"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."
[Illustration: STAND BY THE FLAG.--Page 85.]
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.
SUSY AND PRUDY.
The Clifford children were very anxious to see Susy 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, Susy," said Grace; "didn't it shake like a corn-popper?"
"I want to go and see the piggy and ducks," said Prudy.
"Well," whispered Susy, "wait till after supper."
The Cliffords were delighted with their little cousins. When they 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 lyin'."
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 Prudy, 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 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 Susy 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 some one 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:--