made for a half- 
 civilized child. They had a serious quarrel, 
 and Wampum's temper proved to be very 
 bad. If the little savage had not struck 
 him, I hope Horace would have dropped his 
 society all the same ; because, after Wampum 
 proved to be a thief, it would have been 
 sheer disobedience on Horace's part to play 
 with him any longer. 
 
 Of course the plan of basket-making w;is 
 given up ; but our little Horace did one
 
 THE LITTLE INDIAN. 165 
 
 thin*? which was noble in a boy of his age : 
 perhaps he remembered what his father had 
 said long ago in regard to the injured watch ; 
 but, at any rate, he went to Billy Green of 
 his own accord, and offered him the beauti- 
 ful present which he had received from tho 
 Indians. 
 
 "It's not a horse-basket, Billy: I didn't 
 get to make one," stammered he, in a choked 
 voice ; "but you said you'd call it .square." 
 
 " Whew ! " cried Billy, very much aston- 
 ished : "now look here, bub; that's a little 
 too bad ! The old thing you lugged off was 
 about worn out, anyhow. Don't want any of 
 your fancy baskets : so just carry it back, 
 my fine little shaver." 
 
 To say that Horace was very happy, would 
 not half express the delight he felt as he ran 
 home with the beautiful basket on his arm, 
 his "owncst own," beyond the right of dis- 
 pute.
 
 160 CAPTAIN IIOUACE. 
 
 The Indians disappeared quite suddenly ; 
 and perhaps it was nothing surprising that, 
 the very next morning after they left, 
 grandpa Parliu should find his beautiful 
 melon-patch stripped nearly bare, with 
 nothing left on the vines but a few miser- 
 able green little melons.
 
 A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 1(>7 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 
 
 "IT'S too bud," said Horace to his sister, 
 "that I didn't get to make baskets ; I'd have 
 grown rich so soon. What would you try 
 to do next?" 
 
 "Pick berries," suggested Grace. 
 
 And that very afternoon they both went 
 bluckberryiug with Susy and aunt Madge. 
 They had a delightful time. Horace could 
 not help missing Piiicher very much: still, 
 in spite of the regret, it was a happier day 
 than the one he and Peter Grant had spent 
 "in the Pines." He was beginning to find, 
 as all children do, how hard it is to get u^J
 
 1(!8 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 "a good time ' : when you arc pricked by a 
 guilty conscience, and how easy it is to be 
 happy when you arc doing right. 
 
 They did not leave the woods till the sun 
 began to sink, and reached home quite tired, 
 but as merry as larks, with baskets nearly 
 full of berries. 
 
 \Yhen Horace timidly told aunt Madge 
 that he and Grace wanted to sell all they 
 had gathered, his aunt laughed, and said she 
 would buy the fruit if they wished, but 
 wondered what they wanted to do with the 
 money : she supposed it was for the soldiers. 
 
 "I want to give it to ma," replied Horace, 
 in a low voice ; for he did not wish his aunt 
 Louise to overnear. " She hasn't more than 
 three bills in her pocket-book, and it's time 
 for me to begin to take care of her." 
 
 "Ah," said aunt Madge, with one of her 
 bright smiles, "there is a secret drawer 1*1
 
 A PLEASANT SL'HPUISE. 1G9 
 
 her writing-desk, dear, that has ever so 
 much money in it. She isn't poor, my 
 child, and she didn't mean to make you 
 think so, for your mother wouldn't deceive 
 you." 
 
 "Not poor?" cried Horace, his face bright- 
 ening suddenly ; and he turned half a somer- 
 set, stopping in the midst of it to ask how 
 much a drum would cost. 
 
 The month being now out, it was time to 
 show the blue book to Mrs. Clifford. Hor- 
 ace looked it over with some anxiety. On 
 each page were the letters "D.,""B. W.," 
 "B. G. P.," and "F.," on separate lines, one 
 above another. But there were no figures 
 before any of the letters but the "B. W.'s ; " 
 and even those figures had been growing 
 rather smaller, as you could see by looking 
 carefully. 
 
 "Now, Grace," said her little brother,
 
 170 CAI'TAIX HOIJACE. 
 
 " you'll ti\\ m:i that the bad words .aren't 
 swearin' word.s ! I never did say such, 
 though some of the fellows do, and those 
 that go to Sabbath School too." 
 
 "Yes, I'll tell her," said Grace; "but she 
 knows well enough that you never talk any- 
 tning worse than lingo." 
 
 "I haven't disobeyed, nor blown powder, 
 nor told lies." 
 
 "No, indeed," said Grace, delighted. "To 
 lie sure, you've forgotten, and slammed 
 doors, and lost things ; but you know I 
 didn't set that down." 
 
 I wish all little girls felt as much interest 
 in their younger brothers as this sister felt 
 in Horace. Grace had her faults, of which 
 I might have told you if I had been writ 5 r;: 
 the book about her ; but sho loved Horace 
 dearly, kept his little secrets M r henevcr 
 she promised to do so, and was always glad 
 to have him do right.
 
 A PLEASANT M'ni'KISE. 171 
 
 Mrs. Clifford was pleased with tlic idea of 
 :he blue book, and kissed Horace and Grace, 
 lying they grew dearer to her every day of 
 iheir lives. 
 
 One night, not long after this, Horace 
 went to the post-office for the mail. This 
 was nothing new, for he had often gone 
 before. A crowd of men were sitting in 
 chairs and on the door-stone and counter, 
 listening to the news, which some one was 
 reading in a loud, clear voice. 
 
 Without speaking, the postmaster gave 
 Horace three letters and a newspaper. After 
 tucking the letters into his raglan pocket, 
 Horace rolled the paper into a hollow tube, 
 peeping through it at the large tree standing 
 opposite the post-office, and at the patient 
 horses hitched to the posts, waiting for their 
 masters to come out.
 
 172 CAPTAIN I1OHAOE. 
 
 He listened for some time to the dreadful 
 account of ;i lute battle, thinking of his dear 
 father, as he always did when he heard war- 
 news. But at last remembering that his 
 grandfather would be anxious to have the 
 daily paper, he started for home, though 
 rather against his will. 
 
 " I never did see such a fuss as they 
 make," thought he, "if anybody's more'n a 
 minute going to the office and back." 
 
 "Is this all?" said aunt Madge, as Horace 
 gave a letter to grandma, one to aunt Louise, 
 and the paper to his grandfather. 
 
 "Why, yes, ma'am, that's all," replied 
 Horace, faintly. It did seem, to be sure, as 
 if Mr. Pope had given him three letters ; 
 but as he cov.lcl not find another in hi 
 pocket, he supposed he must be mistaken, 
 and said nothing about it. lie little knew 
 what a careless thing he had done, and soon
 
 A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 173 
 
 \vent to bed, forgetting post-offices and 
 letters in a strange dream of little Wam- 
 pum, who had a bridle on and was hitched 
 to a post; and of the Indian girl's ear-rings, 
 which seemed to have grown into a pair of" 
 shining gold muskets. 
 
 A few mornings after the mistake about 
 the letter, Mrs. Clifford sat mending Hor- 
 ace's raglan. She emptied the pockets of 
 twine, fish-hooks, jack-knife, pebbles, cop- 
 pers, and nails; but still something rattled 
 when she touched the jacket ; it seemed to be 
 paper. She thrust in her finger, and there, 
 between the outside and lining, was a crum- 
 pled, worn letter, addressed to "Miss Mar- 
 garet Parlin.*' 
 
 "What docs this mean?" thought Mrs. 
 Clifford. " Horace must have carried the 
 letter all summer." 
 
 But upon looking at it again, she saw that
 
 174 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 it was mailed at Washington about two 
 weeks before "a soldier's letter." She 
 carried it down to Margaret, who was busy 
 making cream-cakes. 
 
 "Let me see," said aunt Louise, peeping 
 over Mrs. Clifford's shoulder, and laughing. 
 "No, it's not Mr. Augustus Allen's writing; 
 but how do you know somebody hasn't 
 written it to tell you he is sick?" 
 
 Aunt Madge grew quite pale, dropped the 
 egg-(";ater, and carried the letter into the 
 nursery to read it by herself. She opened 
 it with trembling fingers ; but before she 
 had read two lines he* fingers trembled 
 worse than ever, her heart throbbed fast, 
 the room seemed to reel about. 
 
 There was no bad news in the letter, you 
 may be sure of that. She sat reading it 
 over and over again, while the tears ran 
 down her checks, and the sunshine in her
 
 A PLEASANT SURPRISE. IT.i 
 
 eyes dried them again. Then she folded 
 her hands together, and humbly thanked God 
 for his loving kindness. 
 
 When she was sure her sister Maria had 
 gone up stairs, she ran out to the kitchen, 
 whispering, 
 
 "O, mother ! O, Louise ! " but broke down 
 by laughing. 
 
 "What does ail the child?" said Mrs. 
 Parlin, laughing too. 
 
 Margaret tried again to speak, but this 
 time burst into tears. 
 
 ""^herc, it's of no use," she sobbed : "I'm 
 so happy that it's really dreadful. 1'ir 
 afraid somebody may die of joy." 
 
 "I'm more afraid somebody 5 !! die of curi- 
 osity," said aunt Louise: "do speak quick." 
 
 "Well, Henry Clifford is alive, " said Mar- 
 garet : "that's the blessed truth! Xow 
 In; li ! We must be so careful how we tell 
 Maria ! "
 
 176 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 Mrs. Parlin caught Margaret by the shoul- 
 der, and gasped for breath. Louise dropped 
 into a chair. 
 
 " What do you mean ? What have you 
 heard?" the}" both cried at once. 
 
 "He was taken off the field for dead ; bi,t 
 life was not quite gone. He lay for weeks 
 just breathing, and that was all.'' 
 
 "But why did no one let us know it?" 
 said Louise. "Of course Maria would have 
 gone to him at once." 
 
 ff There was no one to write ; and when 
 Henry came to himself there was no hope 
 of him, except by amputation of his left 
 arm ; and after that operation he was very 
 low again." 
 
 ' P O, why don't you give us the letter, ' : 
 said Louise, "so we can see for ourselves?" 
 
 But she was too excited to read it ; ad 
 while she was trying to collect her ideas,
 
 A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 17? 
 
 aunt Madge hud to hunt for grandma's spec- 
 tacles ; and then the three looked over the 
 surgeon's letter together, sometimes all talk 
 ing at once. 
 
 Captain Clifford would be in Maine as 
 soon as possible : so the letter said. A 
 young man was to come with him to take 
 care of him, and they were to travel very 
 slowly indeed ; might be at home in a fort- 
 night. 
 
 "They may be here to-night," said Mrs. 
 Parliu. 
 
 This letter had been written to prepare 
 the family for Captain Clifford's arrival. It 
 was expected that aunt Madge would break 
 the news to his wife. 
 
 " It's such a pity that little flyaway of a 
 Horace didn't give you the letter in time," 
 said Louise ; " and then we might have had 
 some days to get used to it."
 
 178 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 " Wait a minute, dear," said aunt Madge, 
 as Susy came in for a drink of water : 
 w please run up and ask aunt Maria to come 
 iovvn stairs. Now, mother," she added, 
 c you are the oue to tell the story, if you 
 please." 
 
 " We can all break it to her by degrees," 
 said Mrs. Parliu, twisting her checked apron 
 nervously. 
 
 When Mrs. Clifford entered the kitchen, 
 she saw at once that something had hap- 
 pened. Her mother, with a flushed face, 
 was opening and shutting the stove door. 
 Margaret was polishing a pie-plate, with 
 tears in her eyes, and Louise had seized a 
 sieve, and appeared to be breaking eggs into 
 it. Nobody wanted to speak first. 
 
 "What do you say to hearing a story?" 
 ft (tered Louise. 
 
 "0, you poor woman," exclaimed Mar
 
 A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 179 
 
 garet, seizing Mrs. Clifford by both hands : 
 "you look so sorrowful, dear, as if nothing 
 would ever make 3-011 happy again. Can 
 you believe we have a piece of good news 
 for you?" 
 
 "For me?" Mrs. Clifford looked bewil- 
 dered. 
 
 " Good news for you," said Louise, drop- 
 ping the sieve to the floor: "yes, indeed! 
 O, Maria, we thought Henry was killed ; but 
 he isn't ; it's a mistake of the papers. He's 
 alive, and coming home to-night." 
 
 All this as fast as she could speak. Xo 
 wonder Mrs. Clifford was shocked ! First 
 she stood quiet and amazed, gazing at her 
 sister with fixed eyes: then she screamed 
 and would have fallen if her mother an. 
 Margarei had not caught her in their arms. 
 
 "O, I have killed her," cried Louise: "I 
 didn't mean to speak so quick ! Henry is
 
 180 CAPTAIN HORACE. 
 
 almost dead, Maria:' he is nearly dead, I 
 mean ! He's just alive ! " 
 
 "Louise, bring some water at once," said 
 Mrs. Purlin, sternly. 
 
 " O, mother," sobbed Louise, returning 
 with the water, "I didn't mean to be so 
 hasty ; but you might have known I would : 
 you should have sent me out of the room." 
 
 This was very much the way Prudy talked 
 when she did wrong : she had a funny way 
 of blaming other people. 
 
 It is always unsafe to tell even joyful 
 news too suddenly ; but Louise's thought' 
 lessness had not done so much harm as they 
 all feared. Mrs. Clifford recovered from 
 the shock, and in an hour or two was won- 
 derfully calm, looking so perfectly happy 
 that it was delightful just to gaze at her 
 face. 
 
 She wanted the pleasure of telling the
 
 A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 181 
 
 children the story with her own lips. Gnice 
 v. as fairly wild with joy, kissing everybody, 
 and declaring it was " too good for any- 
 thing." She was too happy to keep still, 
 while as for Horace, he was too happy to 
 talk. 
 
 f Then uncle Henry wasn't gone to 
 heaven," cried little Prudy : " hasn't he 
 been to heaven at all ? " 
 
 "No, of course not," said Susy: "didn't 
 you hear 'em say he'd be here to-night?- 
 Xow you've got on the nicest kind of a 
 dress, and if you spot it up 'twill be a\\ful.' ! 
 
 "I guess," pursued Prudy, "the man th;it 
 shooted found 'twas uncle Henry, and so he 
 didn't want to kill him down dead." 
 
 How the family found time to do so ninny 
 things that day, I do not know, especially as 
 each one was in somebody's way, and the 
 children under everybody's feet. But before
 
 182 CAPTAIX HORACE. 
 
 night the pantry was full of nice things, tho 
 whole house was as fresh as a rose, and the 
 parlors were adorned with autumn flowers 
 and green garlands. 
 
 Not only the kerosene lamps, but all the 
 old oil lamps, were filled, and every candle- 
 stick, whether brass, iron, or glass, was 
 used to hold a sperm candle ; so that in the 
 evening the house at every window was all 
 ablaze with light. The front door stood 
 wide open, and the piazza and part of the 
 lawn were as bright as day. The double 
 gate had been unlatched for hours, and 
 everybody was waiting for the carriage to 
 drive up. 
 
 The hard, uncomfortable stage, which 
 Horace had said was like a baby-jumper, 
 would never do for a sick man to ride in : 
 so Billy Green had driven to the cars in his 
 easiest carriage, and aunt Madge had gone
 
 A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 183 
 
 with him, for she was afraid neither Billy 
 nor the gentleman who was with Captain 
 Clifford would know how to wrap the 
 shawls about him carefully enough. 
 
 I could never describe the joyful meeting 
 which took place in those brilliantly lighted 
 parlors. It is very rarely that such wonder- 
 ful happiness falls to any one's lot in this 
 world. 
 
 While the smiles are yet bright on their 
 faces, while Grace is clinging to her father's 
 neck, and Horace hugs his new " real drum " 
 in one arm, embracing his dear papa with 
 the other, let us take our leave of them and 
 the whole family for the present, with many 
 kind good- by 's.
 
 :' LITTLE-FOLKS " BOOKS 
 
 By indbrth.colts came to the kitchen window, whic^wu^open, u>d ( 
 in their5ose8to*a!klf6r'somethinj to e. Fluie 'fTe_thin piecei of. 
 
 SPECWEH "OF
 
 SOPHIE MAY'S "LITTLE-FOLKS" BOOKS. 
 
 LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY. 
 
 " This la ft book for the liltle ones of (lie nursery or play-room. 
 li Introduces aJt the old favorites of the Trudy and Dotty hooks will) 
 uaw characters anil funny incidents It is a clmrn.iag hook, u!-,a!c 
 some and sweet in every respect, and cannot fail to interest children 
 uuder twelve years pf age." CbrMian Kegister. 
 
 PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE. 
 
 " How she kept it, why ahe kept It, and what a good time sue bad 
 playing cook, and tvashentfbmaji, and Ironcr, is told a? only SOPIHB 
 MAY can tell stories. All the fniuiy sayings and doings of the queer- 
 est and cunningest little woman ever tucked away In !!ie covers of a 
 book will plaasa little folks and grown people alike." Press. 
 
 AUNT MADGE'S STORY. 
 
 "Tell* of a little rolte of ft glrl,.wtio gflls into every .-oncjIvaBla 
 kind of scrape and out again with lightning rapidity, through the 
 whole pretty Ditto book. How she nearly drowns her bosom friend, 
 and afterwards save* her ty a very remarkable display oi little-girl 
 courage. Flow she gets loft by A train, of cars, alid loses her kitten, 
 and Qnds it again, and b presented with a Imby sis!<i ' cotoe down 
 from beaven,' wllb lota of gzaar> am) funny sayings." Boston 
 TroMUer.
 
 ENN SHIRLEY'S BOOK& 
 
 tu. MM, by Lit It Kutr/uux 
 
 aLCSTEATION FBOU "UTIU HISS WEEZt."
 
 fENN SHIRLEY'S BOOKS, 
 
 'Copy right, 183), by Ice tad Shopard. 
 JJPBCISJEN H.UF3TBATION FBOM "LITTLE UIS3 WEEZI'S SISTER,'
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
 10m-ll, '50(2555)470 
 
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 Captain Horace. 
 
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