CHAPTER IVAT GRANDPA PARLIN'SIt was over at last—the long, tedious journey, which Horace spoiled for everybody, and which nobody but Horace enjoyed.When they drove up to the quiet old, homestead at Willowbrook, and somebody had taken the little baby, poor Mrs. Clifford threw herself into her mother's arms, and sobbed like a child. Everybody else cried, too; and good, deaf Grandpa Parlin, with smiles and tears at the same time, declared,—"I don't know what the matter is; so I can't tell whether to laugh or cry."Then his daughter Margaret went up and said in his best ear that they were just crying for joy, and asked him if that wasn't a silly thing to do.Grace embraced everybody twice over; but Horace was a little shy, and would only give what his aunties called "canary kisses.""Margaret, I want you to give me that darling baby this minute," said Mrs. Parlin, wiping her eyes. "Now you can bring the butter out of the cellar; it's all there is to be done, except to set the tea on the table."Then Grandma Parlin had another cry over little Katie: not such a strange thing, for she could not help thinking of Harry, the baby with sad eyes and pale face, who had been sick there all the summer before, and was now an angel. As little Prudy had said, "God took him up to heaven, but the tired part of him is in the garden."Yes, under a weeping-willow. Everybody was thinking just now of tired little Harry, "the sweetest flower that ever was planted in that garden.""Why, Maria," said Mrs. Parlin, as soon as she could speak, "how did you ever travel so far with this little, little baby?""I don't know, mother," replied Mrs. Clifford, "I think I could never have got here without Grace: she has been my little waiter, and Katie's little nurse."Grace blushed with delight at this well-deserved praise."And Horace is so large now, that he was some help, too, I've no doubt," said his grandmother."I would have took the baby," cried Horace, speaking up very quickly, before anyone else had time to answer,—"I would have took the baby, but she wouldn't let me."Mrs. Clifford might have said that Horace himself had been as much trouble as the baby; but she was too kind to wound her little boy's feelings.It was certainly a very happy party who met around the tea-table at Mr. Parlin's that evening. It was already dusk, and the large globe lamp, with its white porcelain shade, gave a cheery glow to the pleasant dining-room.First, there was cream-toast, made of the whitest bread, and the sweetest cream."This makes me think of Mrs. Gray," said Mrs. Clifford, smiling; "I hope she is living yet.""She is," said Margaret, "but twelve years old."Grace looked up in surprise."Why, that's only a little girl, Aunt Madge!""My dear, it's only a cow!""O, now I remember; the little blue one, with brass knobs on her horns!""Let's see; do you remember Dr. Quack and his wife?""O, yes'm! they were white ducks; and how they did swim! It was a year ago. I suppose Horace doesn't remember.""Poh! yes, I do; they werespin-footed!""Why, Horace," said Grace, laughing; "you meanweb-footed!"Horace bent his eyes on his plate, and did not look up again for some time.There was chicken-salad on the table. Margaret made that—putting in new butter, because she knew Mrs. Clifford did not like oil.There was delicious looking cake, "some that had been touched with frost, and some that hadn't," as grandpa said, when he passed the basket.But the crowning glory of the supper was a dish of scarlet strawberries, which looked as if they had been drinking dew-drops and sunshine till they had caught all the richness and sweetness of summer."O, ma!" whispered Grace, "I'm beginning to feel so happy! I only wish my father was here."After tea, grandpa took Horace and Grace on each knee, large as they were, and sang some delightful evening hymns with what was left of his once fine voice. He looked so peaceful and happy that his daughters were reminded of the Bible verse, "Children's children are the crown of old men.""I think now," said Mrs. Clifford, coming back from putting the baby to sleep, "it's high time my boy and girl were saying, 'Good-night, and pleasant dreams.'""Aunt Madge is going upstairs with us; aren't you, auntie?""Yes, Horace; your other auntie wouldn't do, I suppose," said Louise. "That makes me think of the way this same Horace used to treat me when he was two years old. 'Hercan't put me to bed,' he would say; 'her's toolittle.'""I remember," said Margaret, "how he dreaded cold water. When his mother called him to be washed, and said, 'Ma doesn't want a little dirty boy,' he would look up in her face, and say,"'Does mamma want 'ittlecoldboy?'"The happy children kissed everybody good-night, and followed their Aunt Madge upstairs. Now, there was a certain small room, whose one window opened upon the piazza, and it was called "the green chamber." It contained a cunning little bedstead, a wee bureau, a dressing-table, and washing-stand, all pea-green. It was a room which seemed to have been made and furnished on purpose for a child, and it had been promised to Grace in every letter Aunt Madge had written to her for a year.Horace had thought but little about the room till to-night, when his Aunt led Grace into it, and he followed. It seemed so fresh and sweet in "the green chamber," and on the dressing-table there was a vase of flowers.Aunt Madge bade the children look out of the window at a bird's nest, which was snuggled into one corner of the piazza-roof, so high up that nobody could reach it without a very tall ladder."Now," said Aunt Madge, "the very first thing Grace hears in the morning will probably be bird-music."Grace clapped her hands."And where amIgoing to sleep?" said Horace, who had been listening, and looking on in silence. His aunt had forgotten that he was sometimes jealous; but she could not help knowing it now, for a very disagreeable expression looked out at his eyes, and drew down the corners of his mouth."Why, Horace dear, we have to put you in one of the back chambers, just as we did when you were here before; but you know it's a nice clean room, with white curtains, and you can look out of the window at the garden.""But it's over the kitchen!""There, Horace," said Grace, "I'd be ashamed! You don't act like a little gentleman! What would pa say?""Why couldn't I have the big front chamber?" said the little boy, shuffling his feet, and looking down at his shoes."Because," said Aunt Madge, smiling, "that is for your mother and the baby.""But if I could have this little cunning room, I'd go a-flyin'. Grace ain't company any more than me."Aunt Madge remembered Horace's hit-or-miss way of using things, and thought of the elephant that once walked into a china shop.Grace laughed aloud."Why, Horace Clifford, you'd make the room look like everything; you know you would! O, auntie, you ought to see how he musses up my cabinet! I have to hide the key; I doso!"Horace took the room which was given him, but he left his sister without his usual good-night kiss, and when he repeated his prayer, I am afraid he was thinking all the while about the green chamber.The next morning the children had intended to go into the garden bright and early. Grace loved flowers, and when she was a mere baby, just able to toddle into the meadow, she would clip off the heads of buttercups and primroses, hugging and kissing them like friends.Horace, too, had some fancy for flowers, especially flaring ones like sunflowers and hollyhocks. Dandelions were nice when the stems would curl without bothering, and poppies were worth while for little girls, he thought, because, after they are gone to seed, you can make them into pretty good teapots.He wanted to go out in the garden now for humming-birds, and to see if the dirt-colored toad was still living in his "nest," in one of the flowerbeds.But the first thing the children heard in the morning was the pattering of rain on the roof. No going out to-day. Grace was too tired to care much. Horace felt cross; but remembering how many messages his grandmother had sent to her "good little grandson," and how often Aunt Madge had written about "dear little Horace, the nephew she was so proud of," he felt ashamed to go downstairs scowling. If his good-morning smile was so thin that you could see a frown through it, still it was better than no smile at all.The breakfast was very nice, and Horace would have enjoyed the hot griddle-cakes and maple sirup, only his Aunt Louise, a handsome young lady of sixteen, watched him more than he thought was quite polite, saying every now and then,—"Isn't he the image of his father? Just such a nose, just such a mouth! He eats fast, too; that is characteristic!"Horace did not know what "characteristic" meant, but thought it must be something bad, for with a child's quick eye he could see that his pretty aunt was inclined to laugh at him. In fact, he had quite an odd way of talking, and his whole appearance was amusing to Miss Louise, who was a very lively young lady."Horace, you were telling me last night about Mr. Lazelle: what did you say was the color of his coat?""I said it wasblueberrycolor," replied Horace, who could see almost without looking up that Aunt Louise was smiling at Aunt Madge."He is amusicianer, too, I think you said, and his haircrimps. Dear me, what a funny man!"Horace was silent, and made up his mind that he should be careful another time what he said before Aunt Louise.Soon after breakfast he and Pincher went "up-attic" to see what they could find, while Grace followed her grandmother and aunties from parlor to kitchen, and from kitchen to pantry. She looked pale and tired, but was so happy that she sang every now and then at the top of her voice, forgetting that little Katie was having a nap.Pretty soon Horace came downstairs with an old, rusty gun much taller than himself. Mrs. Clifford was shocked at first, but smiled the next moment, as she remembered what an innocent thing it was, past its "prime" before she was of Horace's age.The little boy playfully pointed the gun towards Grace, who screamed with fright, and ran away as fast as she could."I don't care," cried she, coming back, a little ashamed at being laughed at. "How didIknow it wasn't loaded? Do you think 'twould look well for a little girl not to be afraid of a gun?"This speech amused everybody, particularly Horace, who was glad to have Grace say a foolish thing once in a while. It raised his self-esteem somehow; and, more than that, he liked to remember her little slips of the tongue, and tease her about them.It was not long before he had seen all there was to be seen in the house, and wanted to "dosomething." As for reading, that was usually too stupid for Horace. Grace kindly offered to play checkers with him; but she understood the game so much better than he did that she won at every trial.This was more than he could bear with patience; and, whenever he saw that she was gaining upon him, he wanted to "turn it into agive-game.""But that isn't fair, Horace.""Well, ma, just you see how mean Grace is! There, she wants me to jump that man yonder, so she'll take two of mine, and go right in the king-row!""But, Horace," said Grace, gently, "what do I play for if I don't try to beat?""There, now," cried he, "chase my men up to the king-row, so I can't crown 'em, do!""Just what I'm doing," replied Grace, coolly."Well, I should think you'd better take 'em all, and be done with it! Before I'd be so mean as to settraps!""Look, Horace," said Grace; "you didn't jump when you ought to, and I'm going tohuffyour man. See, I blow it, just this way; old Mr. Knight calls ithuffing.""Huff away then! but you stole one of those kings. I'll bet you stole it off the board after I jumped it.""Now, Horace Clifford," cried Grace, with tears in her eyes, "I never did such a thing as to steal a king; and if you say so I won't play!""Horace," said Mrs. Clifford, who had been trying for some time to speak, "what do you play checkers for?""Ma'am? Why, to beat, of course.""Well, do you consider it work or play?""Work or play? Why, it's a game, ma; so it's play.""But Grace was so obliging that she wished to amuse you, my son.Doesit amuse you? Doesn't it make you cross? Do you know that you have spoken a great many sharp words to your kind sister?"Shut the board right up, my child; and remember from this time never to play checkers, or any other game, when you feel yourself growing fretful! As you sometimes say, 'It doesn't pay.'"Horace closed the board, looking ashamed."That's sound advice for everybody," said Aunt Madge, stroking her little nephew's hair. "If children always remembered it, they would get along more pleasantly together—I know they would."Grace had been looking ill all the morning, and her mother now saw symptoms of a chill. With all her tender anxiety she had not known how tired her little daughter was. It was two or three weeks before the child was rested; and whenever she had a chill, which was every third day for a while, she was delirious and kept crying out,—"O, do see to Horace, mamma! Mr. Lazelle will forget! O, Horace, nowdon'tlet go my hand! I've got the bundles, mamma, and the milk for the baby."And sometimes Mrs. Clifford would call Horace to come and take his sister's hand, just to assure her that he was not lying cold and dead in the waters of Lake Erie. It was really touching to see how heavily the cares of the journey had weighed on the dear girl's youthful spirits.CHAPTER VCAPTAIN OF A COMPANYAt first Mrs. Clifford thought she did not care about having the children go to school, as they had been kept at their studies for nearly nine months without a vacation, except Christmas holidays.But what was to be done with Horace? Aunt Louise, who was not passionately fond of children, declared her trials were greater than she could bear. Grace was a little lady, she thought; but as for Horace, and his dog Pincher, and the "calico kitty," which he had picked up for a pet!—Louise disliked dogs and despised kittens. Sometimes, as she told Margaret, she felt as if she should certainly fly; sometimes she was sure she was going crazy; and then again it seemed as if her head would burst into a thousand pieces.None of these dreadful accidents happened, it is true; but a great many other things did. Hammers, nails, and augers were carried off, and left to rust in the dew. A cup of green paint, which for months had stood quietly on an old shelf in the storeroom, was now taken down and stirred with a stick, and all the toys which Horace whittled out were stained green, and set in the sun to dry. A pair of cheese-tongs, which hung in the back room, a boot-jack, the washing-bench, which was once red,—all became green in a very short time: only the red of the bench had a curious effect, peeping out from its light and ragged coat of green.The blue sled which belonged to Susie and Prudy was brought down from the shed-chamber, and looked at for some time. It would present a lovely appearance, Horace thought, if he only dared cross it off with green. But as the sled belonged to his little cousins, and they were not there to see for themselves how beautiful he could make it look, why, he must wait till they came; and then, very likely, the paint would be gone.Of course, Horace soiled his clothes sadly: "that was always just like him," his Aunt Louise said.This was not all: A little neighbor, Gilbert Brown, came to the house at all hours, and between the two boys there was a noise of driving nails, firing pop-guns, shouting and running from morning till night.They built a "shanty" of the boards which grandpa was saving to mend the fence, and in this shanty they "kept store," trading in crooked pins, home-made toys, twine and jack-knives."Master chaps, them children are," said Abner, the good-natured hired man."Hard-working boys! They are as destructive as army worms," declared grandpa, frowning, with a twinkle in his eye.Horace had a cannon about a foot long, which went on wheels, with a box behind it, and a rammer lashed on at the side—not to mention an American flag which floated over the whole.With a stout string he drew his cannon up to the large oilnut tree, and then with a real bayonet fixed to a wooden gun, he would lie at full length under the shade, calling himself a sharpshooter guarding the cannon. At these times woe to the "calico kitty," or Grace, or anybody else who happened to go near him! for he gave the order to "charge," and the charge was made most vigorously.Upon the whole, it was decided that everybody would feel easier and happier if Horace should go to school. This plan did not please him at all, and he went with sulky looks and a very bad grace.His mother sighed; for though her little boy kept the letter of the law, which says, "Children, obey your parents," he did not do it in thespiritof the commandment, "Honorthy father and thy mother."In a thousand ways Mrs. Clifford was made unhappy by Horace, who should have been a comfort to her. It was sad, indeed; for never did a kind mother try harder to "train up a child" in the right way.It did not take Horace a great while to renew his acquaintance with the schoolboys, who all seemed to look upon him as a sort of curiosity."I never knew before," laughed little Dan Hideout, "that my name was Dan-yell!""He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper atinkup," said Gilbert Brown."Yes," chimed in Willy Snow, "and he asks 'Is schooltook up?' just as if it was knitting-work that was on needles.""How he rolls his r's!" said Peter Grant. "You can't say hor-r-se the way he does! I'll betthe ain'ta boy can do it unless it's a Cahoo-jack." Peter meantHoosier."Well, I wouldn't be seen sayinghoss," returned Horace, with some spirit; "that'sYankee.""I guess the Yankees are as good as the Cahoo-jacks: wasn't your mother a Yankee?""Yes," faltered Horace; "she was born up north here in the Frigid Zone; but she isn't so much relation to me as my father is, for her name wasn't Clifford. She wouldn't have beenanyrelation to me if she hadn't married my father!"One or two of the larger boys laughed at this speech, and Horace, who could never endure ridicule, stole quietly away."Now, boys, you behave," said Edward Snow, Willy's older brother; "he's a smart little fellow, and it's mean to go to hurting his feelings. Come back here, Spunky Clifford; let's have a game ofhi spy!"Horace was "as silent as a stone.""He don't like to be called Spunky Clifford," said Johnny Bell; "do you, Horace?""The reason I don't like it," replied the boy, "is because it's not my name.""Well, then," said Edward Snow, winking—to the other boys, "won't you play with us,Master Horace?""I'll not go back to be laughed at," replied he, stoutly: "when I'm home I play with Hoosier boys, and they're politer than Yankees.""'Twas only those big boys," said Johnny Bell: "now they've gone off. Come, let's play something.""I should think you'd be willing for us to laugh," added honest little Willy Snow; "we can't help it, you talk so funny. We don't mean anything.""Well," said Horace, quite restored to good humor, and speaking with some dignity, "you may laugh at meonekind of a way, but if you meanhumphwhen you laugh, I won't stand it.""Woon'tstand it!" echoed Peter Grant; "ain't that Dutch?""Dutch?" replied Horace: "I'll show you whatDycheis! We have aDycheteacher come in our school every day, and he stamps his foot and tears round! 'Sei ruhig,' he says: that means, 'hush your mouth and keep still.'""Is he a Jew, and does he stay in a synagogue?""No, he is a GermanLuteran, or a DutchDeformed, or something that way.""What do you learn in?" said Johnny Bell."Why, in little German readers: what else would they be?""Does it read like stories and verses?""I don't know. He keeps hitting the books with a little switch, and screamin' out as if the house was afire.""Come, say over some Dutch; woon't you, Horace?"So the little boy repeated some German poetry, while his schoolmates looked up at him in wonder and admiration. This was just what Horace enjoyed; and he continued, with sparkling eyes,—"I s'pose you can't any of youcountin Dutch."The boys confessed that they could not."It's just as easy," said Horace, telling over the numbers up to twenty, as fast as he could speak."You can't any of youwriteDutch; can you? You give me a slate now, and I'll write it all over so you couldn't read a word of it.""Ain't it very hard to make?" asked the boys in tones of respectful astonishment."I reckon you'd think 'twas hard, it's so full of little quirls, butIcan write it as easy as English."This was quite true, for Horace made very hard work of any kind of writing.It was not two days before he was at the head of that part of the school known as "the small boys," both in study and play; yet everybody liked him, for, as I have said before, the little fellow had such a strong sense of justice, and such kindness of heart, that he was always a favorite, in spite of his faults.The boys all said there was nothing "mean" about Horace. He would neither abuse a smaller child, nor see one abused. If he thought a boy was doing wrong, he was not afraid to tell him so, and you may be sure that he was all the more respected for his moral courage.Horace talked to his schoolmates a great deal about his father, Captain Clifford, who was going to be a general some day."When I was home," said he, "I studied pa's book oftictacs, and I used to drill the boys."There was a loud cry of "Why can't you drill us? Come, let's us have a company, and you be cap'n!"Horace gladly consented, and the next Saturday afternoon a meeting was appointed at the "Glen." When the time came, the boys were all as joyful as so many squirrels suddenly let out of a cage."Now, look here, boys," said Horace, brushing back his "shingled hair," and walking about the grove with the air of a lord. "First place, if I'm going to be captain, you must mind; will you,say?"Horace was not much of a public speaker; he threw words together just as it happened; but there was so much meaning in the twistings of his face, the jerkings of his head, and the twirlings of his thumbs, that if you were looking at him you must know what he meant."Ay, ay!" piped the little boys in chorus."Then I'll muster you in," said Horace grandly. "Has everybody brought their guns?—I meansticks, you know!""Ay, ay!""I want to be corporal," said Peter Grant."I'll be major," cried Willy Snow."There, you've spoke," shouted the captain. "I wish there was a tub or bar'l to stand you on when you talk."After some time an empty flour barrel was brought, and placed upright under a tree, to serve as a dunce-block."Now we'll begin new," said the captain. "Those that want to be mustered, rise up their hands; but don't you snap your fingers."The caution came too late for some of the boys; but Horace forgave the seeming disrespect, knowing that no harm was intended."Now, boys, what are you fighting about?—Say, For our country!""For our country!" shouted the soldiers, some in chorus, and some in solo."And our flag," added Horace, as an afterthought."And our flag," repeated the boys, looking at the little banner of stars and stripes, which was fastened to the stump of a tree, and faintly fluttered in the breeze."Long may it wave!" cried Horace, growing enthusiastic, and pointing backward to the flag with a sweep of his thumb."There ain't a 'Secesh' in this company; there ain't a man but wants our battle to beat! If there is, we'll muster him out double-quick."A few caps were flourished in the air, and every mouth was set firmly together as if it would shout scorn of secession if it dared speak. It was a loyal company; there was no doubt of that. Indeed, the captain was so bitter against the South that he had asked his Aunt Madge if it was right to letsouthern-woodgrow in the garden."Now," said Horace, "Forward! March! 'Ploy column!—No, form a line first. 'Ten*tion*!"A curved, uncertain line, not unlike the letter S, gradually straightened itself, and the boys looked down to their feet as if they expected to see a chalk-mark on the grass."Now, when I say, 'Right!' you must look at the buttons on my jacket—or on yours, I've forgot which; on yours; I reckon. Right! Right at 'em! Right at the buttons!"Obedient to orders, every boy's head drooped in a moment."Stop!" said Horace, knitting his brows; "that's enough!" For there seemed to be something wrong, he could not tell what."Now you may ''bout face;' that means whirl round. Now march! one, two, quick time, double-quick!""They're stepping on my toes," cried bare-footed Peter Grant."Hush right up, private, or I'll stand you on the bar'l.""I wish't you would," groaned little Peter; "it hurts.""Well, then, I shan't," said the captain, decidedly, "for 'twouldn't be any punishin'.—Can't some of you whistle?"Willy Snow struck up Yankee Doodle, which soon charmed the wayward feet of the little volunteers, and set them to marching in good time.Afterward their captain gave instructions in "groundin' arms," "stackin' arms," "firin'," and "countin' a march," by which he meant "countermarching." He had really read a good many pages in Infantry Tactics, and had treasured up the military phrases with some care, though he had but a confused idea of their meaning."Holler-square!" said he, when he could think of nothing else to say. Of course he meant a "hollow square.""Shall we holler all together?" cried a voice from the midst of the ranks.The owner of the voice would have been "stood on the barrel," if Horace had been less busy thinking."I've forgot how they holler, as true as you live; but I reckon it's all together, and open your mouths wide."At this the young volunteers, nothing loath, gave a long, deafening shout, which the woods caught up and echoed.Horace scratched his head. He had seen his father drill his men, but he could not remember that he had ever heard them scream.A pitched battle came off next, which would have been a very peaceful one if all the boys had not wanted to be Northerners. But the feeling was greatly changed when Horace joined the Southern ranks, saying "he didn't care how much he played Secesh when everybody knew he was a good Union man, and his father was going to be a general." After this there was no trouble about raising volunteers on the rebel side.The whole affair ended very pleasantly, only there was some slashing right and left with a few bits of broken glass, which were used as swords; and several mothers had wounds to dress that night.Mrs. Clifford heard no complaint from her little son, although his fingers were quite ragged, and must have been painful. Horace was really a brave boy, and always bore suffering like a hero. More than that, he had the satisfaction of using the drops of blood for red paint; and the first thing after supper he made a wooden sword and gun, and dashed them with red streaks.CHAPTER VISUSIE AND PRUDYThe Clifford children were very anxious to see Susie and Prudy, and it seemed a long while to wait; but the Portland schools had a vacation at last, and then it was time to expect the little cousins.The whole family were impatient to see them and their excellent mother. Grandma lost her spectacles very often that afternoon, and every time she went to the window to look out, the ball of her knitting-work followed her, as Grace said, "like a little kitten."There was great joy when the stage really drove up to the door. The cousins were rather shy of each other at first, and Prudy hid her face, all glowing with smiles and blushes, in her plump little hands. But the stiffness wore away, and they were all as well acquainted as ever they had been, in about ten minutes."Ain't that a bumpin' stage, though?" cried Horace; "just like a baby-jumper.""We came in it, you know, Susie," said Grace; "didn't it shake like a corn-popper?""I want to go and see the piggy and ducks," said Prudy."Well," whispered Susie, "wait till after supper."The Cliffords were delighted with their little cousins. When they had last seen Prudy, which was the summer before, they had loved her dearly. Now she was past five, and "a good deal cunninger than ever;" or so Horace thought. He liked her pretty face, her gentle ways, and said very often if he had such a little sister he'd "go a-dyin'."To be sure Susie was just his age, and could run almost as fast as he could; still Horace did not fancy her half as much as Prudy, who could not run much without falling down, and who was always sure to cry if she got hurt.Grace and Susie were glad that Horace liked Prudy so well, for when they were cutting out dolls' dresses, or playing with company, it was pleasant to have him take her out of the way.Prudy's mouth was not much larger than a button-hole, but she opened it as wide as she could when she saw Horace whittle out such wonderful toys.He tried to be as much as possible like a man; so he worked with his jacket off, whistling all the while; and when he pounded, he drew in his breath with a whizzing noise, such as he had heard carpenters make.All this was very droll to little Prudy, who had no brothers, and supposed her "captain cousin" must be a very remarkable boy, especially as he told her that, if he hadn't left his tool-box out West, he could have done "a heap better." It was quite funny to see her standing over him with such a happy, wondering little face, sometimes singing snatches of little songs, which were sure to be wrong somewhere, such as,—"Little kinds ofdeedness,Little words of love,Make thisearthen needn't,Like the heaven above."She thought, as Horace did, that her sled would look very well "crossed off with green;" but Susie would not consent. So Horace made a doll's sled out of shingles, with turned-up runners, and a tongue of string. This toy pleased Prudy, and no one had a right to say it should not be painted green.But as Captain Horace was just preparing to add this finishing touch, a lady arrived with little twin-boys, four years old. Aunt Madge came into the shed to call Horace and Prudy. "O, auntie," said Horace, "I don't believe I care to play with those little persons!"His aunt smiled at hearing children called "little persons," but told Horace it would not be polite to neglect his young visitors; it would be positively rude. Horace did not wish to be considered an ill-mannered boy, and at last consented to have his hands and garments cleansed with turpentine to erase the paint, and to go into the nursery to see the "little persons."It seemed to him and Prudy that the visit lasted a great while, and that it was exceedingly hard work to be polite.When it was well over, Prudy said, "The next lady that comes here, I hope she won't bring any littledouble boys! What do I love little boys for, 'thout they're my cousins?"After the sled was carefully dried Horace printed on it the words "Lady Jane," in large yellow letters. His friend Gilbert found the paint for this, and it was thought by both the boys that the sled could not have been finer if "Lady Jane" had been spread on with gold-leaf by a sign-painter."Now, Prudy," said Horace, "it isn't everybody can make such a sled as that! It's right strong, too; as strong as—why, it's strong enough to 'bear up an egg'!"If Horace had done only such innocent things as to "drill" the little boys, make sleds for Prudy, and keep store with Gilbert, his mother might have felt happy.But Horace was growing careless. His father's parting words, "Always obey your mother, my son, and remember that God sees all you do," did not often ring in his ears now. Mr. Clifford, though a kind parent, had always been strict in discipline, and his little son had stood in awe of him. Now that he had gone away, there seemed to be some danger that Horace might fall into bad ways. His mother had many serious fears about him, for, with her feeble health, and the care of little Katie, she could not be as watchful of him as she wished to be. She remembered how Mr. Clifford had often said, "He will either make something or nothing," and she had answered, "Yes, there'll never be any half-way place for Horace." She sighed now as she repeated her own words.In his voyages of discovery Horace had found some gunpowder. "Mine!" said he to himself; "didn't Aunt Madge say we could have everything we found up-attic?"He knew that he was doing wrong when he tucked the powder slyly into his pocket. He knew he did wrong when he showed it to Gilbert, saying,—"Got any matches, Grasshopper?"They dug holes in the ground for the powder, and over the powder crossed some dry sticks. When they touched it off they ran away as fast as possible; but it was a wonder they were not both blown up. It was pleasant, no doubt, to hear the popping of the powder; but they dared not laugh too loud, lest someone in the house should hear them, and come out to ask what they could be playing that was so remarkably funny.Mrs. Clifford little thought what a naughty thing Horace had been doing when she called him in one day, and said, with a smiling face,—for she loved to make him happy,—"See, my son, what I have bought for you! It is a present from your father, for in his last letter he asked me to get it."Horace fairly shouted with delight when he saw the beautiful Zouave suit, gray, bordered with red, and a cap to match. If he had any twinges of conscience about receiving this present, nobody knew it.Here is the letter of thanks which he wrote to his father:—
CHAPTER IV
AT GRANDPA PARLIN'S
It was over at last—the long, tedious journey, which Horace spoiled for everybody, and which nobody but Horace enjoyed.
When they drove up to the quiet old, homestead at Willowbrook, and somebody had taken the little baby, poor Mrs. Clifford threw herself into her mother's arms, and sobbed like a child. Everybody else cried, too; and good, deaf Grandpa Parlin, with smiles and tears at the same time, declared,—
"I don't know what the matter is; so I can't tell whether to laugh or cry."
Then his daughter Margaret went up and said in his best ear that they were just crying for joy, and asked him if that wasn't a silly thing to do.
Grace embraced everybody twice over; but Horace was a little shy, and would only give what his aunties called "canary kisses."
"Margaret, I want you to give me that darling baby this minute," said Mrs. Parlin, wiping her eyes. "Now you can bring the butter out of the cellar; it's all there is to be done, except to set the tea on the table."
Then Grandma Parlin had another cry over little Katie: not such a strange thing, for she could not help thinking of Harry, the baby with sad eyes and pale face, who had been sick there all the summer before, and was now an angel. As little Prudy had said, "God took him up to heaven, but the tired part of him is in the garden."
Yes, under a weeping-willow. Everybody was thinking just now of tired little Harry, "the sweetest flower that ever was planted in that garden."
"Why, Maria," said Mrs. Parlin, as soon as she could speak, "how did you ever travel so far with this little, little baby?"
"I don't know, mother," replied Mrs. Clifford, "I think I could never have got here without Grace: she has been my little waiter, and Katie's little nurse."
Grace blushed with delight at this well-deserved praise.
"And Horace is so large now, that he was some help, too, I've no doubt," said his grandmother.
"I would have took the baby," cried Horace, speaking up very quickly, before anyone else had time to answer,—"I would have took the baby, but she wouldn't let me."
Mrs. Clifford might have said that Horace himself had been as much trouble as the baby; but she was too kind to wound her little boy's feelings.
It was certainly a very happy party who met around the tea-table at Mr. Parlin's that evening. It was already dusk, and the large globe lamp, with its white porcelain shade, gave a cheery glow to the pleasant dining-room.
First, there was cream-toast, made of the whitest bread, and the sweetest cream.
"This makes me think of Mrs. Gray," said Mrs. Clifford, smiling; "I hope she is living yet."
"She is," said Margaret, "but twelve years old."
Grace looked up in surprise.
"Why, that's only a little girl, Aunt Madge!"
"My dear, it's only a cow!"
"O, now I remember; the little blue one, with brass knobs on her horns!"
"Let's see; do you remember Dr. Quack and his wife?"
"O, yes'm! they were white ducks; and how they did swim! It was a year ago. I suppose Horace doesn't remember."
"Poh! yes, I do; they werespin-footed!"
"Why, Horace," said Grace, laughing; "you meanweb-footed!"
Horace bent his eyes on his plate, and did not look up again for some time.
There was chicken-salad on the table. Margaret made that—putting in new butter, because she knew Mrs. Clifford did not like oil.
There was delicious looking cake, "some that had been touched with frost, and some that hadn't," as grandpa said, when he passed the basket.
But the crowning glory of the supper was a dish of scarlet strawberries, which looked as if they had been drinking dew-drops and sunshine till they had caught all the richness and sweetness of summer.
"O, ma!" whispered Grace, "I'm beginning to feel so happy! I only wish my father was here."
After tea, grandpa took Horace and Grace on each knee, large as they were, and sang some delightful evening hymns with what was left of his once fine voice. He looked so peaceful and happy that his daughters were reminded of the Bible verse, "Children's children are the crown of old men."
"I think now," said Mrs. Clifford, coming back from putting the baby to sleep, "it's high time my boy and girl were saying, 'Good-night, and pleasant dreams.'"
"Aunt Madge is going upstairs with us; aren't you, auntie?"
"Yes, Horace; your other auntie wouldn't do, I suppose," said Louise. "That makes me think of the way this same Horace used to treat me when he was two years old. 'Hercan't put me to bed,' he would say; 'her's toolittle.'"
"I remember," said Margaret, "how he dreaded cold water. When his mother called him to be washed, and said, 'Ma doesn't want a little dirty boy,' he would look up in her face, and say,
"'Does mamma want 'ittlecoldboy?'"
The happy children kissed everybody good-night, and followed their Aunt Madge upstairs. Now, there was a certain small room, whose one window opened upon the piazza, and it was called "the green chamber." It contained a cunning little bedstead, a wee bureau, a dressing-table, and washing-stand, all pea-green. It was a room which seemed to have been made and furnished on purpose for a child, and it had been promised to Grace in every letter Aunt Madge had written to her for a year.
Horace had thought but little about the room till to-night, when his Aunt led Grace into it, and he followed. It seemed so fresh and sweet in "the green chamber," and on the dressing-table there was a vase of flowers.
Aunt Madge bade the children look out of the window at a bird's nest, which was snuggled into one corner of the piazza-roof, so high up that nobody could reach it without a very tall ladder.
"Now," said Aunt Madge, "the very first thing Grace hears in the morning will probably be bird-music."
Grace clapped her hands.
"And where amIgoing to sleep?" said Horace, who had been listening, and looking on in silence. His aunt had forgotten that he was sometimes jealous; but she could not help knowing it now, for a very disagreeable expression looked out at his eyes, and drew down the corners of his mouth.
"Why, Horace dear, we have to put you in one of the back chambers, just as we did when you were here before; but you know it's a nice clean room, with white curtains, and you can look out of the window at the garden."
"But it's over the kitchen!"
"There, Horace," said Grace, "I'd be ashamed! You don't act like a little gentleman! What would pa say?"
"Why couldn't I have the big front chamber?" said the little boy, shuffling his feet, and looking down at his shoes.
"Because," said Aunt Madge, smiling, "that is for your mother and the baby."
"But if I could have this little cunning room, I'd go a-flyin'. Grace ain't company any more than me."
Aunt Madge remembered Horace's hit-or-miss way of using things, and thought of the elephant that once walked into a china shop.
Grace laughed aloud.
"Why, Horace Clifford, you'd make the room look like everything; you know you would! O, auntie, you ought to see how he musses up my cabinet! I have to hide the key; I doso!"
Horace took the room which was given him, but he left his sister without his usual good-night kiss, and when he repeated his prayer, I am afraid he was thinking all the while about the green chamber.
The next morning the children had intended to go into the garden bright and early. Grace loved flowers, and when she was a mere baby, just able to toddle into the meadow, she would clip off the heads of buttercups and primroses, hugging and kissing them like friends.
Horace, too, had some fancy for flowers, especially flaring ones like sunflowers and hollyhocks. Dandelions were nice when the stems would curl without bothering, and poppies were worth while for little girls, he thought, because, after they are gone to seed, you can make them into pretty good teapots.
He wanted to go out in the garden now for humming-birds, and to see if the dirt-colored toad was still living in his "nest," in one of the flowerbeds.
But the first thing the children heard in the morning was the pattering of rain on the roof. No going out to-day. Grace was too tired to care much. Horace felt cross; but remembering how many messages his grandmother had sent to her "good little grandson," and how often Aunt Madge had written about "dear little Horace, the nephew she was so proud of," he felt ashamed to go downstairs scowling. If his good-morning smile was so thin that you could see a frown through it, still it was better than no smile at all.
The breakfast was very nice, and Horace would have enjoyed the hot griddle-cakes and maple sirup, only his Aunt Louise, a handsome young lady of sixteen, watched him more than he thought was quite polite, saying every now and then,—
"Isn't he the image of his father? Just such a nose, just such a mouth! He eats fast, too; that is characteristic!"
Horace did not know what "characteristic" meant, but thought it must be something bad, for with a child's quick eye he could see that his pretty aunt was inclined to laugh at him. In fact, he had quite an odd way of talking, and his whole appearance was amusing to Miss Louise, who was a very lively young lady.
"Horace, you were telling me last night about Mr. Lazelle: what did you say was the color of his coat?"
"I said it wasblueberrycolor," replied Horace, who could see almost without looking up that Aunt Louise was smiling at Aunt Madge.
"He is amusicianer, too, I think you said, and his haircrimps. Dear me, what a funny man!"
Horace was silent, and made up his mind that he should be careful another time what he said before Aunt Louise.
Soon after breakfast he and Pincher went "up-attic" to see what they could find, while Grace followed her grandmother and aunties from parlor to kitchen, and from kitchen to pantry. She looked pale and tired, but was so happy that she sang every now and then at the top of her voice, forgetting that little Katie was having a nap.
Pretty soon Horace came downstairs with an old, rusty gun much taller than himself. Mrs. Clifford was shocked at first, but smiled the next moment, as she remembered what an innocent thing it was, past its "prime" before she was of Horace's age.
The little boy playfully pointed the gun towards Grace, who screamed with fright, and ran away as fast as she could.
"I don't care," cried she, coming back, a little ashamed at being laughed at. "How didIknow it wasn't loaded? Do you think 'twould look well for a little girl not to be afraid of a gun?"
This speech amused everybody, particularly Horace, who was glad to have Grace say a foolish thing once in a while. It raised his self-esteem somehow; and, more than that, he liked to remember her little slips of the tongue, and tease her about them.
It was not long before he had seen all there was to be seen in the house, and wanted to "dosomething." As for reading, that was usually too stupid for Horace. Grace kindly offered to play checkers with him; but she understood the game so much better than he did that she won at every trial.
This was more than he could bear with patience; and, whenever he saw that she was gaining upon him, he wanted to "turn it into agive-game."
"But that isn't fair, Horace."
"Well, ma, just you see how mean Grace is! There, she wants me to jump that man yonder, so she'll take two of mine, and go right in the king-row!"
"But, Horace," said Grace, gently, "what do I play for if I don't try to beat?"
"There, now," cried he, "chase my men up to the king-row, so I can't crown 'em, do!"
"Just what I'm doing," replied Grace, coolly.
"Well, I should think you'd better take 'em all, and be done with it! Before I'd be so mean as to settraps!"
"Look, Horace," said Grace; "you didn't jump when you ought to, and I'm going tohuffyour man. See, I blow it, just this way; old Mr. Knight calls ithuffing."
"Huff away then! but you stole one of those kings. I'll bet you stole it off the board after I jumped it."
"Now, Horace Clifford," cried Grace, with tears in her eyes, "I never did such a thing as to steal a king; and if you say so I won't play!"
"Horace," said Mrs. Clifford, who had been trying for some time to speak, "what do you play checkers for?"
"Ma'am? Why, to beat, of course."
"Well, do you consider it work or play?"
"Work or play? Why, it's a game, ma; so it's play."
"But Grace was so obliging that she wished to amuse you, my son.Doesit amuse you? Doesn't it make you cross? Do you know that you have spoken a great many sharp words to your kind sister?
"Shut the board right up, my child; and remember from this time never to play checkers, or any other game, when you feel yourself growing fretful! As you sometimes say, 'It doesn't pay.'"
Horace closed the board, looking ashamed.
"That's sound advice for everybody," said Aunt Madge, stroking her little nephew's hair. "If children always remembered it, they would get along more pleasantly together—I know they would."
Grace had been looking ill all the morning, and her mother now saw symptoms of a chill. With all her tender anxiety she had not known how tired her little daughter was. It was two or three weeks before the child was rested; and whenever she had a chill, which was every third day for a while, she was delirious and kept crying out,—
"O, do see to Horace, mamma! Mr. Lazelle will forget! O, Horace, nowdon'tlet go my hand! I've got the bundles, mamma, and the milk for the baby."
And sometimes Mrs. Clifford would call Horace to come and take his sister's hand, just to assure her that he was not lying cold and dead in the waters of Lake Erie. It was really touching to see how heavily the cares of the journey had weighed on the dear girl's youthful spirits.
CHAPTER V
CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY
At first Mrs. Clifford thought she did not care about having the children go to school, as they had been kept at their studies for nearly nine months without a vacation, except Christmas holidays.
But what was to be done with Horace? Aunt Louise, who was not passionately fond of children, declared her trials were greater than she could bear. Grace was a little lady, she thought; but as for Horace, and his dog Pincher, and the "calico kitty," which he had picked up for a pet!—Louise disliked dogs and despised kittens. Sometimes, as she told Margaret, she felt as if she should certainly fly; sometimes she was sure she was going crazy; and then again it seemed as if her head would burst into a thousand pieces.
None of these dreadful accidents happened, it is true; but a great many other things did. Hammers, nails, and augers were carried off, and left to rust in the dew. A cup of green paint, which for months had stood quietly on an old shelf in the storeroom, was now taken down and stirred with a stick, and all the toys which Horace whittled out were stained green, and set in the sun to dry. A pair of cheese-tongs, which hung in the back room, a boot-jack, the washing-bench, which was once red,—all became green in a very short time: only the red of the bench had a curious effect, peeping out from its light and ragged coat of green.
The blue sled which belonged to Susie and Prudy was brought down from the shed-chamber, and looked at for some time. It would present a lovely appearance, Horace thought, if he only dared cross it off with green. But as the sled belonged to his little cousins, and they were not there to see for themselves how beautiful he could make it look, why, he must wait till they came; and then, very likely, the paint would be gone.
Of course, Horace soiled his clothes sadly: "that was always just like him," his Aunt Louise said.
This was not all: A little neighbor, Gilbert Brown, came to the house at all hours, and between the two boys there was a noise of driving nails, firing pop-guns, shouting and running from morning till night.
They built a "shanty" of the boards which grandpa was saving to mend the fence, and in this shanty they "kept store," trading in crooked pins, home-made toys, twine and jack-knives.
"Master chaps, them children are," said Abner, the good-natured hired man.
"Hard-working boys! They are as destructive as army worms," declared grandpa, frowning, with a twinkle in his eye.
Horace had a cannon about a foot long, which went on wheels, with a box behind it, and a rammer lashed on at the side—not to mention an American flag which floated over the whole.
With a stout string he drew his cannon up to the large oilnut tree, and then with a real bayonet fixed to a wooden gun, he would lie at full length under the shade, calling himself a sharpshooter guarding the cannon. At these times woe to the "calico kitty," or Grace, or anybody else who happened to go near him! for he gave the order to "charge," and the charge was made most vigorously.
Upon the whole, it was decided that everybody would feel easier and happier if Horace should go to school. This plan did not please him at all, and he went with sulky looks and a very bad grace.
His mother sighed; for though her little boy kept the letter of the law, which says, "Children, obey your parents," he did not do it in thespiritof the commandment, "Honorthy father and thy mother."
In a thousand ways Mrs. Clifford was made unhappy by Horace, who should have been a comfort to her. It was sad, indeed; for never did a kind mother try harder to "train up a child" in the right way.
It did not take Horace a great while to renew his acquaintance with the schoolboys, who all seemed to look upon him as a sort of curiosity.
"I never knew before," laughed little Dan Hideout, "that my name was Dan-yell!"
"He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper atinkup," said Gilbert Brown.
"Yes," chimed in Willy Snow, "and he asks 'Is schooltook up?' just as if it was knitting-work that was on needles."
"How he rolls his r's!" said Peter Grant. "You can't say hor-r-se the way he does! I'll betthe ain'ta boy can do it unless it's a Cahoo-jack." Peter meantHoosier.
"Well, I wouldn't be seen sayinghoss," returned Horace, with some spirit; "that'sYankee."
"I guess the Yankees are as good as the Cahoo-jacks: wasn't your mother a Yankee?"
"Yes," faltered Horace; "she was born up north here in the Frigid Zone; but she isn't so much relation to me as my father is, for her name wasn't Clifford. She wouldn't have beenanyrelation to me if she hadn't married my father!"
One or two of the larger boys laughed at this speech, and Horace, who could never endure ridicule, stole quietly away.
"Now, boys, you behave," said Edward Snow, Willy's older brother; "he's a smart little fellow, and it's mean to go to hurting his feelings. Come back here, Spunky Clifford; let's have a game ofhi spy!"
Horace was "as silent as a stone."
"He don't like to be called Spunky Clifford," said Johnny Bell; "do you, Horace?"
"The reason I don't like it," replied the boy, "is because it's not my name."
"Well, then," said Edward Snow, winking—to the other boys, "won't you play with us,Master Horace?"
"I'll not go back to be laughed at," replied he, stoutly: "when I'm home I play with Hoosier boys, and they're politer than Yankees."
"'Twas only those big boys," said Johnny Bell: "now they've gone off. Come, let's play something."
"I should think you'd be willing for us to laugh," added honest little Willy Snow; "we can't help it, you talk so funny. We don't mean anything."
"Well," said Horace, quite restored to good humor, and speaking with some dignity, "you may laugh at meonekind of a way, but if you meanhumphwhen you laugh, I won't stand it."
"Woon'tstand it!" echoed Peter Grant; "ain't that Dutch?"
"Dutch?" replied Horace: "I'll show you whatDycheis! We have aDycheteacher come in our school every day, and he stamps his foot and tears round! 'Sei ruhig,' he says: that means, 'hush your mouth and keep still.'"
"Is he a Jew, and does he stay in a synagogue?"
"No, he is a GermanLuteran, or a DutchDeformed, or something that way."
"What do you learn in?" said Johnny Bell.
"Why, in little German readers: what else would they be?"
"Does it read like stories and verses?"
"I don't know. He keeps hitting the books with a little switch, and screamin' out as if the house was afire."
"Come, say over some Dutch; woon't you, Horace?"
So the little boy repeated some German poetry, while his schoolmates looked up at him in wonder and admiration. This was just what Horace enjoyed; and he continued, with sparkling eyes,—
"I s'pose you can't any of youcountin Dutch."
The boys confessed that they could not.
"It's just as easy," said Horace, telling over the numbers up to twenty, as fast as he could speak.
"You can't any of youwriteDutch; can you? You give me a slate now, and I'll write it all over so you couldn't read a word of it."
"Ain't it very hard to make?" asked the boys in tones of respectful astonishment.
"I reckon you'd think 'twas hard, it's so full of little quirls, butIcan write it as easy as English."
This was quite true, for Horace made very hard work of any kind of writing.
It was not two days before he was at the head of that part of the school known as "the small boys," both in study and play; yet everybody liked him, for, as I have said before, the little fellow had such a strong sense of justice, and such kindness of heart, that he was always a favorite, in spite of his faults.
The boys all said there was nothing "mean" about Horace. He would neither abuse a smaller child, nor see one abused. If he thought a boy was doing wrong, he was not afraid to tell him so, and you may be sure that he was all the more respected for his moral courage.
Horace talked to his schoolmates a great deal about his father, Captain Clifford, who was going to be a general some day.
"When I was home," said he, "I studied pa's book oftictacs, and I used to drill the boys."
There was a loud cry of "Why can't you drill us? Come, let's us have a company, and you be cap'n!"
Horace gladly consented, and the next Saturday afternoon a meeting was appointed at the "Glen." When the time came, the boys were all as joyful as so many squirrels suddenly let out of a cage.
"Now, look here, boys," said Horace, brushing back his "shingled hair," and walking about the grove with the air of a lord. "First place, if I'm going to be captain, you must mind; will you,say?"
Horace was not much of a public speaker; he threw words together just as it happened; but there was so much meaning in the twistings of his face, the jerkings of his head, and the twirlings of his thumbs, that if you were looking at him you must know what he meant.
"Ay, ay!" piped the little boys in chorus.
"Then I'll muster you in," said Horace grandly. "Has everybody brought their guns?—I meansticks, you know!"
"Ay, ay!"
"I want to be corporal," said Peter Grant.
"I'll be major," cried Willy Snow.
"There, you've spoke," shouted the captain. "I wish there was a tub or bar'l to stand you on when you talk."
After some time an empty flour barrel was brought, and placed upright under a tree, to serve as a dunce-block.
"Now we'll begin new," said the captain. "Those that want to be mustered, rise up their hands; but don't you snap your fingers."
The caution came too late for some of the boys; but Horace forgave the seeming disrespect, knowing that no harm was intended.
"Now, boys, what are you fighting about?—Say, For our country!"
"For our country!" shouted the soldiers, some in chorus, and some in solo.
"And our flag," added Horace, as an afterthought.
"And our flag," repeated the boys, looking at the little banner of stars and stripes, which was fastened to the stump of a tree, and faintly fluttered in the breeze.
"Long may it wave!" cried Horace, growing enthusiastic, and pointing backward to the flag with a sweep of his thumb.
"There ain't a 'Secesh' in this company; there ain't a man but wants our battle to beat! If there is, we'll muster him out double-quick."
A few caps were flourished in the air, and every mouth was set firmly together as if it would shout scorn of secession if it dared speak. It was a loyal company; there was no doubt of that. Indeed, the captain was so bitter against the South that he had asked his Aunt Madge if it was right to letsouthern-woodgrow in the garden.
"Now," said Horace, "Forward! March! 'Ploy column!—No, form a line first. 'Ten*tion*!"
A curved, uncertain line, not unlike the letter S, gradually straightened itself, and the boys looked down to their feet as if they expected to see a chalk-mark on the grass.
"Now, when I say, 'Right!' you must look at the buttons on my jacket—or on yours, I've forgot which; on yours; I reckon. Right! Right at 'em! Right at the buttons!"
Obedient to orders, every boy's head drooped in a moment.
"Stop!" said Horace, knitting his brows; "that's enough!" For there seemed to be something wrong, he could not tell what.
"Now you may ''bout face;' that means whirl round. Now march! one, two, quick time, double-quick!"
"They're stepping on my toes," cried bare-footed Peter Grant.
"Hush right up, private, or I'll stand you on the bar'l."
"I wish't you would," groaned little Peter; "it hurts."
"Well, then, I shan't," said the captain, decidedly, "for 'twouldn't be any punishin'.—Can't some of you whistle?"
Willy Snow struck up Yankee Doodle, which soon charmed the wayward feet of the little volunteers, and set them to marching in good time.
Afterward their captain gave instructions in "groundin' arms," "stackin' arms," "firin'," and "countin' a march," by which he meant "countermarching." He had really read a good many pages in Infantry Tactics, and had treasured up the military phrases with some care, though he had but a confused idea of their meaning.
"Holler-square!" said he, when he could think of nothing else to say. Of course he meant a "hollow square."
"Shall we holler all together?" cried a voice from the midst of the ranks.
The owner of the voice would have been "stood on the barrel," if Horace had been less busy thinking.
"I've forgot how they holler, as true as you live; but I reckon it's all together, and open your mouths wide."
At this the young volunteers, nothing loath, gave a long, deafening shout, which the woods caught up and echoed.
Horace scratched his head. He had seen his father drill his men, but he could not remember that he had ever heard them scream.
A pitched battle came off next, which would have been a very peaceful one if all the boys had not wanted to be Northerners. But the feeling was greatly changed when Horace joined the Southern ranks, saying "he didn't care how much he played Secesh when everybody knew he was a good Union man, and his father was going to be a general." After this there was no trouble about raising volunteers on the rebel side.
The whole affair ended very pleasantly, only there was some slashing right and left with a few bits of broken glass, which were used as swords; and several mothers had wounds to dress that night.
Mrs. Clifford heard no complaint from her little son, although his fingers were quite ragged, and must have been painful. Horace was really a brave boy, and always bore suffering like a hero. More than that, he had the satisfaction of using the drops of blood for red paint; and the first thing after supper he made a wooden sword and gun, and dashed them with red streaks.
CHAPTER VI
SUSIE AND PRUDY
The Clifford children were very anxious to see Susie and Prudy, and it seemed a long while to wait; but the Portland schools had a vacation at last, and then it was time to expect the little cousins.
The whole family were impatient to see them and their excellent mother. Grandma lost her spectacles very often that afternoon, and every time she went to the window to look out, the ball of her knitting-work followed her, as Grace said, "like a little kitten."
There was great joy when the stage really drove up to the door. The cousins were rather shy of each other at first, and Prudy hid her face, all glowing with smiles and blushes, in her plump little hands. But the stiffness wore away, and they were all as well acquainted as ever they had been, in about ten minutes.
"Ain't that a bumpin' stage, though?" cried Horace; "just like a baby-jumper."
"We came in it, you know, Susie," said Grace; "didn't it shake like a corn-popper?"
"I want to go and see the piggy and ducks," said Prudy.
"Well," whispered Susie, "wait till after supper."
The Cliffords were delighted with their little cousins. When they had last seen Prudy, which was the summer before, they had loved her dearly. Now she was past five, and "a good deal cunninger than ever;" or so Horace thought. He liked her pretty face, her gentle ways, and said very often if he had such a little sister he'd "go a-dyin'."
To be sure Susie was just his age, and could run almost as fast as he could; still Horace did not fancy her half as much as Prudy, who could not run much without falling down, and who was always sure to cry if she got hurt.
Grace and Susie were glad that Horace liked Prudy so well, for when they were cutting out dolls' dresses, or playing with company, it was pleasant to have him take her out of the way.
Prudy's mouth was not much larger than a button-hole, but she opened it as wide as she could when she saw Horace whittle out such wonderful toys.
He tried to be as much as possible like a man; so he worked with his jacket off, whistling all the while; and when he pounded, he drew in his breath with a whizzing noise, such as he had heard carpenters make.
All this was very droll to little Prudy, who had no brothers, and supposed her "captain cousin" must be a very remarkable boy, especially as he told her that, if he hadn't left his tool-box out West, he could have done "a heap better." It was quite funny to see her standing over him with such a happy, wondering little face, sometimes singing snatches of little songs, which were sure to be wrong somewhere, such as,—
"Little kinds ofdeedness,Little words of love,Make thisearthen needn't,Like the heaven above."
"Little kinds ofdeedness,Little words of love,Make thisearthen needn't,Like the heaven above."
"Little kinds ofdeedness,
Little words of love,
Little words of love,
Make thisearthen needn't,
Like the heaven above."
Like the heaven above."
She thought, as Horace did, that her sled would look very well "crossed off with green;" but Susie would not consent. So Horace made a doll's sled out of shingles, with turned-up runners, and a tongue of string. This toy pleased Prudy, and no one had a right to say it should not be painted green.
But as Captain Horace was just preparing to add this finishing touch, a lady arrived with little twin-boys, four years old. Aunt Madge came into the shed to call Horace and Prudy. "O, auntie," said Horace, "I don't believe I care to play with those little persons!"
His aunt smiled at hearing children called "little persons," but told Horace it would not be polite to neglect his young visitors; it would be positively rude. Horace did not wish to be considered an ill-mannered boy, and at last consented to have his hands and garments cleansed with turpentine to erase the paint, and to go into the nursery to see the "little persons."
It seemed to him and Prudy that the visit lasted a great while, and that it was exceedingly hard work to be polite.
When it was well over, Prudy said, "The next lady that comes here, I hope she won't bring any littledouble boys! What do I love little boys for, 'thout they're my cousins?"
After the sled was carefully dried Horace printed on it the words "Lady Jane," in large yellow letters. His friend Gilbert found the paint for this, and it was thought by both the boys that the sled could not have been finer if "Lady Jane" had been spread on with gold-leaf by a sign-painter.
"Now, Prudy," said Horace, "it isn't everybody can make such a sled as that! It's right strong, too; as strong as—why, it's strong enough to 'bear up an egg'!"
If Horace had done only such innocent things as to "drill" the little boys, make sleds for Prudy, and keep store with Gilbert, his mother might have felt happy.
But Horace was growing careless. His father's parting words, "Always obey your mother, my son, and remember that God sees all you do," did not often ring in his ears now. Mr. Clifford, though a kind parent, had always been strict in discipline, and his little son had stood in awe of him. Now that he had gone away, there seemed to be some danger that Horace might fall into bad ways. His mother had many serious fears about him, for, with her feeble health, and the care of little Katie, she could not be as watchful of him as she wished to be. She remembered how Mr. Clifford had often said, "He will either make something or nothing," and she had answered, "Yes, there'll never be any half-way place for Horace." She sighed now as she repeated her own words.
In his voyages of discovery Horace had found some gunpowder. "Mine!" said he to himself; "didn't Aunt Madge say we could have everything we found up-attic?"
He knew that he was doing wrong when he tucked the powder slyly into his pocket. He knew he did wrong when he showed it to Gilbert, saying,—
"Got any matches, Grasshopper?"
They dug holes in the ground for the powder, and over the powder crossed some dry sticks. When they touched it off they ran away as fast as possible; but it was a wonder they were not both blown up. It was pleasant, no doubt, to hear the popping of the powder; but they dared not laugh too loud, lest someone in the house should hear them, and come out to ask what they could be playing that was so remarkably funny.
Mrs. Clifford little thought what a naughty thing Horace had been doing when she called him in one day, and said, with a smiling face,—for she loved to make him happy,—"See, my son, what I have bought for you! It is a present from your father, for in his last letter he asked me to get it."
Horace fairly shouted with delight when he saw the beautiful Zouave suit, gray, bordered with red, and a cap to match. If he had any twinges of conscience about receiving this present, nobody knew it.
Here is the letter of thanks which he wrote to his father:—