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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 (
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LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.
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from beaven,' wllb lota of gzaar> am) funny sayings." Boston
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