Part 3

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 the _spirit_ of the commandment, "_Honor_ thy father and thy mother."

In a thousand ways Mrs. Clifford was made unhappy by Horace, who should have been a comfort to her. It was sad, indeed; for never did a kind mother try harder to "train up a child" in the right way.

It did not take Horace a great while to renew his acquaintance with the schoolboys, who all seemed to look upon him as a sort of curiosity.

"I never knew before," laughed little Dan Hideout, "that my name was Dan-yell!"

"He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper a _tinkup_," said Gilbert Brown.

"Yes," chimed in Willy Snow, "and he asks 'Is school _took up_?' just as if it was knitting-work that was on needles."

"How he rolls his r's!" said Peter Grant. "You can't say hor-r-se the way he does! I'll bet _the ain't_ a boy can do it unless it's a Cahoo-jack." Peter meant _Hoosier_.

"Well, I wouldn't be seen saying _hoss_," returned Horace, with some spirit; "that's _Yankee_."

"I guess the Yankees are as good as the 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 been _any_ relation to me if she hadn't married my father!"

One or two of the larger boys laughed at this speech, and Horace, who could never endure ridicule, stole quietly away.

"Now, boys, you behave," said Edward Snow, Willy's older brother; "he's a smart little fellow, and it's mean to go to hurting his feelings. Come back here, Spunky Clifford; let's have a game of _hi spy_!"

Horace was "as silent as a stone."

"He don't like to be called Spunky Clifford," said Johnny Bell; "do you, Horace?"

"The reason I don't like it," replied the boy, "is because it's not my name."

"Well, then," said Edward Snow, winking--to the other boys, "won't you play with us, _Master Horace_?"

"I'll not go back to be laughed at," replied he, stoutly: "when I'm home I play with Hoosier boys, and they're politer than Yankees."

"'Twas only those big boys," said Johnny Bell: "now they've gone off. Come, let's play something."

"I should think you'd be willing for us to laugh," added honest little Willy Snow; "we can't help it, you talk so funny. We don't mean anything."

"Well," said Horace, quite restored to good humor, and speaking with some dignity, "you may laugh at me _one_ kind of a way, but if you mean _humph_ when you laugh, I won't stand it."

"_Woon't_ stand it!" echoed Peter Grant; "ain't that Dutch?"

"Dutch?" replied Horace: "I'll show you what _Dyche_ is! We have a _Dyche_ teacher come in our school every day, and he stamps his foot and tears round! 'Sei ruhig,' he says: that means, 'hush your mouth and keep still.'"

"Is he a Jew, and does he stay in a synagogue?"

"No, he is a German _Luteran_, or a Dutch _Deformed_, or something that way."

"What do you learn in?" said Johnny Bell.

"Why, in little German readers: what else would they be?"

"Does it read like stories and verses?"

"I don't know. He keeps hitting the books with a little switch, and screamin' out as if the house was afire."

"Come, say over some Dutch; woon't you, Horace?"

So the little boy repeated some German poetry, while his schoolmates looked up at him in wonder and admiration. This was just what Horace enjoyed; and he continued, with sparkling eyes,--

"I s'pose you can't any of you _count_ in Dutch."

The boys confessed that they could not.

"It's just as easy," said Horace, telling over the numbers up to twenty, as fast as he could speak.

"You can't any of you _write_ Dutch; can you? You give me a slate now, and I'll write it all over so you couldn't read a word of it."

"Ain't it very hard to make?" asked the boys in tones of respectful astonishment.

"I reckon you'd think 'twas hard, it's so full of little quirls, but _I_ can write it as easy as English."

This was quite true, for Horace made very hard work of any kind of writing.

It was not two days before he was at the head of that part of the school known as "the small boys," both in study and play; yet everybody liked him, for, as I have said before, the little fellow had such a strong sense of justice, and such kindness of heart, that he was always a favorite, in spite of his faults.

The boys all said there was nothing "mean" about Horace. He would neither abuse a smaller child, nor see one abused. If he thought a boy was doing wrong, he was not afraid to tell him so, and you may be sure 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 of _tictacs_, and I used to drill the boys."

There was a loud cry of "Why can't you drill us? Come, let's us have a company, and you be cap'n!"

Horace gladly consented, and the next Saturday afternoon a meeting was appointed at the "Glen." When the time came, the boys were all as joyful as so many squirrels suddenly let out of a cage.

"Now, look here, boys," said Horace, brushing back his "shingled hair," and walking about the grove with the air of a lord. "First place, if I'm going to be captain, you must mind; will you, _say_?"

Horace was not much of a public speaker; he threw words together just as it happened; but there was so much meaning in the twistings of his face, the jerkings of his head, and the twirlings of his thumbs, that if you were looking at him you must know what he meant.

"Ay, ay!" piped the little boys in chorus.

"Then I'll muster you in," said Horace grandly. "Has everybody brought their guns?--I mean _sticks_, you know!"

"Ay, ay!"

"I want to be corporal," said Peter Grant.

"I'll be major," cried Willy Snow.

"There, you've spoke," shouted the captain. "I wish there was a tub or bar'l to stand you on when you talk."

After some time an empty flour barrel was brought, and placed upright under a tree, to serve as a dunce-block.

"Now we'll begin new," said the captain. "Those that want to be mustered, rise up their hands; but don't you snap your fingers."

The caution came too late for some of the boys; but Horace forgave the seeming disrespect, knowing that no harm was intended.

"Now, boys, what are you fighting about?--Say, For our country!"

"For our country!" shouted the soldiers, some in chorus, and some in solo.

"And our flag," added Horace, as an 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 let _southern-wood_ grow in the garden.

"Now," said Horace, "Forward! March! 'Ploy column!--No, form a line first. 'Ten*tion*!"

A curved, uncertain line, not unlike the letter S, gradually straightened itself, and the boys looked down to their feet as if they expected to see a chalk-mark on the grass.

"Now, when I say, 'Right!' you must look at the buttons on my jacket--or on yours, I've forgot which; on yours; I reckon. Right! Right at 'em! Right at the buttons!"

Obedient to orders, every boy's head drooped in a moment.

"Stop!" said Horace, knitting his brows; "that's enough!" For there seemed to be something wrong, he could not tell what.

"Now you may ''bout face;' that means whirl round. Now march! one, two, quick time, double-quick!"

"They're stepping on my toes," cried 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 of _deedness_, Little words of love, Make this _earthen needn't_, Like the heaven above."

She thought, as Horace did, that her sled would look very well "crossed off with green;" but 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 little _double boys_! What do I love little boys for, 'thout they're my cousins?"

After the sled was carefully dried Horace printed on it the words "Lady Jane," in large yellow letters. His friend Gilbert found the paint for this, and it was thought by both the boys that the sled could not have been finer if "Lady Jane" had been spread on with gold-leaf by a sign-painter.

"Now, Prudy," said Horace, "it isn't everybody can make such a sled as that! It's right strong, too; as strong as--why, it's strong enough to 'bear up an egg'!"

If Horace had done only such innocent things as to "drill" the little boys, make sleds for Prudy, and keep store with Gilbert, his mother might have felt happy.

But Horace was growing careless. His father's parting words, "Always obey your mother, my son, and remember that God sees all you do," did not often ring in his ears now. Mr. Clifford, though a kind parent, had always been strict in discipline, and his little son had stood in awe of him. Now that he had gone away, there seemed to be some danger that Horace might fall into bad ways. His mother had many serious fears about him, for, with her feeble health, and the care of little Katie, she could not be as watchful of him as she wished to be. She remembered how Mr. Clifford had often said, "He will either make something or nothing," and she had answered, "Yes, there'll never be any half-way place for Horace." She sighed now as she repeated her own words.

In his voyages of discovery Horace had found some gunpowder. "Mine!" said he to himself; "didn't Aunt Madge say we could have everything we found up-attic?"

He knew that he was doing wrong when he tucked the powder slyly into his pocket. He knew he did wrong when he showed it to Gilbert, saying,--

"Got any matches, Grasshopper?"

They dug holes in the ground for the powder, and over the powder crossed some dry sticks. When they touched it off they ran away as fast as possible; but it was a wonder they were not both blown up. It was pleasant, no doubt, to hear the popping of the powder; but they dared not laugh too loud, lest 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:--

"DEAR PAPA.

"I am sorry to say I have not seen you since you went to the war. Grandpa has two pigs. I want a drum so much!

"We have lots of squirrels: they chip. We have orioles: they say, 'Here, here, _here_ I be!'

"I want the drum because I am a _captain_! We are going to train with paper caps.

"I get up the cows and have a good time.

"Good-by. From your son,

"HORACE P. CLIFFORD.

"P.S. Ma bought me the soldier-clothes. I thank you."

About this time Mrs. Clifford was trying to put together a barrel of nice things to send to her husband. Grandma and Aunt Madge baked a great many loaves of cake and hundreds of cookies, and put in cans of fruit and boxes of jelly wherever there was room. Aunt Louise made a nice little dressing-case of bronze kid, lined with silk, and Grace made a pretty pen-wiper and pin-ball. Horace whittled out a handsome steamboat, with _green_ pipes, and the figurehead of an old man's face carved in wood. But Horace thought the face looked like Prudy's, and named the steamboat "The Prudy." He also broke open his savings-bank, and begged his mother to lay out all the money he had in presents for the sick soldiers:

"Horace has a kind and loving heart," said Margaret to Louise. "To be sure, he won't keep still long enough to let anybody kiss him, but he really loves his parents dearly."

"Well, he's a terrible try-patience," said Louise.

"Wait a while! He is wilful and naughty, but he never tells wrong stories. I think there's hope of a boy who _scorns a lie_! See if he doesn't come out right, Louise. Why, I expect to be proud of our Horace one of these days!"

*CHAPTER VII*

*IN THE WOODS*

"O, ma," said Horace, coming into the house one morning glowing with excitement, "mayn't I go in the woods with Peter Grant? He knows where there's heaps of boxberries."

"And who is Peter Grant, my son?"

"He is a little boy with a bad temper," said Aunt Louise, frowning severely at Horace.--If she had had her way, I don't know but every little boy in town would have been tied to a bed-post by a clothes-line. As I have already said, Aunt Louise was not remarkably fond of children, and when they were naughty it was hard for her to forgive them.

She disliked little Peter; but she never stopped to think that he had a cross and ignorant mother, who managed him so badly that he did not care about trying to be good. Mrs. Grant seldom talked with him about God and the Saviour; she never read to him from the Bible, nor told him to say his prayers.

Mrs. Clifford answered Horace that she did not wish him to go into the woods, and that was all that she thought it necessary to say.

Horace, at the time, had no idea of disobeying his mother; but not long afterwards he happened to go into the kitchen, where his grandmother was making beer.

"What do you make it of, grandma?" said he.

"Of molasses and warm water and yeast."

"But what gives the taste to it?"

"O, I put in spruce, or boxberry, or sarsaparilla."

"But see here, grandma: wouldn't you like to have me go in the woods 'some place,' and dig roots for you?"

"Yes, indeed, my dear," said she innocently; "and if you should go, pray get some wintergreen, by all means."

In Horace's heart gave a wicked throb of delight. If someone wanted him to go _after_ something, of course he _ought_ to go; for his mother had often told him he must try to be useful. Strolling into the woods with Peter Grant, just for fun, was very different from going in soberly to dig up roots for grandma.

He thought of it all the way out to the gate. To be sure, he might go and ask his mother again, but "what was the use when he knew certain sure she'd be willing? Besides, wasn't the baby crying, so he mustn't go in the room?"

These reasons sounded very well; but they could be picked in pieces, and Horace knew it. It was only when the baby was asleep that he must keep out of the chamber; and, as for being sure that his mother would let him go into the woods, the truth was, he dared not ask her, for he knew she would say, "No."

He found Peter Grant lounging near the school-house, scribbling his name on the clean white paint under one of the windows.

Peter's black eyes twinkled.

"Going, ain't you, cap'n! dog and all? But where's your basket? Wait, and I'll fetch one."

"There," said he, coming back again, "I got that out of the stable there at the tavern; Billy Green is hostler: Billy knows me."

"Well, Peter, come ahead."

"I don't believe you know your way in these 'ere woods," returned Peter, with an air of importance. "I'll go fust. It's a mighty long stretch, 'most up to Canada; but I could find _my_ way in the dark. I never got lost anywheres yet!"

"Poh! nor I either," Horace was about to say; but remembering his adventure in Cleveland, he drowned the words in a long whistle.

They kept on up the steep hill for some distance, and then struck off into the forest. The straight pine trees stood up solemn and stiff. Instead of tender leaves, they bristled all over with dark green "needles." They had no blessings of birds' nests in their branches; yet they gave out a pleasant odor, which the boys said was "nice."

"But they aren't so splendid, Peter, as our trees out West--don't begin! _They_ grow so big you can't chop 'em down. I'll leave it to Pincher!"

"Chop 'em down? I reckon it can't be done!" replied Pincher--not in words, but by a wag of his tail.

"Well, how _do_ you get 'em down then, cap'n?"