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Frank's Campaign

or

What Boys can do on the Farm for the Camp

by Horatio Alger, Jr., 1864

FROM THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO. EDITION
WHICH WAS VERY MUCH CONDENSED FROM ALGER'S ORIGINAL WORK
CLEVELAND, O.            NEW YORK, N. Y.


PREFACE

In the title of this book, "Frank's Campaign," Horatio Alger, Jr., gives us not only the name of the hero of the book but an idea of the character of the work. The word campaign is associated with war times.

We all know that war always brings many hardships and trials and our author pictures to us a boy, who, though he does not go to war, has many battles to fight, and obstacles to overcome.

He takes his father's place while the latter is absent in his country's service, and is enabled by fortunate circumstances, to pay off a mortgage on the home farm.

This story leads us to see that one may be a hero without being on the battle field.


Printed in the United States of America
by
THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO.
CLEVELAND. O.


CHAPTER I

THE WAR MEETING

The Town Hall in Rossville stands on a moderate elevation overlooking the principal street. It is generally open only when a meeting has been called by the Selectmen to transact town business, or occasionally in the evening when a lecture on Temperance or a political address is to be delivered.

One Wednesday afternoon, towards the close of September, 1862, a group of men and boys might have been seen standing on the steps and in the entry of the Town House. Why they had met will best appear from a large placard, which had been posted up on barns and fences.

It ran as follows: –

WAR MEETING!

    The citizens of Rossville are invited to meet at the Town Hall, on Wednesday, September 24, at 3 P. M. to decide what measures shall be taken towards raising the town's quota of twenty-five men, under the recent call of the President of the United States. All patriotic citizens, who are in favor of sustaining the free institutions transmitted to us by our fathers, are urgently invited to be present.

    The Honorable Solomon Stoddart is expected to address the meeting.

    Come one, come all.

At the appointed hour about one hundred and fifty men had assembled in the hall. They stood in groups, discussing the recent call and the general management of the war with that spirit of independent criticism which so eminently characterizes the little democracies which make up our New England States.

"The whole thing has been mismanaged from the first," remarked a sapient-looking man with a gaunt, cadaverous face, addressing two listeners. "The Administration is corrupt; our generals are either incompetent or purposely inefficient. We haven't got an officer that can hold a candle to General Lee. Abram Lincoln has called for six hundred thousand men. What'll he do with 'em when he gets 'em? Just nothing at all. They'll melt away like snow, and then he'll call for more men. Give me a third of six hundred thousand, and I'll walk into Richmond in less'n thirty days."

"Wouldn't it be well to give them the benefit of your ideas on the subject?" suggested one quietly.

"What do you mean, Mr. Frost?"

"Only this, that if, like you, I had a definite scheme, which I thought likely to terminate the war, I should feel it my duty to communicate it to the proper authorities, that they might take it into consideration."

"It wouldn't do any good," returned Holman, still a little suspicious that he was quietly laughed at. "They're too set in their own ways to be changed."

At this moment there was a sharp rap on the table, and a voice was heard, saying, "The meeting will please come to order."

"It will be necessary to select a chairman to preside over your deliberations," was next heard. "Will any one nominate?"

"I nominate Dr. Plunkett," came from a man in the corner.

The motion was seconded, and a show of hands resulted in favor of the nominee.

A gentlemanly looking man with a pleasant face advanced to the speaker's stand, and with a bow made a few remarks to this effect:

"Fellow-citizens: this is new business to me, as you are doubtless aware. On the present occasion, however, I have felt it to be my duty, and the duty of every loyal citizen, to show by his presence how heartily he approves the object which has called us together. It is hardly necessary to remind you of the object which has brought us together. Our forces in the field need replenishing. The Rebellion has assumed more formidable proportions than we anticipated. It is quite clear that we cannot put it down with one hand. We shall need both. Impressed with this conviction, President Lincoln has made an extraordinary levy upon the country. He feels that it is desirable to put down the Rebellion as speedily as possible, and not suffer it to drag through a series of years. But he cannot work single-handed. The loyal States must give their hearty co-operation. Our State, though inferior in extent and population to some others, has not fallen behind in loyal devotion.

Nor, I believe, will Rossville be found wanting in this emergency. Twenty-five men have been called for. How shall we get them? This is the question which we are called upon to consider."

Mr. Frost rose. It is unnecessary to report his speech. It was plain, practical, and to the point. He recommended that the town appropriate a certain sum as bounty money to volunteers. Other towns had done so, and he thought with good reason. It would undoubtedly draw in recruits more rapidly.

A short, stout, red-faced man, wearing gold spectacles, rose hastily.

"Mr. Chairman," he commenced, "I oppose that suggestion. I think it calculated to work serious mischief. Do our young men need to be hired to fight for their country? I suppose that is what you call patriotism. For my part, I trust the town will have too much good sense to agree to any such proposition. The consequence of it would be to plunge us into debt, and increase our taxes to a formidable amount."

It may be remarked that Squire Haynes, the speaker, was the wealthiest man in town, and of course would be considerably affected by increased taxation. Even now he never paid his annual tax-bill without an inward groan, feeling that it was so much deducted from the sum total of his property.

Mr. Frost remained standing while Squire Haynes was speaking, and at the close continued his speech:

"Squire Haynes objects that my proposition, if adopted, will make our taxes heavier. I grant it; but how can we expect to carry on this gigantic war without personal sacrifices? If they only come in the form of money, we may count ourselves fortunate. I take it for granted that there is not a man here present who does not approve the present war, – who does not feel that we are waging it for good and sufficient reasons. Such being the case, we cannot but feel that the burden ought to fall upon the entire community, and not wholly upon any particular portion. The heaviest sacrifices must undoubtedly be made by those who leave their homes and peril life and limb on the battlefield. Money cannot pay for loss of life or limb. But some of them leave families behind. It is not right that these families should suffer because the fathers have devoted themselves to the sacred cause of liberty. When our soldiers go forth, enable them to feel that their wives and children shall not lack for the necessaries of life. The least that those who are privileged to stay at home can do is to tax their purses for this end."

"Mr. Chairman," said Squire Haynes, sarcastically, "I infer that the last speaker is intending to enlist."

Mr. Frost's face flushed at this insinuation.

"Squire Haynes chooses to impute to me interested motives. I need enter into no defense before an audience to whom I am well known. I will only inquire whether interested motives have nothing to do with his opposition to voting bounties to our soldiers?"

This was such a palpable hit that Squire Haynes winced under it, and his red face turned redder as he saw the smiles of those about him.

"Impudent puppy!" he muttered to himself; "he seems to forget that I have a mortgage of eight hundred dollars on his farm. When the time comes to foreclose it, I will show him no mercy. I'll sell him up, root and branch!"

The considerations which had been urged were so reasonable, that the voters present, with very little opposition, voted to pay one hundred and fifty dollars to each one who was willing to enlist as one of the town's quota. A list was at once opened, and after the close of the meeting four young men came forward and put down their names, amid the applause of the assembly.

"I wanted to do it before," said John Drake, one of the number, to Mr. Frost, "but I've got a wife and two little children dependent upon me for support. I couldn't possibly support them out of my thirteen dollars a month, even with the State aid. But your motion has decided me. I could do better by staying at home, even with that; but that isn't the question. I want to help my country in this hour of her need; and now that my mind is at ease about my family, I shall cheerfully enter the service."

"And I know of no one who will make a better soldier!" said Mr. Frost, heartily.

CHAPTER II

THE PRIZE

A few rods distant from the Town Hall, but on the opposite side of the street, stood the Rossville Academy. It had been for some years under the charge of James Rathburn, A. M., a thorough scholar and a skilful teacher.

Some forty students attended the Academy, mostly from the town of Rossville.

Frank Frost is at this time in his sixteenth year. He is about the medium size, compactly made; has dark chestnut hair, with a slight wave, and is altogether a fine-looking boy.

At the desk behind him sits John Haynes, the son of Squire Haynes, introduced in our last chapter. He is nearly two years older than Frank, and about as opposite to him in personal appearance as can well be imagined. He has a thin face, very black hair, is tall of his age, and already beginning to feel himself a young man.

These two boys, together with Henry Tufts, constitute the preparatory class of Rossville Academy. Henry is mild in his manners, and a respectable student, but possesses no positive character. Frank, though the youngest of the three, excels the other two in scholarship. But there is some doubt whether he will be able to go to college. His father is in moderate circumstances, deriving a comfortable subsistence from a small farm, but is able to lay by a very small surplus every year, and this he feels it necessary to hold in reserve for the liquidation of the mortgage held by Squire Haynes. Frank's chance of attaining what he covets – a college education--seems small.

The reader is introduced to the main school-room of the Rossville Academy on the morning of the day on which the war meeting takes place.

At nine o'clock the bell rang, and the scholars took their seats. After the preliminary devotional exercise, Mr. Rathburn spoke as follows:

"Scholars, I need not remind you that on the first day of the term, with the design of encouraging you to aim at improvement in English composition, I offered two prizes,– one for the best essay written by a boy over fourteen years of age; the other for the best composition by any one under that age. It gives me pleasure to state that in most of those submitted to me I recognize merit, and I should be glad if it were in my power to give three times as many prizes. Those of you, however, who are unsuccessful will feel repaid by the benefit you have yourselves derived from the efforts you have made for another end. After careful consideration," continued the teacher, "I have decided that the prize should be adjudged to an essay entitled, 'The Duties of Boys in the Present National Crisis,' written by Frank Frost."

There was a general clapping of hands at this announcement. Frank was a general favorite, and even his disappointed rivals felt a degree of satisfaction that he had obtained the prize.

There was one exception, however. John Haynes turned pale, and then red, with anger and vexation. He scowled darkly while the rest of the boys were applauding, and persuaded himself that he was the victim of a great piece of injustice.

Frank's face flushed with pleasure, and his eyes danced with delight. He had made a great effort to succeed, and he knew that at home they would be very happy to hear that the prize had been awarded to him.

"Frank Frost will come forward," said Mr. Rathburn.

Frank left his seat, and advanced, modestly. Mr. Rathburn placed in his hand a neat edition of Whittier's Poems in blue and gold.

At recess, Frank's desk was surrounded by his schoolmates, who were desirous of examining the prize volumes. All expressed hearty good-will, congratulating him on his success, with the exception of John Haynes.

"You seem mighty proud of your books, Frank Frost," said he with a sneer. "We all know that you're old Rathburn's favorite. It didn't make much difference what you wrote, as long as you were sure of the prize."

"For shame, John Haynes!" exclaimed little Harvey Grover, impetuously.

Frank was justly indignant at the unfriendly course which John chose to pursue, but feeling that it proceeded from disappointed rivalry, he wisely said nothing to increase his exasperation.

It was not until evening that John and his father met. Both had been chafed,– the first by his disappointment, the second by the failure of his effort to prevent the town's voting bounties to volunteers. In particular he was incensed with Mr. Frost, for his imputation of interested motives, although it was only in return for a similar imputation brought against himself.

"Well, father, I didn't get the prize," commenced John, in a discontented voice.

"Rathburn was sure to give it to his favorite. All the boys know Frank Frost is his pet. You won't catch him praising me, if I work ever so hard."

"Teachers should never have favorites," said the Squire, dogmatically. Have you got your essay with you, John?"

"Yes, sir."

"You may sit down and read it to me, and if I think it deserving, I will take care that you shan't lose by the teacher's injustice."

John readily obeyed. He hurried up to his chamber, and opening his writing-desk took out a sheet of foolscap, three sides of which were written over. This he brought down-stairs with him.

The Squire, in dressing-gown and slippers, sat in a comfortable arm-chair, while John in a consequential manner read his rejected essay. It was superficial and commonplace, and abundantly marked with pretension, but to the Squire's warped judgment it seemed to have remarkable merit.

"It does you great credit, John," said he emphatically. "I don't know what sort of an essay young Frost wrote, but I venture to say it was not as good. If he's anything like his father, he is an impertinent jackanapes."

John pricked up his ears, and listened attentively.

"He grossly insulted me at the town-meeting to-day, and I shan't soon forget it. It isn't for his interest to insult a man who has the power to annoy him that I possess."

"Haven't you got a mortgage on his farm ?" asked John of his father.

"Yes, and at a proper time I shall remind him of it. But to come back to your own affairs. What was the prize given to young Frost?"

"A blue and gold copy of Whittier's Poems, in two volumes."

"Very well. The next time I go to Boston, I will buy you the same thing bound in calf. I don't intend that you shall suffer by your teacher's injustice."

"It wasn't so much the prize that I cared for," said John, who felt like making the most of his father's favorable mood, "but you know you promised me twenty-five dollars if I gained it."

"And as you have been defrauded of it, I will give you thirty instead," said the Squire, promptly.

John's eyes sparkled with delight. "O, thank you, sir!" he said. "I wouldn't change places with Frank Frost now for all his prize."

CHAPTER III

FRANK AT HOME

Mr. Frost's farm was situated about three-quarters of a mile from the village. It comprised fifty acres, of which twenty were suitable for tillage, the remainder being about equally divided between woodland and pasture.

Mr. Frost had for some years before his marriage been a painter, and had managed to save up from his earnings not far from a thousand dollars. Thinking, however, that farming would be more favorable to health, he purchased his fifty acre farm for twenty-eight hundred dollars, payable one thousand down, and the rest remaining on mortgage. At the date of our story he had succeeded in paying up the entire amount within eight hundred dollars, a mortgage for that amount being held by Squire Haynes. He had not been able to accomplish this without strict economy, in which his wife had cheerfully aided him.

But his family had grown larger and more expensive. Besides Frank, who was the oldest, there were now three younger children,– Alice, twelve years of age; Maggie, ten, and Charlie, seven.

On the evening succeeding that of the war meeting, Frank was seated in the common sitting-room with his father and mother. There was a well-worn carpet on the floor, a few plain chairs were scattered about the room, and in the corner ticked one of the old-fashioned clocks such as used to be the pride of our New England households. In the centre of the room stood a round table, on which had been set a large kerosene lamp, which diffused a cheerful light about the apartment.

On a little table, over which hung a small mirror, were several papers and magazines. Economical in most things, Mr. Frost was considered by many of his neighbors extravagant in this. He subscribed regularly for Harper's Magazine and Weekly, a weekly agricultural paper, a daily paper, and a child's magazine.

"I don't see how you can afford to buy so much reading matter," said a neighbor, one day.

"All my papers and magazines cost me in a year, including postage, is less than twenty dollars," said Mr. Frost, quietly. "A very slight additional economy in dress,– say three dollars a year to each of us,– will pay that. I think my wife would rather make her bonnet wear doubly as long than give up a single one of our papers. When you think of the comparative amount of pleasure given by a paper that comes to you fifty-two times in a year, and a little extra extravagance in dress, I think you will decide in favor of the paper."

"But when you've read it, you haven't anything to show for your money."

"And when clothes are worn out you may say the same of them. But we value both for the good they have done, and the pleasure they have afforded. I have always observed that a family where papers and magazines are taken is much more intelligent and well-informed than where their bodies are clothed at the expense of their minds. Our daily paper is the heaviest item; but I like to know what is passing in the world, and, besides, I think I more than defray the expense by the knowledge I obtain of the markets. At what price did you sell your apples last year?"

"At one dollar and seventy-five cents per barrel," replied the neighbor.

"And I sold forty barrels at two dollars per barrel. I found from my paper that there was reason to expect an increase in the price and held on. By so doing I gained ten dollars, which more than paid the expense of my paper for the year.

"I don't know," was the irresolute reply. "It was pretty lucky about the apples; but it seems a good deal to pay. As for my children, they don't get much time to read. They've got to earn their livin', and that ain't done by settin' down and readin'."

"I am not so sure of that," said Mr. Frost. "Education often enables a man to make money."

The reader may have been surprised at the ease with which Mr. Frost expressed himself in his speech at the war meeting. No other explanation is required than that he was in the habit of reading, every day, well-selected newspapers. "A man is known by the company he keeps."

"So you gained the prize, Frank?" said his father, approvingly. "I am very glad to hear it."

"John Haynes was angry because he didn't get it himself. He declared that I succeeded only because I was a favorite with Mr. Rathburn."

"I am afraid he has not an amiable disposition."

"I heard at the store that you and Squire Haynes had a discussion at the war meeting," said Frank, inquiringly. "How was it, father?"

"It was on the question of voting bounty to our volunteers. I felt that such a course would be only just. The Squire objected on the ground that our taxes would be considerably increased."

Frank sat for some minutes gazing thoughtfully into the wood fire that crackled in the fireplace.

"I wish I was old enough to go father," he said, at length.

"I wish you were," said his father, earnestly. "Not that it wouldn't be hard to send you out into the midst of perils; but our duty to our country ought to be paramount to our personal preferences."

"There's another reason," he said, after a while, "why I wish you were older. You could take my place on the farm, and leave me free to enlist."

Mr. Frost took up the evening paper. Frank continued to look thoughtfully into the fire, as if resolving something in his mind. Finally he rose, and lighting a candle went up to bed. But he did not go to sleep for some time.

CHAPTER IV

FRANK MAKES A PROPOSITION

When Frank woke the next morning the sun was shining into his window.

Hurrying down stairs, he found his mother in the kitchen, busily engaged in getting breakfast.

"Where's father?" he asked.

"He hasn't come in from the barn yet, Frank."

Taking his cap from the nail in the entry where it usually hung, Frank went out to the barn. He found that his father was nearly through milking.

"Father you remember saying last night, that if I were old enough to take charge of the farm, you would have no hesitation in volunteering?"

"Yes."

"Don't you think I am old enough?"

"Why, you are only fifteen, Frank."

"I know it, but I am strong enough to do considerable work."

"It isn't so much that which is required. A man could easily be found to do the hardest of the work. But somebody is needed who understands farming, and is qualified to give directions. How much do you know of that?"

"Not much at present," answered Frank, modestly, "but I think I could learn easily. Besides, there's Mr. Maynard, who is a good farmer, could advise me whenever I was in doubt, and you could write home directions in your letters."

"That is true," said Mr. Frost, thoughtfully. "I will promise to give it careful consideration. But have you thought that you will be obliged to give up attending school."

"Yes, father. It would require a sacrifice on my part, and I should feel glad to think I had an opportunity of making a sacrifice for the sake of my country."

"That's the right spirit, Frank. I will talk it over with your mother and Mr. Maynard, and will then come to a decision."

The sound of a bell from the house reached them. This meant breakfast. Mr. Frost had finished milking, and with a well-filled pail in either hand, went towards the house.

Five minutes later they were at breakfast.

"I have some news for you, Mary." said Mr. Frost, as he helped his wife to a sausage.

"Indeed?" said she.

"Someone has offered to take charge of the farm for me, in case I wish to go out as a soldier."

"Who is it?" asked Mrs. Frost.

"Suppose I should inform you that it is your oldest son?"

"You are not in earnest, Frank?" said Mrs. Frost, inquiringly.

"Ask father."

"I think he was. He certainly appeared to be."

Mrs. Frost was silent a moment. "It will be a great undertaking," she said, at last; "but if you think you can trust Frank, I will do all I can to help him. I can't bear to think of having you go, yet I am conscious that this is a feeling which I have no right to indulge at the expense of my country."

"Yes," said her husband, seriously. "I feel that I owe my country a service which I have no right to delegate to another, as long as I am able to discharge it myself. I shall reflect seriously upon Frank's proposition."

There was no more said at this time. Both Frank and his parents felt that it was a serious matter, and not to be hastily decided.

After breakfast Frank went up stairs, and read over thoughtfully the following passage in his prize essay on "The Duties of Boys in the Present National Crisis:"

"Now that so large a number of our citizens have been withdrawn from their families and their ordinary business to engage in putting down this Rebellion, it becomes the duty of the boys to take their places as far as they are able to do so. A boy cannot wholly supply the place of a man, but he can do so in part. And where he is not called on to do this, he can so conduct himself that his friends who are absent may feel at ease about him. He ought to feel willing to give up some pleasures, if by so doing he can help to supply the places of those who are gone. If he does this voluntarily, and in the right spirit, he is just as patriotic as if he were a soldier in the field."

"I didn't think," thought Frank, "when I wrote this, how soon my words would come back to me. It isn't much to write the words. The thing is to stand by them. If father should decide to go, I will do my best, and then, when the Rebellion is over, I shall feel that I did something, even if it wasn't much, towards putting it down."

"Well, Frank," said his father at supper-time, "I've been speaking to Mr. Maynard this afternoon about your plan."

"What did he say?" asked Frank.

"After he had thought a little, he spoke of it favorably."

"Didn't he think Frank rather young for such an undertaking?" asked Mrs. Frost.

"Yes, he did; but still, he thought, with proper advice and competent assistance, he might get along. For the first, he can depend upon Mr. Maynard and myself; as for the second, Mr. Maynard suggested a good man, a man from Brandon, named Jacob Carter. Mr. Maynard says he is honest, industrious, and used to working on a farm. I shall write to him this evening."

"Then you have decided to go!"

"It will depend in part upon the answer I receive from this man, Carter. I shall feel, if he agrees to come, that I can go with less anxiety."

"How we shall miss you!" said his wife, in a subdued tone.

"And I shall miss you quite as much, It will be a considerable sacrifice for all of us. But when my country has need of me, you will feel that I cannot honorably stay at home. As for Frank, he may regard me as his substitute."

"My substitute!" repeated Frank.

"Yes, since but for you, taking charge of the farm, in my absence, I should not conscientiously feel that I could go."

Frank looked pleased. It made him feel that he was really of some importance.

After a pause, Mr. Frost said: "There is one point on which I still have some doubts. I think it proper to ask your opinion, and shall abide by your decision."

Frank and his mother listened with earnest attention.

"You are aware that the town has decided to give a bounty of one hundred and fifty dollars to such as may volunteer towards filling the quota. You may remember, also, that although the town passed the vote almost unanimously, it was my proposition, and supported by a speech of mine."

"Squire Haynes opposed it, I think you said, father."

"Yes, and intimated that I urged the matter from interested motives. He said he presumed I intended to enlist. I shall feel some delicacy in availing myself of a bounty which I was instrumental in persuading the town to vote. Though I feel that I should be perfectly justified in so doing, I confess that I am anxious not to put myself in such a position as to hazard any loss of good opinion on the part of my friends in town."

"Then don't take it," said Mrs. Frost.

"That's what I say, too, father," chimed in Frank.

"Don't decide too hastily," said Mr. Frost. "One hundred and fifty dollars would procure many little comforts which otherwise you may have to do without."

"I know that," said Mrs. Frost, quickly. "But do you think I should enjoy them, if there were reports circulated, however unjustly, to your prejudice?"

Mr. Frost seemed relieved by his wife's expression of opinion. "Then," said he, "I will accept your decision as final. I felt that it should be you, and not myself, who should decide it. Now my mind will be at ease, so far as that goes."

"You will not enlist at once, father?" asked Frank.

"Not for three or four weeks. I shall wish to give you some special instructions before I go, so that your task may be easier."

CHAPTER V

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

"Well, father, I've got some news for you," said John Haynes, as he entered his father's presence, two or three days later.

"What is it, John?" inquired the Squire.

"Frost's going to enlist," he said.

"Indeed!" said the Squire, with interest "I expected it. I understood his motives perfectly in urging the town to pay an enormous bounty to volunteers. He meant to line his own pockets at the public expense."

"He says that he doesn't mean to accept the bounty," continued John, in a tone which indicated a doubt whether Mr. Frost was in earnest.

"Did you hear him say that?" asked Squire Haynes, abruptly.

"Yes. I heard him say so to Mr. Morse."

"Perhaps he means it, and perhaps he doesn't. If he don't take it, it is because he is afraid of public opinion. What's he going to do about the farm, while he is gone?"

"That is the strangest part of it," said John. "I don't believe you could guess who is to be left in charge of it."

"I don't choose to guess. If you know, speak out."

John bit his lip, resentfully.

"It's that conceited son of his,– Frank Frost."

"Do you mean that he is going to leave that boy to carry on the farm?" demanded Squire Haynes, in surprise.

"Yes."

"Well, all I can say is, that he's more of a fool than I took him to be."

"O, he thinks everything of Frank," said John, bitterly.

"On the whole, I don't know but I am satisfied," the Squire said. "So far as I am concerned, I am glad he has made choice of this boy."

"You don't think he is competent?" asked John, in surprise.

"For that very reason I am glad he has been selected," said the Squire, emphatically. "I take it for granted that the farm will be mismanaged, and become a bill of expense instead of a source of revenue. It's pretty certain that Frost won't be able to pay the mortgage when it comes due. I can bid off the farm for a small sum additional, and make a capital bargain. It will make a very good place for you to settle down upon, John."

"Me!" said John, disdainfully. "You don't expect me to become a plodding farmer, I trust. I've surely got talent for something better than that, I should hope."

"No," said the Squire, "I have other views for you. Still, you could hire a farmer to carry it on for you, and live out there in the summer."

"Well, perhaps that would do," said John, thinking that it would sound well for him, even if he lived in the city, to have a place in the country. "When does the mortgage come due, father?"

"I don't remember the exact date. I'll look and see."

The Squire drew from a closet a box hooped with iron, and evidently made for security. This was his strong box, and in this he kept his bonds, mortgages, and other securities.

He selected a document tied with red ribbon, and examined it briefly.

"I shall have the right to foreclose the mortgage on the first of next July," he said.

"I hope you will do it then. I should like to see them Frosts humbled."

"Them Frosts! Don't you know anything more than that about English grammar, John?"

"Those Frosts, then. Of course I know; but a feller can't always be watching his words."

"I desire you never again to use the low word, 'feller,' " said the Squire, who as the reader will see, was more particular about grammatical accuracy than about some other things which might be naturally supposed to be of higher importance.

"Well," said John, sulkily, "anything you choose."

"As to the mortgage," proceeded Squire Haynes, "I have no idea they will be able to lift it. I feel certain that Frost won't himself have the money at command; and I shan't give him any grace, or consent to a renewal. He may be pretty sure of that."

"Perhaps he'll find somebody to lend him the money."

"I think not. There are those who would be willing; but I question whether there is any such who could raise the money at a moment's warning. By the way, you need not mention my purpose in this matter to any one. If it should leak out, Mr. Frost might hear of it, and prepare for it."

"You may trust me for that, father," said John, very decidedly; "I want to see Frank Frost's proud spirit humbled. Perhaps he'll feel like putting on airs after that."

From the conversation which has just been chronicled, it will be perceived that John was a worthy son of his father; and though wanting in affection and cordial good feeling, that both were prepared to join hands in devising mischief to poor Frank and his family. Let us hope that the intention of the wicked may be frustrated.

CHAPTER VI

THE LAST EVENING AT HOME

Three weeks passed quickly. October had already reached its middle point. The glory of the Indian summer was close at hand. Too quickly the days fled for the little family at the farm, for they knew that each brought nearer the parting of which they could not bear to think.

Jacob Carter, who had been sent for to do the heavy work on the farm, had arrived. He was a man of forty, stout and able to work, and Mr. Frost accounted himself fortunate in securing his services.

The harvest had been got in, and during the winter months there would not be so much to do as before. Jacob, therefore, "hired out" for a smaller compensation, to be increased when the spring work came in.

Frank had not been idle. He had accompanied his father about the farm, and received as much practical instruction in the art of farming as the time would admit. He was naturally a quick learner, and now felt impelled by a double motive to prepare himself as well as possible to assume his new responsibilities.

The time came when Mr. Frost felt that he must leave his family. He had enlisted from preference in an old regiment already in Virginia, some members of which had gone from Rossville. A number of recruits were to be forwarded to the camp on a certain day, and that day was now close at hand.

Let me introduce the reader to the farmhouse on the last evening for many months when they would be able to be together. They were all assembled about the fireplace. Mr. Frost sat in an arm-chair, holding Charlie in his lap,– the privileged place of the youngest. Alice, with the air of a young woman, sat demurely by her father's side on a cricket, while Maggie stood beside him with one hand resting on his knee. Frank sat quietly beside his mother, as if already occupying the place which he was in future to hold as her counselor and protector.

Frank and his mother looked sober. They had not realized fully until this evening what it would be to part with the husband and father.

"If it hadn't been for me," Frank could not help thinking, "father would not now be going away."

A moment after his conscience rebuked him for harboring so selfish a thought.

"The country needs him more even than we do," he said to himself. "It will be a hard trial to have him go, but it is our duty."

"Will my little Charlie miss me when I am gone?" asked Mr. Frost of the chubby-faced boy who sat with great round eyes peering into the fire, as if he were deeply engaged in thought.

"Won't you take me with you, papa?" asked Charlie.

"What could you do, if you were out there, my little boy?" asked the father, smiling.

"I'd shoot great big rebel with my gun," said Charlie, waxing valiant.

"Pray don't speak about shooting," said Mrs. Frost with a shudder. "It makes me feel nervous."

"And to-night we should only admit pleasant thoughts," said her husband. "Who is going to write me letters when I am gone?"

"I'll write to you, father," said Alice,

"And so will I," said Maggie.

"I, too," chimed in Charlie.

"Then if you have so many correspondents already engaged, you will hardly want to hear from Frank and myself," said his wife, smiling.

"The more the better. I suspect I shall find letters more welcome than anything else. You must also send me papers regularly. I shall have many hours that will pass heavily unless I have something to read."

"I'll mail you Harper's Weekly regularly, shall I father?" asked Frank.

"Yes, I shall be glad enough to see it. Then, there is one good thing about papers, after enjoying them myself I can pass them round to others. There are many privations that I must make up my mind to, but I shall endeavor to make camp-life as pleasant as possible to myself and others."

"I wish you were going as an officer," said Mrs. Frost. "You would have more indulgences."

"Very probably I should. But I don't feel inclined to wish myself better off than others. I am willing to serve my country in any capacity in which I can be of use. Thank Heaven, I am pretty strong and healthy, and better fitted than many to encounter the fatigues and exposures which are the lot of the private."

"How early must you start to-morrow, father?" inquired Frank.

"By daylight. I must be in Boston by nine o'clock, and you know it is a five mile ride to the depot. I shall want you to carry me over."

"Will there be room for me?" asked Mrs. Frost.

"O yes, there will be room. At any rate, we will make room for you. And now it seems to me it is time for these little folks to go to bed. Charlie finds it hard work to keep his eyes open."

After the children had fairly gone to bed Frank and his father and mother sat up for a long time. Each felt that there was much to be said; but no one of them felt like saying much then.

"Frank," said his father, at length, "I have deposited in the Brandon Rank four hundred dollars, about half of which I have realized from crops sold this season. This you will draw upon as you have need, for grocery bills, to pay Jacob, etc. For present purposes I will hand you fifty dollars, which I advise you to put under your mother's care."

As he finished speaking, Mr. Frost drew from his pocket-book a roll of bills, and handed them to Frank.

Frank opened his porte-monnaie and deposited the money therein.

He had never before so large a sum in his possession, and although he knew it was not to be spent "or his own benefit,– at least, no considerable part of it,– he felt a sense of importance and even wealth in being the custodian of so much money. He felt that his father had confidence in him, and that he was in truth going to be his representative.

"A part of the money which I have in the Bank,", continued his father, "has been saved up towards the payment of the mortgage on the farm."

"When does it come due, father?"

"On the first of July of next year."

"But you won't be prepared to meet it at that time?"

"No, but undoubtedly Squire Haynes will be willing to renew it. I always pay the interest promptly, and he knows it is secured by the farm, and therefore a safe investment.

"I wish the farm were free from incumbrance," said Frank.

"So do I; and if providence favors me it shall be before many years are past. But in farming one can't expect to lay by money quite as fast as in some other employments."

The old clock in the corner here struck eleven.

"We mustn't keep you up too late the last night," Henry," said Mrs. Frost, "you will need a good night's sleep to carry you through the long trip to-morrow."

Neither of the three closed their eyes early that night. Thoughts of the morrow were naturally in their minds. But at last all was still. Sleep – God's beneficent messenger – wrapt their senses in oblivion, and the cares and anxieties of the morrow were for a time forgotten.

CHAPTER VII

THE DIVERTING EXPERIENCE

There was a hurried goodby at the depot.

"Kiss the children for me, Mary," said her husband.

"You will write very soon," pleaded Mrs. Frost.

"At the very first opportunity."

"All aboard!" shouted the conductor.

With a shrill scream the locomotive started.

Frank and his mother stood on the platform watching the receding train till it was quite out of sight, and then in silence our young hero assisted his mother into the carryall, and turned the horse's head homewards.

It was one of those quiet October mornings. when the air was soft and balmy as if a June day had found its way by mistake into the heart of autumn. The road wound partly through the woods. The leaves were still green and abundant. Only one or two showed signs of the coming change, which in the course of a few weeks must leave them bare and leafless.

"What a beautiful day!" said Frank, speaking the words almost unconsciously.

"Beautiful indeed!" responded his mother. "On such a day as this the world seems too lovely for war and warlike passions to be permitted to enter it. When men might be so happy, why need they stain their hands with each other's blood?"

Frank was unprepared for an answer. He knew that it was his father's departure which led his mother to speak thus. He wished to divert her mind if possible.

Circumstances favored his design.

They had accomplished, perhaps, three quarters of the distance home, when, as they were passing a small one story building by the roadside, a shriek of pain was heard, and a little black boy came running out of the house screaming in affright,--"Mammy's done killed herself. She's mos' dead!"

He ran out to the road and looked up at Mrs. Frost, as if to implore assistance.

"That's Chloe's child," said Mrs. Frost. "Stop the horse, Frank; I'll get out and see what has happened."

Chloe, as Frank very well knew was a colored woman, who until a few months since had been a slave in Virginia. Finally, she had seized a favorable opportunity, and taking her only child, succeeded in making her way into Pennsylvania. Chance had directed her to Rossville, where she had been permitted to occupy rent-free an old shanty which for some years previous had been uninhabited. Here she had supported herself by taking in washing and ironing. This had been her special work on the plantation where she had been born and brought up, and she was therefore quite proficient in it. She found no difficulty in obtaining work enough to satisfy the moderate wants of herself and little Pomp.

The latter was as black as the ace of spades, and possessing to the full the mercurial temperament of the Southern negro. He attracted plenty of attention when he came into the village, and earned many a penny from the boys by his plantation songs and dances.

Now, however, he appeared in a mood entirely different, and it was easy to see that he was much frightened.

"What's the matter, Pomp?" asked Frank, as he brought his horse to a stand-still.

"Mammy done killed herself," he repeated, wringing his hands in terror.

A moan from the interior of the house seemed to make it clear that something had happened.

Mrs. Frost pushed the door open and entered.

Chloe had sunk down on the floor, and was rocking back and forth, holding her right foot in both hands, with an expression of acute pain on her sable face. Beside her was a small pail, bottom upwards.

Mrs. Frost was at no loss to conjecture the nature of the accident which had befallen her. The pail had contained hot water, and its accidental overturn had scalded poor Chloe.

"Are you much hurt, Chloe?" asked Mrs. Frost, sympathizingly.

"O missus, I'se most dead," was the reply, accompanied by a groan. "Spect I shan't live till mornin'. Dunno what'll become of poor Pomp when I'se gone."

Pomp squeezed his knuckles into his eyes, and responded with an unearthly howl.

"Don't be too much frightened, Chloe," said Mrs. Frost, soothingly. "You'll get over it sooner than you think. How did the pail happen to turn over?"

"Must have been de debble, missus. I was kerrying it just as keerful when all at once it upsot."

This explanation, though not very luminous to her visitor, appeared to excite a fierce spirit of resentment against the pail in the mind of Pomp.

He suddenly rushed forward and kicked the pail with all the force he could muster.

But alas for poor Pomp! His feet were uncovered by shoes, and the sudden blow hurt him much more than the pail. The consequence was a howl of the most distressing nature.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Frost examined Chloe's injuries. They were not so great as she had anticipated. She learned on inquiry that the water had not been scalding hot. There was little doubt that with proper care she would recover from her injuries in a week or ten days. But in the meantime it would not do to use the foot.

"What shall I do, missus?" groaned Chloe. "I ain't got nothin' baked up. 'Pears like me and Pomp must starve."

"Not so bad as that, Chloe," said Mrs. Frost. "After we have you on the bed we will take Pomp home with us, and give him enough food to last you both a couple of days. At the end of that time, or sooner if you get out, you can send him up again."

Chloe expressed her gratitude warmly, and Mrs. Frost, calling in Frank's assistance, helped the poor woman to a comfortable position on the bed, which fortunately was in the corner of the same room.

Chloe accepted, with wondering gratitude, the personal attentions of Mrs. Frost, who bound up the injured foot with a softness of touch which brought no pain to the sufferer.

"Do you think you can spare Pomp a little while to go home with us'!"

"Yes, missus. Here you, Pomp," she called, "you go home wid dis good lady, and she'll gib you something for your poor sick mudder. Do you hear?"

In half an hour Pomp was on his way back, laden with a basket full of provisions for his sick mother and himself.

It was fortunate for Mrs. Frost that she was so soon called upon to think for others. It gave her less time to grieve over her husband's absence, which was naturally a severe trial to her. As for Frank, though the harvest was gathered in, there were plenty of small jobs to occupy his attention. He divided with Jacob the care of the cows, and was up betimes in the morning to do his share of the milking. Then the pigs and chickens must be fed every day, and this Frank took entirely into his own charge. Wood, also, must be prepared for the daily wants of the house, and this labor he shared with Jacob.

In the afternoon, however, Frank usually had two or three hours at his own disposal, and this, in accordance with a previous determination, he resolved to devote to keeping up his studies. He did not expect to make the same progress that he would have done if he had been able to continue at school, but it was something to feel that he was not remaining stationary.

Frank resolved to say nothing to his classmates about his private studies. They would think he was falling far behind, and at some future time he would surprise them.

Still, there were times when he felt the need of a teacher, but his old teacher lived nearly a mile distant, and he felt averse to troubling him, knowing that his duties in school were arduous.

Occasionally he met some of his schoolmates. As nearly all of them were friendly and well disposed to him, this gave him pleasure, and brought back sometimes the wish that he was as free as they. But this wish was almost instantly checked by the thought that he had made a sacrifice for his country's sake.

CHAPTER VIII

A LETTER FROM THE CAMP

The little family at the Frost Farm looked forward with anxious eagerness to the first letter from the absent father.

Ten days had elapsed when Frank was seen hurrying up the road with something in his hand.

Alice saw him first, and ran in, exclaiming, "mother, I do believe Frank has got a letter from father. He is running up the road."

Mrs. Frost at once dropped her work, no less interested than her daughter, and was at the door just as Frank, flushed with running, reached the gate.

"What'll you give for a letter?" he asked.

"Give it to me quick," said Mrs. Frost. "I am anxious to learn whether your father is well."

Mrs. Frost sat down, and the children gathered round her, while she read the following letter:

Camp----, Virginia.

DEAR MARY:--

    When I look about me, and consider the novelty and strangeness of my surroundings, I can hardly realize that it is only a week since I sat in our quiet sitting-room at the Farm, with you and our own dear ones around me. I will try to help your imagination to a picture of my present home.

    But first let me speak of my journey hither.

    It was tedious enough, traveling all day by rail. Of course, little liberty was allowed us. Military discipline is rigid, and must be maintained.

    We passed through New York, Philadelphia, and Washington.

    In Washington, I was fortunate enough to see our worthy president. We were marching down Pennsylvania Avenue at the time. On the opposite side of the street we descried a very tall man. of slender figure, walking thoughtfully along, not appearing to notice what was passing around him.

    The officer in command turned and said:" Boys, look sharp. That is Abraham Lincoln, across the way."

    Of course we all looked eagerly towards the man of whom we had heard so much.

    I could not help thinking how great a responsibility rests upon this man,--to how great an extent the welfare and destinies of our beloved country depends upon his patriotic course.

    As I noticed his features, which, plain as they are, bear the unmistakable marks of a shrewd benevolence, and evince also, as I think, acute and original powers of mind, I felt reassured. I could not help saying to myself: "This man is at least honest, and if he does not carry us in safety through this tremendous crisis it will not be for the lack of an honest determination to do his duty."

    Our camp may appropriately be called "Hut Village." Imagine several avenues lined with square log-huts surmounted by tent-coverings. The logs are placed transversely, and are clipped at the ends so as to fit each other more compactly. In this way the interstices are made much narrower than they would otherwise be. These, moreover, are filled in with mud, which, as you have probably heard, is a staple product of Virginia. This is a good protection against the cold, though it does not give our dwellings a very elegant appearance.

    Around most of our huts shallow trenches are dug to carry off the water, thus diminishing the dampness. Most of the huts are not floored, but mine fortunately is an exception to the general rule.

    Six of us are lodged in a tent. It is pretty close packing, but we don't stand upon ceremony here. My messmates seem to be pleasant fellows. I have been most attracted to Frank Grover, a bright young fellow of eighteen. He tells me that he is an only son, and his mother is a widow.

    "Wasn't your mother unwilling to have you come out here?" I asked him one day.

    "No," he answered, "not unwilling. She was only sorry for the necessity. When I told her that I felt it to be my duty, she told me at once to go. She said she would never stand between me and my country."

    "You must think of her often," I said.

    "All the time," he answered seriously, a thoughtful expression stealing over his young face. "I write to her twice a week regular, and sometimes oftener. For her sake I hope my life may be spared to return."

    "I hope so, too," I answered, warmly. Then after a minute's pause, I added from some impulse, "Will you let me call you Frank? I have a boy at home, not many years younger than you. His name is Frank also,--it will seem to remind me of him."

    "I wish you would," he answered, his face lighting up with evident pleasure. "Everybody calls me Frank at home, and I am tired of being called Grover."

    So our compact was made. I shall feel warm interest in this brave boy, and I fervently hope that the chances of war will leave him unscathed.

    You may wonder how I enjoy soldier's fare. I certainly do long sometimes for the good pumpkin and apple pies which I used to have at home, and confess that a little apple-sauce would make my hard-tack a little more savory. I begin to appreciate your good qualities as a housekeeper, Mary, more than ever. Pies can be got of the sutler, but they are such poor things that I would rather do without than eat them, and I am quite sure they would try my digestion sorely.

    There is one very homely esculent which we crave in the camp--I mean the onion. It is an excellent preventive of scurvy, a disease to which our mode of living particularly exposes us. We eat as many as we can get, and should be glad of more. Tell Frank he may plant a whole acre of them. They will require considerable care, but even in a pecuniary way they will pay. The price has considerably advanced since the war began, on account of the large army demand, and will doubtless increase more.

    As to our military exercises, drill, etc., we have enough to occupy our time well. I see the advantage of enlisting in a veteran regiment. I find myself improving very rapidly. Besides my public company drill, I am getting my young comrade, Frank Grover, who has been in the service six months to give me some private lessons. With the help of these I hope to pass muster creditably before my first month is out.

    And now, my dear Mary, I must draw my letter to a close. In the army we are obliged to write under difficulties. I am writing this on my knapsack for a desk, and that is not quite so easy as a table. The constrained position in which I am forced to sit has tired me, and I think I will go out and "limber" myself a little. Frank, who has just finished a letter to his mother, will no doubt join me.

    In closing, I need not tell you how much and how often I think of you all. I have never before been separated from you, and there are times when my longing to be with you again is very strong. You must make up for your absence by frequent and long letters. Tell me all that is going on. Even trifles will serve to amuse us here.

    Tell Frank to send me Harper's Weekly regularly. Two or three times a week I should like to have a daily paper forwarded. Every newspaper that finds its way into camp goes the rounds, and its contents are eagerly devoured.

    I will write you again very soon. The letters I write and receive from home will be one of my principal sources of pleasure. God bless you all, is the prayer of your affectionate husband and father.

HENRY FROST.

It is hardly necessary to say that this letter was read with eager interest. That evening all the children, including little Charlie, were busy writing letters to the absent father. I have not room to print them all; but as this was Charlie's first epistolary effort, it may interest some of my youthful readers to see it. The mistakes in spelling will be excused on the score of Charlie's literary inexperience. This is the way it commenced:--

Deer Father

    I am sorry you hav to live in a log hous stuck up with mud. I shud think the mud wood cum off on your close. I am wel and so is Maggie. Frank is agoin to make me a sled--a real good one. I shal cal it the egle. I hope we shal soon hav sum sno. It will be my berth day next week. I shall be seven years old. I hope you will cum back soon. Good nite.

from Charlie.

Charlie was so proud of his letter that he insisted on having it enclosed in a separate envelope and mailed by itself--a request which was complied with by his mother,

CHAPTER IX

FRANK MAKES A FRIEND

The village of Rossville was distant about five miles from the long line of railway which binds together with iron bands the cities of New York and Boston.

Lately a covered wagon had commenced running twice a day, between Rossville and the railway station at Wellington. It started at seven in the morning, in time to meet the early trains, and again at four, in order to receive any passengers who might have left the city in the afternoon.

The driver of the carriage which made its daily journeys to and from the station had received from his parents the rather uncommon name of Ajax.

One day early in November, a young man of slight figure, apparently not far from twenty-five years of age, descended from the cars at the Wellington station, and crossing the track passed through the small station-house to the rear platform.

"Can you tell me," he inquired of a by-stander, "whether there is any conveyance between this place and Rossville?"

"Yes, sir," was the reply. "That's the regular carriage, and here's the driver. Ajax here's a passenger for you."

"I have a trunk on the other side." said the young man, addressing the driver. "If you will go round with me, we will bring it here."

"All right, sir," said Ajax, in a business like way.

The trunk was brought round, and placed on the back rack behind the wagon. It was a large black trunk, securely bound with brass bands, and showed marks of service as if it had been considerably used. Two small strips of paper pasted on the side, bore the custom-house marks of Havre and Liverpool. On one end was a large card, on which, written in large bold letters, was the name of the owner, Henry Morton.

From his seat beside Ajax, Henry Morton regarded attentively the prominent features of the landscape. His survey was interrupted by a question from the driver.

"Are you calc'latin' to make a long stay in our village?" inquired Ajax, with Yankee freedom.

"I am not quite certain. It is possible that I may."

"There isn't much goin' on in winter."

"No, I suppose not."

After a few minutes pause he inquired, "Can you tell me if there is a gentleman living in the village named Haynes?"

"I expect you mean Squire Haynes," said Ajax.

"Very probably he goes by that name. He was formerly a lawyer."

"Yes, that's the man. Do you know him?"

"I have heard of him," said the young man, noncommittally.

"Then you ain't going to stop there?"

An expression of repugnance swept over the young man's face, as he hastily answered in the negative.

Soon the "express" rumbled into the main street of Rossville, and they stopped in front of the tavern.

Henry Morton rose early. As he passed through the hall he noticed that breakfast was not quite ready.

"A little walk will sharpen my appetite," he thought.

He put on his hat, and passing through the stable-yard at the rear, climbed over the fence and ascended a hill, which he had observed from his chamber window.

The hill was by no means high, and five minutes' walk brought him to the summit. From this spot he had a fine view of the village which lay at his feet embowered in trees. A narrow river wound like a silver thread through the landscape. Groups of trees on either bank bent over it as if to see themselves reflected in the rapid stream.

Seen in the cheering light of the rising sun, Henry Morton could not help feeling that a beautiful picture was spread out before him.

"After all," he said, thoughtfully, "we needn't go abroad for beauty, when we can find so much of it at our own doors. Yet, perhaps the more we see of the beautiful, the better we are fitted to appreciate it in the wonderful variety of its numberless forms."

He slowly descended the hill, but in a different direction. This brought him to the road that connected the village with North Rossville, two miles distant.

Coming from a different direction, a boy reached the stile about the same time with himself, and both clambered over together.

"It is a beautiful morning," said the young man, courteously.

"Yes, sir," was the respectful answer. "Have you been up looking at the view?"

"Yes,--and to get an appetite for breakfast. And you?"

Frank Frost (for it was he) laughed. "O, I am here on quite a different errand," he said. "I used to come here earlier in the season to drive the cows to pasture. I come this morning to carry some milk to a neighbor who takes it of us. She usually sends for it, but her son is just now sick with the measles."

"Yet I think you cannot fail to enjoy the pleasant morning, even if you are here for other purposes."

"I do enjoy it very much," said Frank "When I read of beautiful scenery in other countries, I always wish that I could visit them, and see for myself."

"I have visited most of the countries of Europe."

"Have you been in Rome?" inquired Frank.

"Yes. Are you interested in Rome?"

"Who could help it, sir? I should like to see the Capitol, and the Via Sacra, and the Tarpeian Rock, and the Forum,--and, in fact Rome must be full of objects of interest. Who knows but I might tread where Cicero, and Virgil, and Caesar had trodden before me?"

Henry Morton looked at the boy who stood beside him with increased interest. "I see you are quite a scholar," he said. "Where did you learn about all these men and places?"

"I have partly prepared for college," answered Frank; "but my father went to the war some weeks since, and I am staying at home to take charge of the farm, and supply his place as well as I can."

"It must have been quite a sacrifice to you to give up your studies?" said his companion.

"Yes, sir, it was a great sacrifice; but we must all of us sacrifice something in these times. Even the boys can do something for their country."

"What is your name?" asked Henry Morton, more and more pleased with his chance acquaintance. "I should like to become better acquainted with you."

"My name is Frank Frost," he answered, "and I live about half a mile from here."

"And I am Henry Morton. I am stopping temporarily at the hotel. Shall you be at leisure this evening, Frank?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I should be glad to receive a call from you. I have no acquaintances, and perhaps we may help each other to make the evening pass pleasantly. I have some pictures collected abroad, which I think you might like to look at."

"I shall be delighted to come," said Frank.

By this time they had reached the church, which was distant but a few rods from the hotel. They had just turned the corner of the road, when the clang of a bell was heard.

"I suppose that is my breakfast-bell," said the young man. "It finds me with a good appetite. Good morning, Frank. I will expect you, then, this evening."

Frank returned home, feeling quite pleased with his invitation.

The day wore away, and in the evening Frank presented himself at the hotel, and inquired for Mr. Morton. He was ushered up stairs, and told to knock at the door of a room in the second story.

His knock was answered by the young man in person, who shook his hand with a pleasant smile, and invited him in.

They sat down together beside the table and conversed on a variety of topics. Frank had numberless questions to ask about foreign scenes and countries, all of which were answered with the utmost readiness. Henry Morton brought out a large portfolio containing various pictures, some on note paper, representing scenes in different parts of Europe.

The evening wore away only too rapidly for Frank. He had seldom passed two hours so pleasantly. At half past nine, he rose, and said half regretfully, "I wish you were going to live in the village this winter, Mr. Morton."

The young man smiled. "Such is my intention, Frank," he said, quietly.

"Shall you stay?" said Frank, joyfully.

"I should prefer a quieter boarding-place. Can you recommend one?"

Frank hesitated.

"If we lived nearer the village," Frank began, and stopped abruptly.

"Half a mile would be no objection to me. As I don't think you will find it unpleasant, Frank, I will authorize you to offer your mother five dollars a week for a room and a seat at her table."

"I am quite sure she would be willing, Mr. Morton, but I am afraid we should not live well enough to suit you. And I don't think you ought to pay so much as five dollars a week."

"Leave that to me, Frank. My main object is to obtain a pleasant home; and that I am sure I should find at your house."

"Thank you, sir," said Frank; "I will mention it to my mother, and let you know in the course of to-morrow."

CHAPTER X

A SHADE OF MYSTERY

Frank found little difficulty in persuading his mother to accept young Morton's proposition. Five dollars a week would go a great ways in house-keeping, or rather, as their income from other sources would probably be sufficient for this, she could lay aside the entire amount towards paying the mortgage held by Squire Haynes. This plan occurred simultaneously to Frank and his mother.

"I should certainly feel myself to blame if I neglected so good an opportunity to helping your father," said Mrs. Frost.

Frank harnessed his horse to a light wagon and drove to the tavern.

Henry Morton was sitting on the piazza, as the day was unusually warm, with a book in his hand.

"Well," he said, looking up with a smile, "I hope you have come for me."

"That is my errand, Mr. Morton," answered Frank. "If your trunk is already packed, we will take it along with us."

"It is quite ready. If you will come up and help me down stairs with it, I will settle with the landlord and leave at once."

This was speedily arranged, and the young man soon occupied a seat beside Frank.

Arrived at the farm-house, Frank introduced the new boarder to his mother.

"I hope we shall be able to make you comfortable," said Mrs. Frost, in a hospitable tone.

"I entertain no doubt of it," he said, politely.

"Here is the room you are to occupy, Mr. Morton," said Mrs. Frost, opening a door at the head of the front stairs.

"I like this," said the young man, surveying his new quarters with an air of satisfaction. "The sun will find me out in the morning."

"Yes, it will remain with you through the forenoon. I think you will find the room warm and comfortable. But whenever you get tired of it you will be welcome down stairs."

"That is an invitation of which I shall be only too glad to avail myself. Now, Frank, if you will be kind enough to help me up stairs with my trunk."

The trunk was carried up between them, and placed in a closet.

"I will send for a variety of articles from the city to make my room look social and cheerful," said Mr. Morton. "I have some books and engravings in Boston, which I think will contribute to make it so."

A day or two later, two large boxes arrived, one containing pictures, the other books. Of the latter there were perhaps a hundred and fifty, choice and well selected.

Frank looked at them with avidity.

"You shall be welcome to use them as freely as you like," said their owner--an offer which Frank gratefully accepted.

Frank noticed a few Latin books in the collection. "Do you read Latin, Mr. Morton?" he inquired.

"Yes, with tolerable ease. If I can be of any assistance to you in carrying on your Latin studies, it will afford me pleasure to do so."

"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Morton. I tried to go on with it myself, but every now and then I came to a difficult sentence which I could not make out."

"I think we can overcome the difficulties between us. At any rate we will try. Have no hesitation in applying to me."

Before closing this chapter, I think it necessary to narrate a little incident which served to heighten the interest with which Frank regarded his new friend, though it involved the latter in a shadow of mystery.

Mrs. Frost did not keep what in New England is denominated "help." Being in good health, she performed the greater part of her household tasks unassisted. When washing and house-cleaning days came, however, she obtained outside assistance. For this purpose she engaged Chloe to come twice a week, on Monday and Saturday, for in this way she could help the woman to earn a living.

Henry Morton became a member of the little household at the farm on Thursday, and two days later Chloe came as usual to "clean house" and in other ways assist Mrs. Frost.

The young man was standing in the front yard as Chloe with a white turban on her head, for she had not yet laid aside her Southern mode of dress, came from the street by a little path which led to the back door. Her attention was naturally drawn to the young man. No sooner did she obtain a full view of him, than she stopped short and exclaimed with every appearance of surprise, "Why, Mass' Richard, who'd a thought to see you here. You look just like you used to, dat's a fac. It does my old eyes good to see you."

Henry Morton turned suddenly.

"What, Chloe!" he exclaimed in equal surprise. "What brings you up here?--I thought you were miles away in Virginia."

"So I was, Mass' Richard. But lor' bless you, I took and runned away."

"How do you like the North, Chloe?"

"Don't like it as well as de Souf. It's too cold," and Chloe shivered.

"But you would rather be here than there?"

"Yes, Mass' Richard. I'se a free woman now, and so's my little Pomp."

The young man smiled at the innocent mistake.

"Pomp is your little boy, I suppose, Chloe."

"Yes, Mass' Richard."

"Chloe, there's one favor I am going to ask of you. Don't call me by my real name. For some reasons which I can't at present explain, I prefer to be known as Henry Morton, for some months to come. Do you think you can remember to call me by that name?"

"Yes, Mass'--Henry," said Chloe.

Henry Morton turned round to meet the surprised looks of Frank and his mother.

"My friends," he said, "I hope you will not feel distrustful of me, when I freely acknowledge to you that imperative reasons compel me for a time to appear under a name not my own. I must request her to keep secret for a time her past knowledge concerning me. I think," he added with a smile, "that she would have nothing to say that would damage me. Some time you shall know all. Are you satisfied?"

"Quite so," said Mrs. Frost. "I have no doubt you have good and sufficient reasons."

CHAPTER XI

THANKSGIVING AT THE FARM

The chill November days drew to a close. The shrill winds whistled through the branches of the trees, and stirred the leaves which lay in brown heaps upon the ground. But at the end of the month came Thanksgiving,--the farmer's Harvest Home. The fruits of the field were in abundance, but in many a home there were vacant chairs, never more, alas! to be filled.

Thanksgiving morning dawned foggy and cold.

Frank had not been idle.

The night before he helped Jacob kill a turkey and a pair of chickens, and seated on a box in the barn they had picked them clean in preparation for the morrow.

Within the house, too, might be heard the notes of busy preparation. Alice, sitting in a low chair, was busily engaged in chopping meat for mince-pies. Maggie sat near her, paring pumpkins, for a genuine New England Thanksgiving cannot be properly celebrated without pumpkin pies. Even little Charlie found work to do in slicing apples.

Through the forenoon of Thanksgiving Day the preparations continued. Frank and Mr. Morton went to the village church, where an appropriate service was held by Rev. Mr. Apthorp.

"Mr. Morton," said Frank, as they walked leisurely home, "did you notice how Squire Haynes stared at you this morning?"

Mr. Morton looked interested. "Did he?" he asked. "I did not notice."

"Yes, he turned half round, and looked at you with a puzzled expression, as if he thought he had seen you somewhere before, but could not recall who you were."

"Perhaps I reminded him of some one he has known in past years," said the young man, quietly. "We sometimes find strange resemblances in utter strangers."

"I think he must have felt quite interested," pursued Frank, "for he stopped me after church, and inquired who you were."

"Frank," said Mr. Morton, after a moment's thought, "I wish to have Squire Haynes learn as little of me as possible. If, therefore, he should ask you how I am employed, you may say that I have come here for the benefit of my health. This is one of my motives, though not the principal one."

"I will remember," said Frank. "I don't think he will say much to me, however. He has a grudge against father, and his son does not like me. I am sorry that father is compelled to have some business relations with the Squire.'

"Indeed!"

"Yes, he holds a mortgage on our farm for eight hundred dollars. It was originally more, but it has been reduced to this. He will have the right to foreclose on the first of July."

"Shall you have the money ready for him at that time?"

"No: we may have half enough, perhaps. I am sometimes troubled when I think of it. Father feels confident, however, that the Squire will not be hard upon us, but will renew the mortgage."

Henry Morton looked very thoughtful, but said nothing.

They had now reached the farm-house.

Dinner was already on the table. In the center, on a large dish, was the turkey, done to a turn. It was flanked by the chickens on a smaller dish. These were supported by various vegetables, such as the season supplied. A dish of cranberry sauce stood at one end of the table, and at the opposite end a dish of apple-sauce.

"Do you think you can carve the turkey, Mr. Morton?" asked Mrs. Frost.

"I will at least make the attempt."

"I want the wish-bone, Mr. Morton," said Maggie.

"No, I want it," said Charlie.

"You shall both have one," said the mother, "Luckily each of the chickens is provided with one."

"I know what I am going to wish," said Charlie, nodding his head with decision.

"I shall wish that papa may come home safe."

"And so will I," said Maggie.

"I wish he might sit down with us to-day," said Mrs. Frost, with a little sigh. "He has never before been absent from us on Thanksgiving Day."

"Was he well when you last heard from him?"

"Yes, but hourly expecting orders to march to join the army in Maryland. I am afraid he won't get as good a Thanksgiving dinner as this."

Dinner was at length over. Havoc and desolation reigned upon the once well-filled table.

CHAPTER XII

THE BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG

About the middle of December came the sad tragedy of Fredericksburg, in which thousands of our gallant soldiers yielded up their lives in a hard, unequal struggle, which brought forth nothing but mortification and disaster.

The first telegrams which appeared in the daily papers brought anxiety and bodings of ill to many households.

One afternoon Frank went to the post-office a little after the usual time. As he made his way through a group at the door, he noticed compassionate glances directed towards him.

His heart gave a sudden bound.

"Has anything happened to my father?" he inquired with pale face. "Have any of you heard anything?"

"He is wounded, Frank," said the nearest bystander.

In the evening paper, which was placed in his hands, he read a single line, but of fearful import: "Henry Frost, wounded." Whether the wound was slight or serious, no intimation was given.

Frank heaved a sigh of comparative relief. His father was not dead, as he at first feared. Yet, he felt that the suspense would be a serious trial. He did not know how to tell his mother. She met him at the gate. His serious face and lagging steps revealed the truth, exciting at first apprehensions of something even more serious.

For two days they remained without news. Then came a letter from the absent father, which wonderfully lightened all their hearts. The fact that he was able to write a long letter with his own hand, showed plainly that his wound must be a trifling one. The letter ran thus:--

DEAR MARY:--

    I fear that the report of my wound will reach you before this letter comes to assure you that it is a mere scratch, and scarcely worth a thought. I cannot for an instant think of it, when I consider how many of our poor fellows have been mowed down by instant death, or are now lying with ghastly wounds on pallets in the hospital. We have been through a fearful trial, and the worst thought is that our losses are not compensated by a single advantage.

    Early on the morning of Thursday, the 10th inst., the first act in the great drama commenced with laying the pontoon bridges over which our men were to make their way into the Rebel city. My own division was to cross directly opposite the city. All honor to the brave men who volunteered to lay the bridges. It was a trying and perilous duty. On the other side, in rifle-pits and houses at the brink of the river, were posted the enemy's sharpshooters, and these at a given signal opened fire upon our poor fellows who were necessarily unprotected. The firing was so severe and deadly, and impossible to escape from, that for the time we were obliged to desist. Before anything could be effected it became clear that the sharpshooters must be dislodged.

    Then opened the second scene.

    A deluge of shot and shell from our side of the river rained upon the city, setting some buildings on fire, and severely damaging others. It was a most exciting spectacle to us who watched from the bluff, knowing that ere long we must make the perilous passage, and confront the foe, the mysterious silence of whose batteries inspired alarm, as indicating a consciousness of power.

    The time of our trial came at length.

    Towards the close of the afternoon General Howard's division to which I belong, crossed the pontoon bridge whose building had cost us more than one gallant soldier. The distance was short, for the Rappahannock at this point is not more than a quarter of a mile wide. In a few minutes we were marching through the streets of Fredericksburg. We gained possession of the lower streets, but not without some street fighting, in which our brigade lost about one hundred in killed and wounded.

    For the first time I witnessed violent death. The man marching by my side suddenly reeled, and pressing his hand to his breast fell forward. Only a moment before he had spoken to me, saying, "I think we are going to have hot work." Now he was dead, shot through the heart. I turned sick with horror, but there was no time to pause. We must march on, not knowing that our turn might not come next. Each of us felt that he bore his life in his hand.

    But this was soon over and orders came that we should bivouac for the night.

    So closed the first day.

    The next dawned warm and pleasant. In the quiet of the morning it seemed hard to believe that we were on the eve of a bloody struggle. Discipline was not very strictly maintained. Some of our number left the ranks and ransacked the houses, more from curiosity than the desire to pillage.

    I went down to the bank of the river, and took a look at the bridge which it had cost us so much trouble to throw across. It bore frequent marks of the firing of the day previous.

    Some women had come down to the river with children half bereft of their senses,--some apparently supposing that we should rob or murder them. The Rebel leaders and newspapers have so persistently reiterated these assertions, that they have come to believe them.

    The third day was unusually lovely, but our hearts were too anxious to admit of our enjoying it. The Rebels were entrenched on heights behind the town. It was necessary that these should be taken, and about noon the movement commenced. Our forces marched steadily across the intervening plain. The Rebels reserved their fire till we were half-way across, and then from all sides burst forth the deadly fire. We were completely at their mercy. Twenty men in my own company fell dead or wounded, among them the captain and first lieutenant. Of what follows I can give you little idea. I gave myself up for lost. A desperate impulse enabled me to march on to what seemed certain destruction. All at once I felt a sensation of numbness in my left arm, and looking down I saw that the blood was trickling from it.

    But I had little time to think of myself. Hearing a smothered groan, I looked round, and saw Frank Grover, pale and reeling.

    "I'm shot in the leg," he said. "Don't leave me here. Help me along, and I will try to keep up with you."

    The poor lad leaned upon me, and we staggered forward. But not for long. A stone wall stared us in the face. Here Rebel sharp-shooters had been stationed, and they opened fire upon us. We returned the fusillade to the best of our ability, but what could we do? We were compelled to retire, and did so in good order, but unfortunately not until the sharpshooters had picked off some of our best men.

    Among the victims was the poor lad whom I assisted. A second bullet struck him in the heart. He uttered just one word, "mother," and fell. Poor boy, and poor mother! He seemed to have a premonition of his approaching death, and requested me the day previous to take charge of his effects, and send them with his love and a lock of his hair to his mother if anything should befall him. This request I shall at once comply with. I have succeeded in getting the poor fellow's body brought to camp, where it will be decently buried, and have cut from his head two brown locks, one for his mother, and one for myself.

    At last we got back with ranks fearfully diminished. Many old familiar faces were gone,--the faces of those now lying stiff and stark in death. More were groaning with anguish in the crowded hospital. My own wound was too trifling to require much attention. I shall have to wear a sling for a few days perhaps.

    On Tuesday suddenly came the order to recross the river. It was a stormy and dreary night, and so of course favorable to our purpose. The manoeuvre was executed in silence and with commendable expedition. The Rebels appeared to have no suspicion of General Burnside's intentions. The measured beat of our double quick was drowned by the fury of the storm, and with minds relieved, though bodies drenched, we once more found ourselves with the river between us and our foes. Nothing was left behind.

    Here we are again, but not all of us. Many a brave soldier has breathed his last, and lies under the sod. "God's ways are dark, but soon or late they touch the shining hills of day." So sings our own Whittier, and so I believe, in spite of the sorrowful disaster which we have met with. It is all for the best if we could but see it.

    Our heavy losses of officers have rendered some new appointments necessary. Our second lieutenant has been made captain. The orderly sergeant and second sergeants are now lieutenants, and the line of promotion has even reached me. I am a corporal.

    I have been drawn into writing a very long letter, and I must now close, with the promise of writing again very soon. After I have concluded, I must write to poor Frank Grover's mother. May God comfort her, for she has lost a boy of whom any mother might feel proud.

    With love to the children, I remain, as ever, your affectionate husband.

HENRY FROST.

"How terrible it must have been," said Mrs. Frost, with a shudder, as she folded up the letter and laid it down. "We ought indeed to feel thankful that your father's life was spared."

CHAPTER XIII

FRANK BROACHES A NEW PLAN

For some time Frank had been revolving in his mind the feasibility of a scheme which he hoped to be able to carry into execution. It was no less than this,--to form a military company among the boys, which should be organized and drilled in all respects like those composed of older persons.

One evening he mentioned his plan to Mr. Morton.

"It is a capital idea, Frank," said the young man, with warm approval.

"There is one difficulty," suggested Frank. "None of us boys knows anything about military tactics, and we shall need instruction to begin with; but where we are to find a teacher I am sure I can't tell."

"I don't think you will have to look far," said Mr. Morton, with a smile.

"Are you acquainted with the manual?" asked Frank, eagerly.

"I believe so. You see you have not yet got to the end of my accomplishments. I shall be happy to act as your drill-master until some one among your number is competent to take my place. I can previously give you some private lessons, if you desire it."

"There's nothing I should like better, Mr. Morton," said Frank, joyfully.

"Have you got a musket in the house, then? We shall get along better with one."

"There's one in the attic."

"Very well; if you will get it, we can make a beginning now."

Frank went in search of the musket.

Under his friend's instructions, Frank progressed rapidly. At the end of the third lesson, Mr. Morton said, "You are nearly as competent to give instructions now as I am. There are some things, however, that cannot be learned alone. You had better take measures to form your company."

Frank called upon Mr. Rathburn, the Principal of the Academy, and after communicating his plan, which met with the teacher's full approval, arranged to have notice given of a meeting of the boys immediately after the afternoon session.

On Thursday afternoon when the last class had recited, previous to ringing the bell, which was a signal that school was over, Mr. Rathburn gave this brief notice.

"I am requested to ask the boys present to remain in their seats, to listen to a proposition that has my full approval, and in which I think they will all feel interested. Your late school-fellow, Frank Frost," proceeded Mr. Rathburn, "has the merit of originating the plan to which I have referred, and he is no doubt prepared to unfold it to you."

Mr. Rathburn put on his hat and coat, and left the schoolroom. After his departure, Frank rose and spoke modestly, thus:--

"Boys, I have been thinking for some time past that we were not doing all that we ought in this crisis, which puts in such danger the welfare of our country. If anything, we boys ought to feel more deeply interested than our elders, for while they will soon pass off the stage we have not yet reached even the threshold of manhood. You will ask me what we can do. Let me remind you that when the war broke out, the great want was, not of volunteers, but of men trained to military exercises. Our regiments were at first composed wholly of raw recruits. In Europe, military instruction is given as a matter of course; and in some other countries, young men are obliged to serve for a time in the army.

"I think we ought to profit by the lessons of experience. However the present war may turn out we cannot be certain that other wars will not at some time break out. By that time we shall have grown to manhood, and the duty of defending our country in arms will devolve upon us. Should that time come, let it not find us unprepared. I propose that we organize a military company among the boys, and meet for drill at such times as we may hereafter agree upon. I hope that any who feel interested in the matter will express their opinions freely."

Frank sat down, and a number of the boys testified their approbation by vigorously stamping with their feet.

Charles Reynolds being elected chairman, advanced to the teacher's chair.

"Mr. Chairman," said Frank, "I am authorized to say that a gentleman whom you have all seen, Mr. Henry Morton, is willing to give instruction till you are sufficiently advanced to get along without it."

"I move that Mr. Morton's offer be accepted with thanks," said Henry Tufts.

The motion was seconded by Tom Wheeler, and carried unanimously.

"Who shall belong to the company?" asked the Chairman. "Shall a fixed age be required?"

It was finally decided to admit any above the age of twelve who desired it; but the boys reserved to themselves the right of rejecting any who should conduct in a manner to bring disgrace upon them.

"Mr. Chairman," said Frank, "in order to get under way as soon as possible, I have written down an agreement to which those who wish to join our proposed company can sign their names. If anybody can think of anything better, I shall be glad to have it adopted instead of this."

He handed a sheet of paper to the Chairman, who read from it the following form of agreement: "We, the subscribers, agree to form a boys' volunteer company, and to conform to the regulations which may hereafter be made for its government."

"If there is no objection we will adopt this form, and subscribe our names," said the Chairman.

The motion for adoption being carried, the boys came up one by one, and signed their names.

"What are we going to do for guns?" asked Robert Ingalls. "We can't get along without them."

"The boys at Webbington had a company three or four years ago," said Joe Barry, "and they used wooden guns."

"Wooden guns!" exclaimed Wilbur Summerfield, disdainfully. "You won't catch me training round town with a wooden gun."

"Mr. Chairman," said Frank, rising, "as to the wooden guns I quite agree with the last speaker. It would seem too much like boy's play, and we are too much in earnest for that. I have thought of an arrangement which can be made if the Selectmen will give their consent. Ten or fifteen years ago, longer than most of us can remember, as my father has told me, there was a militia company in Rossville, whose arms were supplied and owned by the town. When the company was disbanded the muskets went back to the town, and I believe they are now kept in the basement of the Town Hall. I presume that we can have the use of them on application. I move that a committee be appointed to lay the matter before the Selectmen, and ask their permission."

His motion was agreed to.

"I will appoint John Haynes to serve on that committee," said the Chairman, after a pause.

This was a politic appointment, as Squire Haynes was one of the Selectmen, and would be gratified at the compliment paid to his son.

"I accept the duty," said John, rising, and speaking in a tone of importance.

Frank had reason to feel satisfied with the success of his suggestion. Several of the boys came up to him, and expressed their pleasure that he had brought the matter before them.

CHAPTER XIV

THE ORGANIZATION

A few rods east of the post-office, on the opposite side of the street, was a two-story building used as an Engine House. The second story consisted of a hall used for company meetings. This the fire company obligingly granted to the boys as a drill-room during the inclement season, until the weather became sufficiently warm to drill out of doors.

On the Monday afternoon succeeding the preliminary meeting at the Academy, about thirty boys assembled in this hall, pursuant to a notice which had been given at school and posted up at the tavern and post-office.

At half-past two Frank entered, accompanied by Mr. Morton.

Some of the boys were already acquainted with him, and came up to speak. He had a frank cordial way with boys which secured their favor at first sight.

A short business meeting was held, organized as before.

John Haynes reported that he had spoken to his father, and the question of allowing the boys the use of the muskets belonging to the town would be acted upon at the next meeting of the Selectmen. Squire Haynes thought that the request would be granted.

"What are we going to do this afternoon?" asked Robert Ingalls.

"I can answer that question, Mr. Chairman," said Henry Morton. "We are not yet ready for muskets. I shall have to drill you first in the proper position of a soldier, and the military step. Probably it will be a week before I shall wish to place muskets into your hands."

"The boys will please form themselves in a line," said the teacher, in a clear commanding voice.

This was done.

The positions assumed were, most of them, far from military. Some stood with their legs too far apart, others with one behind the other, some with the shoulders of unequal height. Frank alone stood correctly, thanks to the private instructions he had received.

"Now, boys," said Mr. Morton, "when I say 'Attention,' you must all look at me and follow my directions implicitly. Attention and subordination are of the first importance to a soldier. Let me say, to begin with, that, with one exception you are all standing wrong."

Here there was a general shifting of positions. Robert Ingalls, who had been standing with his feet fifteen inches apart, suddenly brought them close together in a parallel position. Tom Wheeler, who had been resting his weight mainly on the left foot, shifted to the right. Moses Rogers, whose head was bent over so as to watch his feet, now threw it so far hack that he seemed to be inspecting the ceiling. Frank alone remained stationary.

Mr. Morton smiled at the changes elicited by his remarks, and proceeded to give his first command.

"Heels on the same line!" he ordered.

All the boys turned their heads, and there was a noisy shuffling of feet.

"The knees must be straight. I see that some are bent as if the weight of the body were too much for them. Not too stiff! Rivers, yours are too rigid. You couldn't walk a mile in that way without becoming very tired. There, that is much better. Notice my position."

The boys after adjusting their positions looked at the rest to see how they had succeeded.

"Don't look at each other," said Mr. Morton. "If you do, you will be certain to make blunders. I notice that some of you are standing with one shoulder higher than the other. The shoulders should be square, and the body should be erect upon the hips."

"Attention! So!"

"Let your arms hang naturally, with the elbows near the body, the palm of the hand a little turned to the front, the little finger behind the seam of the pantaloons. This you will find important when you come to drill with muskets. You will find that it will economize space by preventing your occupying more room than is necessary. Frank, will you show Sam Rivers and John Haynes how to hold their hands?"

"You needn't trouble yourself," said John, haughtily, but in too low voice, as he supposed, for Mr. Morton to hear. "I don't want a clodhopper to teach me."

Frank's face flushed slightly, and without a word he passed John, and occupied himself with showing Sam Rivers, who proved more tractable.

"My next order will be,--faces to the front!" he resumed after a pause. "Nothing looks worse than to see a file of men with their heads turned in various directions. The eyes should be fixed straight before you, striking the ground at about fifteen paces forward."

It required some time to have this direction properly carried out. Half an hour had now passed, and some of the boys showed signs of weariness.

"I will now give you a little breathing-spell for ten minutes," said Mr. Morton. "After this we will resume our exercises,"

The boys stretched their limbs and began to converse in an animated strain about the lesson which they had just received.

At the expiration of ten minutes the lesson was resumed, and some additional directions were given.

"I shall be prepared to give you a second lesson on Saturday afternoon," announced Mr. Morton. "In the meantime it will be well for you to remember what I have said, and if you should feel inclined to practise by yourselves, it will no doubt make your progress more rapid."

For the six weeks following Mr. Morton gave lessons twice a week to the boys. At the third lesson they received their muskets, and thenceforth drilled with them. A few who had not been present at the first two lessons, and were consequently ignorant of the positions, Mr. Morton turned over to Frank, who proved an efficient and competent instructor.

At the end of the twelfth lesson, Mr. Morton, after giving the order to "Best!" addressed the boys as follows:--

"Boys, we have now taken twelve lessons together. I have been very much gratified by the rapid improvement which you have made, and feel that it is due quite as much to your attention as to any instructions of mine. I can say with truth that I have known companies of grown men who have made less rapid progress than you.

"The time has now come when I feel that I can safely leave you to yourselves. There are those among you who are competent to carry on the work which I have commenced. It will he desirable for you at once to form a company organization. As there are but fifty on your muster-roll, being about half the usual number, you will not require as many officers. I recommend the election of a Captain, first and second lieutenants, three sergeants and three corporals. You have already become somewhat accustomed to company drill, so that you will be able to go on by yourselves under the guidance of your officers. If any doubtful questions should arise, I shall always be happy to give you any information or assistance in my power.

"And now, boys, I will bid you farewell in my capacity of instructor; but I need not say that I shall continue to watch with interest your progress in military art."

Mr. Morton here withdrew in the midst of hearty applause.

When he had left the hall a temporary organization for business purposes was at once effected. Wilbur Summerfield was placed in the Chair, and the meeting proceeded at once to an election of officers.

The following were elected:--
     Captain, Frank Frost.
     First Lieutenant, Charles Reynolds.
     Second Lieutenant, Richard Bumstead.
     Orderly Sergeant, Wilbur Summerfield.
     Second Sergeant, Robert Ingalls.
     Third Sergeant, Moses Rogers.
     First Corporal, Tom Wheeler.
     Second Corporal, Joseph Barry.
     Third Corporal, Frank Ingalls.

If there were some who were disappointed, they acquiesced good-naturedly, with one exception.

When the applause had subsided, John Haynes rose, and in a voice trembling with ill-concealed passion, said:--

"Mr. Chairman, I wish to give notice to all present that I resign my place as a member of this Company. I don't choose to serve under such officers as you have chosen to-day. I don't think they are fit to have command."

There there was a general chorus of hisses, drowning John's voice completely. After glancing about him a moment in speechless fury, he seized his hat, and left the room in indignant haste, slamming the door after him.

"He's a mean fellow!" said Frank Ingalls. "I suppose he expected to be Captain."

"Shouldn't wonder," said Sam Rivers. "Anyhow, he's a fool to make a fuss about it. As for me," he added, with a mirthful glance, "I am just as much disappointed as he is. When I came here this afternoon I expected I should be elected Captain, and I'd got my speech all ready; but now I'm sorry that it will have to be wasted."

There was a general burst of laughter for Sam Rivers, whom everybody liked for his good nature, was incorrigibly awkward, and had made a larger number of blunders, probably, than any other member of the Company.

"Give us the speech, Sam," said Bob Ingalls.

"Yes, don't let it be wasted."

"Speech, speech!" cried Joseph Barry.

"Very well, gentlemen, if you desire it."

Sam drew from his pocket a blank piece of paper, and pretended to read the following speech, which he made up on the spur of the moment.

"Ahem gentlemen," he commenced, in a pompous tone, assuming an air of importance: "I am deeply indebted to you for this very unexpected honor."

"O, very," said one of the boys near.

"I feel that you have done yourself credit in your selection."

Here there was a round of applause.

"I am sorry that some of you are still very awkward, but I hope under my excellent discipline to make veterans of you in less than no time."

"Good for you!"

"You cannot expect me to remain long with you, as I am now in the line of promotion, and don't mean to stop short of a brigadier. But as long as I am your Captain, I hope you will appreciate your privileges."

Sam's speech was followed by a chorus of laughter, in which he joined heartily himself.

As for John's defection nobody seemed to regret it much. It was generally felt that the Company would have no difficulty in getting along without him.

CHAPTER XV

THE REBEL TRAP

On the first of April Frank received the following letter from his father. It was the more welcome because nearly a month had elapsed since anything had been received and the whole family had become quite anxious.

"DEAR FRANK" (the letter commenced), "you are no doubt feeling anxious on account of my long silence. You will understand the cause of it when I tell you that since the date of my last letter I have been for a fortnight in the enemy's hands as a prisoner. Fortunately I have succeeded in effecting my escape. You will naturally be interested to learn the particulars.

    Three weeks since, a lady occupying an estate about five miles distant from our camp, waited on our commanding officer and made an urgent request to have a few soldiers detailed as a guard to protect her and her property from molestation and loss. Our colonel was not at first disposed to grant her request, but finally acceded to it, rather reluctantly, declaring that it was all nonsense. I was selected, with five other men, to serve as a guard. Mrs. Roberts--for this was her name--appeared quite gratified to find her request granted, and drove slowly home under our escort.

    On arriving, we found a mansion in the old Virginia style, low in elevation, broad upon the ground, and with piazza extending along the front. Surrounding it was a good-sized plantation. At a little distance from the house was a row of negro huts. These were mostly vacant,--the former occupants having secured their freedom by taking refuge within our lines.

    As sergeant in command (you must know that I have been promoted), I inquired of Mrs. Roberts what danger she apprehended. Her answers were vague and unsatisfactory. However, she seemed disposed to treat me very civilly, and at nine o'clock invited the whole party into the house to partake of a little refreshment. This invitation was very welcome to soldiers who had not for months partaken of anything better than camp fare. It was all the more acceptable because outside a cold rain was falling, and the mud was deep and miry.

    In the dining-room we found a plentiful meal spread, including hot coffee, hot cornbread, bacon and other viands. We were not however, destined to take our supper in peace. As I was drinking my second cup of coffee I thought I heard a noise outside, and remarked it to Mrs. Roberts.

    "It is only the wind, sergeant," said she, indifferently.

    It was not long before I became convinced that it was something more serious. I ordered my men to stand to their arms, in spite of the urgent protestations of the old lady, and marched them out upon the lawn, just in time to be confronted by twenty or thirty men on horseback, clad in the Rebel uniform.

    Resistance against such odds would have been only productive of useless loss of life, and with my little force I was compelled to surrender myself a prisoner.

    Of course I no longer doubted that we were the victims of a trick, and had been lured by Mrs. Roberts purposely to be made prisoners. If I had had any doubts on the subject, her conduct would have dissipated them. She received our captors with open arms. They stepped into our places as guests, and the house was thrown open to them. Our arms were taken from us, our hands were pinioned, and a scene of festivity ensued. A cask of wine was brought up from the cellar, and the contents freely distributed among the Rebels.

    Once, as Mrs. Roberts passed through the room where we were confined, I said, "Do you consider this honorable conduct, madam, to lure us here by false representations, and then betray us to our enemies?"

    "Yes, I do!" said she, hotly. "What business have you to come down here and lay waste our territory? There is no true Southern woman but despises you heartily, and would do as much as I have and more, too. You've got my son a prisoner in one of your Yankee prisons. When I heard that he was taken, I swore to be revenged; and I have kept my word. I've got ten for one, though he's worth a hundred such as you."

    So saying, she swept out of the room, with a scornful look of triumph in her eyes. The next day, as I afterwards learned, she sent word to our colonel that her house had been unexpectedly attacked by a large party of the Rebels, and that we had been taken prisoners. Her complicity was suspected, but was not proved till our return to camp. Of course, a further guard, which she asked for, to divert suspicion, was refused.

    Meanwhile we were carried some twenty miles across the river, and confined in a building which had formerly been used as a storehouse.

    The place was dark and gloomy. There were some dozen others who shared our captivity. Here we had rather a doleful time. We were supplied with food three times a day; but the supply was scanty, and we had meat but once in two days. We gathered that it was intended to send us to Richmond; but from day to day there was a delay in doing so. We decided that our chance of escape would be much better then than after we reached the Rebel capital. We therefore formed a plan for defeating the intentions of our captors.

    Though the building assigned to us as a prison consisted of two stories, we were confined in the lower part. This was more favorable to our designs. During the night we busied ourselves in loosening two of the planks of the flooring, so that we could remove them at any time. Then lowering two of our number into the cellar, we succeeded in removing enough of the stone foundation to allow the escape of one man at a time through the aperture. Our arrangements were hastened by the assignment of a particular day on which we were to be transferred from our prison, and conveyed to Richmond. Though we should have been glad to enter the city under some circumstances, we did not feel very desirous of going as prisoners of war.

    On the night selected we waited impatiently till midnight. Then, as silently as possible, we removed the planking, and afterwards the stones of the basement wall, and crept through one by one. All this was effected so noiselessly that we were all out without creating any alarm. We could hear the measured tramp of the sentinel, as he paced up and down in front of the empty prison. We pictured to ourselves his surprise when he discovered, the next morning, that we had escaped under his nose without his knowing it!

    I need not dwell upon the next twenty-four hours. The utmost vigilance was required to elude the Rebel pickets. At last, after nearly twenty hours, during which we had had nothing to eat, we walked into camp, exhausted with hunger and fatigue, to the great joy of our comrades from whom we had been absent a fortnight.

    On receiving information of the manner in which we had been captured, our commanding officer at once despatched me with a detachment of men to arrest Mrs. Roberts and her daughter. Her surprise and dismay at seeing me whom she supposed safe in Richmond were intense. She is still under arrest.

    I suppose our campaign will open as soon as the roads are dried up. The mud in Virginia is much more formidable than at the North, and presents an insuperable, perhaps I should say an unfathomable obstacle to active operations. I hope General Grant will succeed in taking Vicksburg. The loss of that important stronghold would be a great blow to the Rebels.

    While I write I cannot help recalling our happy home, and longing for an hour, if no more, of your society. I am glad that you find Mr. Morton so agreeable an inmate. You ought to feel quite indebted to him for his assistance in your studies. I am glad you have formed a boy's company. It is very desirable that the elements of military science should be understood even by boys, since upon them must soon devolve the defense of their country from any blows that may be directed against her, whether by foes from within or enemies from abroad.

    The coming season will be a busy one with you. When you receive this letter it will be about time for you to begin to plough whatever land is to be planted. As I suggested in my first letter from camp, I should like you to devote some space--perhaps half an acre--to the culture of onions. We find them very useful for promoting health in the army. They are quite high on account of the largely increased demand, so that it will be a good crop for financial reasons. (Here followed some directions with regard to the spring planting, which we omit, as not likely to interest our readers.) The letter ended thus:--

    It is nearly time for me to mail this letter, and it is already much longer than I intended to write. May God keep you all in health and happiness is the fervent wish of

Your affectionate father,

HENRY FROST."

The intelligence that their father had been a prisoner made quite a sensation among the children. Charlie declared that Mrs. Roberts was a wicked woman, and he was glad she was put in prison--an expression of joy in which the rest fully participated.

CHAPTER XVI

JOHN HAYNES HAS A NARROW ESCAPE

John Haynes found the time hang heavily upon his hands after his withdrawal from the boys' volunteer company. All the boys with whom he had been accustomed to associate belonged to it, and in their interest could talk of nothing else. To him, on the contrary, it was a disagreeable subject. In the pleasant spring days the company came out twice a week, and went through company drill on the Common, under the command of Frank, or Captain Frost, as he was now called.

Had Frank shown himself incompetent, and made himself ridiculous by blunders, it would have afforded John satisfaction. But Frank, thorough in all things, had so carefully prepared himself for his duties that he never made a mistake, and always acquitted himself so creditably and with such entire self-possession, that his praises were in every mouth.

Dick Bumstead, too, manifested an ambition to fill his second lieutenancy, to which, so much to his own surprise he had been elected, in such a manner as to justify the Company in their choice. In this he fully succeeded. He had become quite a different boy from what he was before being elected as an officer. He had learned to respect himself, and perceived with great satisfaction that he was generally respected by the boys. He did not attempt to shirk his work in the shop, and his father spoke of him with complacency, instead of complaint as formerly.

"Yes," said he one day, "Dick's a good boy. He was always smart, but rather fly-a-way. I couldn't place any dependence upon him once, but it is not so now. I couldn't wish for a better boy. I don't know what has come over him but I hope it'll last."

Dick happened to overhear his father speaking thus to a neighbor, and he determined with a commendable feeling of pride, that the change that had given his father so much pleasure should last. It does a boy good to know that his efforts are appreciated. In this case it had a happy effect upon Dick, who, I am glad to say, kept his resolution.

Finding one great source of amusement cut off, and being left very much to himself, John fell back upon his boat for pleasure, and nearly every pleasant afternoon he might be seen rowing on the river above the dam. He was obliged to confine himself to this part of the river, since, in the part below the dam, the water was too shallow.

There is one great drawback, however, upon the pleasure of owning a row-boat. It is tiresome to row single-handed after a time. So John found it, and not being over fond of active exertion he was beginning to get weary of this kind of amusement when all at once a new plan was suggested to him. This was, to rig up a mast and sail, and thus obviate the necessity of rowing.

No sooner had this plan suggested itself than he hastened to put it into execution. His boat was large enough to bear a small mast, so there was no difficulty on that head. He engaged the village carpenter to effect the desired change. He did not choose to consult his father on the subject, fearing that he might make some objection either on score of safety or expense, while he had made up his mind to have his own way.

When it was finished, and the boat with its slender mast and white sail floated gently on the quiet bosom of the stream, John's satisfaction was unbounded.

"You've got a pretty boat," said Mr. Plane, the carpenter. I suppose you know how to manage it?" he added, inquiringly.

"Yes," answered John, carelessly, "I've been in a sail-boat before to-day."

Mr. Plane's doubts were set at rest by John's confident manner, and he suppressed the caution which he had intended to give him. It made little difference, however, for John was headstrong, and would have been pretty certain to disregard whatever he might say.

It was true that this was not the first time John had been in a sail-boat; but if not the first, it was only the second. The first occasion had been three years previous, and at that time he had had nothing to do with the management of the boat--a very important matter. It was in John's nature to be over confident, and he thought he understood merely from observation exactly how a boat ought to be managed. As we shall see, he found out his mistake.

The first day after his boat was ready John was greatly disappointed that there was no wind. The next day, as if to make up for it, the wind was very strong. Had John possessed a particle of prudence he would have seen that it was no day to venture out in a sail-boat. But he was not in the habit of curbing his impatience, and he determined that he would not wait till another day. He decided that it was a mere "capful of wind," and would be all the better for the purpose.

"It is a tip-top wind. Won't it make my boat scud?" he said to himself exultantly, as he took his place, and pushed off from shore.

Henry Morton had been out on a walk, and from the summit of a little hill near the river-bank espied John pushing off in his boat.

"He'll be sure to capsize," thought the young man in alarm. "Even if he is used to a sail-boat he is very imprudent to put out in such a wind; I will hurry down and save him if I can."

He hurried to the bank of the river, reaching it out of breath.

John was by this time some distance out. The wind had carried him along finely, the boat scudding as he expressed it. He was congratulating himself on the success of his trial trip, when all at once a flaw struck the boat. Not being a skilful boatman he was wholly unprepared for it, and the boat upset.

Struggling in terror and confusion, John struck out for the shore. But he was not much of a swimmer, and the suddenness of the accident had unnerved him, and deprived him of his self-possession. The current of the river was rapid, and he would inevitably have drowned but for the opportune assistance of Mr. Morton.

The young man had no sooner seen the boat capsize, than he flung off his coat and boots, and, plunging into the river, swam vigorously towards the imperilled boy.

Luckily for John, Mr. Morton was, though of slight frame, muscular, and an admirable swimmer. He jumped into the water and reached John just as his strokes were becoming feebler and feebler; he was about to give up his unequal struggle with the waves.

"Take hold of me," he said. "Have courage, and I will save you."

John seized him with the firm grip of a drowning person, and nearly prevented him from striking out. But Mr. Morton's strength served him in good stead; and, notwithstanding the heavy burden, he succeeded in reaching the bank in safety, though with much exhaustion.

John no sooner reached the bank than he fainted away. The great danger which he had just escaped, added to his own efforts, had proved too much for him.

Mr. Morton, fortunately, knew how to act in such emergencies. By the use of the proper remedies, he was brought to himself, and his preserver offered to accompany him home. John still felt giddy, and was glad to accept Mr. Morton's offer. He knew that his father would be angry with him for having the boat fitted up without his knowledge, especially as he had directed Mr. Plane to charge it to his father's account. Supposing that Squire Haynes approved, the carpenter made no objections to doing so. But even the apprehension of his father's anger was swallowed up by the thought of the great peril from which he had just escaped, and the discomfort of wet clothes which he had on.

Mr. Morton, too, was completely wet through, with the exception of his coat, and but for John's apparent inability to go home alone, would at once have returned to his boarding-house to exchange his wet clothes for dry ones.

It so happened that Squire Haynes was sitting at a front window, and saw Mr. Morton and his son as they entered the gate and came up the gravelled walk. He had never met Mr. Morton, and was surprised now at seeing him in John's company. He had conceived a feeling of dislike to the young man, for which he could not account, while at the same time he felt a strong curiosity to know more of him.

When they came nearer, he perceived the drenched garments, and went to the door himself to admit them.

"What's the matter, John?" he demanded, hastily, with a contraction of the eyebrows.

"I'm wet," said John, shortly.

"It is easy to see that. But how came you so wet?"

"I've been in the river," answered John, who did not seem disposed to volunteer any particulars of his adventure.

"How came you there?"

"Your son's boat capsized," explained Mr. Morton; "and, as you will judge from my appearance, I jumped in after him. I should advise him to change his clothing, or he will be likely to take cold."

Squire Haynes looked puzzled.

"I don't see how a large row-boat like his could capsize," he said; "he must have been very careless."

"It was a sail-boat," explained John, rather reluctantly.

"A sail-boat! Whose?"

"Mine."

"I don't understand at all."

"I had a mast put in, and a sail rigged up, two or three days since," said John, compelled at last to explain.

"Why did you do this without my permission?" demanded the Squire, angrily.

"Perhaps," said Mr. Morton, quietly, "it will be better to postpone inquiries until your son has changed his clothes."

Squire Haynes, though somewhat irritated by this interference, bethought himself that it would be churlish not to thank his son's preserver.

"I am indebted to you, sir," he said, "for your agency in saving the life of this rash boy. I regret that you should have got wet."

"I shall probably experience nothing more than temporary inconvenience."

"You have been some months in the village, I believe, Mr. Morton. I trust you will call at an early day, and enable me to follow up the chance which made us acquainted."

"I seldom make calls," said Mr. Morton, in a distant tone. "Yet," he added, after a pause, "I may have occasion to accept your invitation some day. Good morning, sir."

"Good morning," returned the Squire, looking after him with an expression of perplexity.

"He boards at the Frosts', doesn't he, John?" asked Squire Haynes, turning to his son.

"Yes, sir."

"There's something in his face that seems familiar," mused the Squire, absently. "He reminds me of somebody, though I can't recall who."

It was not long before the Squire's memory was refreshed, and he obtained clearer information respecting the young man, and the errand which had brought him to Rossville. When that information came, it was so far from pleasing that he would willingly have postponed it indefinitely.

CHAPTER XVII

MR. MORTON'S STORY

The planting season was over. For a month Frank had worked industriously, in conjunction with Jacob Carter. His father had sent him directions so full and minute, that he was not often obliged to call upon Farmer Maynard for advice. The old farmer proved to he very kind and obliging. Jacob, too, was capable and faithful, so that the farm work went on as well probably as if Mr. Frost had been at home.

One evening towards the middle of June, Frank walked out into the fields with Mr. Morton. The corn and potatoes were looking finely. The garden vegetables were up, and to all appearance doing well. Frank surveyed the scene with a feeling of natural pride.

"Don't you think I would make a successful farmer, Mr. Morton?" he asked.

"Yes, Frank; and more than this, I think you will be likely to succeed in any other vocation you may select."

"I am afraid you are flattering me, Mr. Morton."

"Such is not my intention, Frank, but I like to award praise where I think it due. I have noticed in you a disposition to be faithful to whatever responsibility is imposed upon you, and whenever I see that I feel no hesitation in predicting a successful career."

"Thank you," said Frank looking very much pleased with the compliment. "I try to be faithful. I feel that father has trusted me more than it is usual to trust boys of my age, and I want to show myself worthy of his confidence."

"You are fortunate in having a father, Frank," said the young man, with a shade of sadness in his voice. "My father died before I was of your age"

"Do you remember him?" inquired Frank, with interest.

"I remember him well. He was always kind to me. I never remember to have received a harsh word from him. It is because he was so kind and indulgent to me that I feel the more incensed against a man who took advantage of his confidence to defraud him, or rather me, through him."

"You have never mentioned this before, Mr. Morton."

"No. I have left you all in ignorance of much of my history. This morning, it will interest you, I propose to take you into my confidence."

They threw themselves upon the grass, and he forthwith commenced his story.

"My father was born in Boston, and growing up engaged in mercantile pursuits. He was moderately successful, and finally accumulated fifty thousand dollars. He would not have stopped there, for he was at the time making money rapidly, but his health became precarious, and his physician required him absolutely to give up business. The seeds of consumption, which probably had been lurking for years in his system, had begun to show themselves unmistakably, and required immediate attention.

"By the advice of his physician he sailed for the West India Islands, hoping that the climate might have a beneficial effect upon him. At that time I was twelve years old, and an only child. My mother had died some years before, so that I was left quite alone in the world. I was sent for a time to Virginia, to my mother's brother, who possessed a large plantation and numerous slaves. Here I remained for six months. You will remember that Aunt Chloe recognized me at first sight. You will not be surprised at this when I tell you that she was my uncle's slave, and that as a boy I was indebted to her for many a little favor which she, being employed in the kitchen, was able to render me. As I told you at the time, my real name is not Morton. It will not be long before you understand the reason of my concealment.

"My father had a legal adviser, in whom he reposed large measures of confidence, though events showed him to be quite unworthy of it. On leaving Boston he divided his property, which had been converted into money, into two equal portions. One part he took with him. The other he committed to the lawyer's charge. So much confidence had he in this man's honor, that he did not even require a receipt. One additional safeguard he had, however. This was the evidence of the lawyer's clerk, who was present on the occasion of the deposit.

"My father went to the West Indies, but the change seemed only to accelerate the progress of his malady. He lingered for a few months and then died. Before his death he wrote two letters, one to my uncle and one to myself. In these he communicated the fact of his having deposited twenty-five thousand dollars with his lawyer. He mentioned incidentally the presence of the lawyer's clerk at the time. I am a little surprised that he should have done it, as not the faintest suspicion of the lawyer's good faith had entered his thoughts.

"On receiving this letter my uncle, on my behalf, took measures to claim this sum, and for this purpose came to Boston. Imagine his surprise and indignation when the lawyer positively denied having received any such deposit, and called upon him to prove it. With great effrontery he declared that it was absurd to suppose that my father would have entrusted him with any such sum without a receipt for it. This certainly liked plausible, and I acknowledge that few except my father, who never trusted without trusting entirely, would have acted so imprudently.

"'Where is the clerk who was in your office at the time?' inquired my uncle.

"The lawyer looked somewhat discomposed at this question.

" 'Why do you ask,' he inquired, abruptly.

" 'Because,' was the reply, 'his evidence is very important to us. My brother states that he was present when the deposit was made.'

" 'I don't know where he is,' said the lawyer, 'He was too dissipated to remain in my office, and I accordingly discharged him.'

"My uncle suspected that the clerk had been bribed to keep silence, and for additional security sent off to some distant place.

"Nothing could be done. Strong as were our suspicions, and absolute as was our conviction of the lawyer's guilt, we had no recourse. But from that time I devoted my life to the exposure of this man. Fortunately I was not without means. The other half of my father's property came to me; and the interest being considerably more than I required for my support, I have devoted the remainder to prosecuting inquiries respecting the missing clerk. Just before I came to Rossville, I obtained an excellent clew, which I have since industriously followed up.

"Last night I received a letter from my agent; stating that he had found the man--that he was in a sad state of destitution, and that he was ready to give his evidence."

"Is the lawyer still living?" inquired Frank, eagerly.

"He is."

"What a villain he must be."

"I am afraid he is, Frank."

"Does he still live in Boston?"

"No. After he had made sure of his ill-gotten gains, he removed into the country, where he built him a fine house. He has been able to live a life of leisure; but I doubt if he has been as happy as he would have been had he never deviated from the path of rectitude."

"Have you seen him lately?" asked Frank.

"I have seen him many times within the last few months," said the young man, in a significant tone.

Frank jumped to his feet in surprise. "You don't mean--" he said, as a sudden suspicion of the truth dawned upon his mind.

"Yes," said Mr. Morton, deliberately, "I do mean that the lawyer who defrauded my father lives in this village. You know him well as Squire Haynes."

"I can hardly believe it," said Frank, unable to conceal his astonishment. "Do you think he knows who you are?"

"I think he has noticed my resemblance to my father. If I had not assumed a different name he would have been sure to detect me. This would have interfered with my plans, as he undoubtedly knew the whereabouts of his old clerk, and would have arranged to remove him, so as to delay his discovery, perhaps indefinitely. Here is the letter I received last night. I will read it to you."

The letter ran as follows:--

    "I have at length discovered the man of whom I have so long been in search. I found him in Detroit. He had recently removed thither from St. Louis. He is very poor, and when I found him was laid up with typhoid fever in a mean lodging-house. I removed him to more comfortable quarters, supplied him with relishing food and good medical assistance. Otherwise I think he would have died. The result is, that he feels deeply grateful to me for having probably saved his life. When I first broached the idea of his giving evidence against his old employer, I found him reluctant to do so,--not from any attachment he bore him, but from fear that he would be held on a criminal charge for concealing a felony. I have undertaken to assure him, on your behalf, that he shall not be punished if he will come forward and give his evidence unhesitatingly. I have finally obtained his promise to do so.

    "We shall leave Detroit day after to-morrow, and proceed to New England by way of New York. Can you meet me in New York on the 18th inst.? You can, in that case, have an interview with this man, Travers; and it will be well to obtain his confession, legally certified to guard against any vacillation of purpose on his part. I have no apprehension of it, but it is as well to be certain."

This letter was signed by Mr. Morton's agent.

"I was very glad to get that letter, Frank," said his companion. "I don't think I care so much for the money, though that is not to be despised, since it will enable me to do more good than at present I have it in my power to do. But there is one thing I care for still more, and that is, to redeem my father's memory from reproach. In the last letter he ever wrote he made a specific statement, which this lawyer declares to be false. The evidence of his clerk will hurl back the falsehood upon himself."

"How strange it is, Mr. Morton," exclaimed Frank, "that you should have saved the life of a son of the man who has done so much to injure you!"

"Yes, that gives me great satisfaction. I do not wish Squire Haynes any harm, but I am determined that justice shall be done. Otherwise than that, if I can be of any service to him, I shall not refuse."

"I remember now," said Frank, after a moment's pause, "that on the first Sunday you appeared at church, Squire Haynes stopped me to inquire who you were."

"I am thought to look much as my father did. He undoubtedly saw the resemblance. I have often caught his eyes fixed upon me in perplexity when he did not know that I noticed him. It is fourteen years since my father died. Retribution has been slow, but it has come at last."

"When do you go on to New York?" asked Frank, recalling the agent's request.

"I shall start to-morrow morning. For the present I will ask you to keep what I have said a secret even from your good mother. It is as well not to disturb Squire Haynes in his fancied security until we are ready to overwhelm him with our evidence."

"How long shall you be absent, Mr. Morton?"

"Probably less than a week. I shall merely say that I have gone on business. I trust to your discretion to say nothing more."

"I certainly will not," said Frank. "I am very much obliged to you for having told me first."

The two rose from their grassy seats, and walked slowly back to the farm-house.

CHAPTER XVIII

FRANK CALLS ON SQUIRE HAYNES

The next morning Mr. Morton was a passenger by the early stage for Webbington, where he took the train for Boston. Thence he was to proceed to New York by the steamboat train.

"Good by, Mr. Morton," said Frank, waving his cap as the stage started. "I hope you'll soon be back."

"I hope so too; good by."

Frank went slowly back to the house, feeling quite lonely. He had become so accustomed to Mr. Morton's companionship that his departure left a void which he hardly knew how to fill.

As he reflected upon Mr. Morton's story he began to feel an increased uneasiness at the mortgage held by Squire Haynes upon his father's farm. The time was very near at hand--only ten days off--when the mortgage might be foreclosed, and but half the money was m readiness.

Perhaps, however, Squire Haynes had no intention of foreclosing. If so, there was no occasion for apprehension. But about this he felt by no means certain.

He finally determined, without consulting his mother, to make the Squire a visit, and inquire frankly what he intended to do. The Squire's answer would regulate his future proceedings.

It was Frank's rule--and a very good one too--to do at once whatever needed to be done. He resolved to lose no time in making his call.

"Frank," said his mother, as he entered the house, "I want you to go down to the store some time this forenoon, and get me half a dozen pounds of sugar."

"Very well, mother, I'll go now."

Passing up the village street, he stopped before the fine house of Squire Haynes. Opening the gate he walked up the gravelled path and rang the bell.

A servant girl came to the door.

"Is Squire Haynes at home?" inquired Frank.

"Yes, but he's eating breakfast."

"Then I will step in and wait for him."

Finishing his breakfast leisurely, Squire Haynes went into the room where Frank was sitting patiently awaiting him.

Frank rose as he entered.

"Good morning, Squire Haynes," he said.

"Good morning," said the Squire, coldly. "You are an early visitor."

"I call on a little matter of business, Squire Haynes," continued Frank.

"Very well," said the Squire, seating himself in a luxurious arm-chair, "I am ready to attend to you."

"I believe you hold a mortgage on our farm."

"Yes," said he, indifferently; "I hold quite a number of mortgages, and one upon your father's farm among them."

"Isn't the time nearly run out?" asked Frank, anxiously.

"I can look if you desire it," said the Squire.

"I should be glad if you would."

"May I ask why you are desirous of ascertaining the precise date?" asked the Squire. "Are you intending to pay off the mortgage?"

"No, sir," said Frank. "We are not prepared to do so at present."

Squire Haynes felt relieved. He feared for a moment that Mr. Frost had secured the necessary sum, and that he would be defeated in his wicked purpose.

He drew out a large number of papers, which he rather ostentatiously scattered about the table, and finally came to the mortgage.

"The mortgage comes due on the first of July," he said.

"Will it he convenient for you to renew it, Squire Haynes?" asked Frank, anxiously. "Father being absent, it would be inconvenient for us to obtain the amount necessary to cancel it. Of course I shall be ready to pay you the interest promptly."

"Unless I should have sudden occasion for the money," said the Squire, "I will let it remain. I don't think you need feel any anxiety on the subject."

With the intention of putting Frank off his guard, Squire Haynes assumed a comparatively gracious tone. This, in the case of any other man, would have completely reassured Frank. But he had a strong distrust of the Squire, since the revelation of his character made by his friend Mr. Morton.

"Could you tell me positively?" he asked still uneasy. "It is only ten days now to the first of July, and that is little enough to raise the money in."

"Don't trouble yourself," said the Squire. "I said unless I had sudden occasion for the money, because unforseen circumstances might arise. But as I have a considerable sum lying at the bank, I don't anticipate anything of the kind."

"I suppose you will give me immediate notice, should it be necessary. We can pay four hundred dollars now. So, if you please, the new mortgage can be made out for half the present amount."

"Very well," said the Squire, carelessly. "Just as you please as to that. Still, as you have always paid me interest regularly, I consider the investment a good one, and have no objection to the whole remaining."

"Thank you, sir," said Frank, rising to go.

Frank took his hat, and bowing to the Squire, sought the front door. His face wore a perplexed expression. He hardly knew what to think about the interview he had just had.

"Squire Haynes talks fair enough," he soliloquized; "and perhaps he means what he says. If it hadn't been for what Mr. Morton told me, I should have confidence in him. But a man who will betray a trust is capable of breaking his word to me. I think I'll look round a little, and see if I can't provide for the worst in case it comes."

He made application to a farmer--an intimate friend of his father's--but he had just purchased and paid for a five-acre lot adjoining his farm, and that had stripped him of money. He bade Frank lay aside all anxiety, and assured him that his fears were groundless.

"Perhaps I am foolish," he said to himself. "I'll try to think no more about it."

Another ground of relief suggested itself to him. Mr. Morton would probably be back on the 27th of June. Such at least was his anticipation when he went away. There was reason to believe that he would be both ready and willing to take up the mortgage, if needful. This thought brought back Frank's cheerfulness.

It was somewhat dashed by the following letter which he received a day or two later from his absent friend. It was dated New York, June 25, 1863. As will appear from its tenor, it prepared Frank for a further delay in Mr. Morton's arrival.

"DEAR FRANK:--

    I shall not be able to be with you quite as soon as I intended. I hope, however, to return a day or two afterwards at latest. My business is going on well, and I am assured of final success. Will you ask your mother if she can accommodate an acquaintance of mine for a day or two? I shall bring him with me from New York, and shall feel indebted for the accommodation.

Your true friend,

HENRY MORTON."

Frank understood at once that the acquaintance referred to must be the clerk.

One day succeeded another until at length the morning of the thirtieth of June dawned. Mr. Morton had not yet arrived; but, on the other hand, nothing had been heard from Squire Haynes.

Frank began to breath more freely. He had a talk with his mother, and she agreed that it would be well to pay the four hundred dollars they could spare, and have a new mortgage made out for the balance. Frank accordingly rode over to Brandon in the forenoon and withdrew from the bank the entire sum there deposited to his father's credit. This, with money which had been received from Mr. Morton in payment of his board, made up the requisite amount.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, as Mrs. Frost was sewing at a front window, she exclaimed to Frank, who was making a kite for his little brother Charlie, "Frank, there's Squire Haynes coming up the road."

Frank's heart gave an anxious bound.

A moment afterwards the huge knocker was heard to sound, and Mrs. Frost went to the door.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Frost," said the Squire, lifting his hat.

"Good afternoon, Squire Haynes. Take a seat," said Mrs. Frost. "You'll find this rocking-chair more comfortable."

"I am very well seated, thank you. I cannot stop long. I have merely called on a matter of business."

"About the mortgage?" interrupted Frank.

"Precisely so. I regret to say that I have urgent occasion for the money, and shall be unable to renew it."

"We have four hundred dollars," said Mrs. Frost, "which we are intending to pay."

"I regret to say that this will not do," said the Squire. "I would gladly postpone the matter. The investment has been satisfactory to me, but necessity knows no law."

Frank was about to burst out with some indignant exclamation, but his mother, checking him, said: "I think there is little chance of our being able to pay you to-morrow. May I inquire what course you propose to take?"

"It will be my painful duty to foreclose the mortgage."

"Squire Haynes," said Frank, boldly, haven't you intended to foreclose the mortgage all along? Hadn't you decided about it when I called upon you ten days ago?"

"What do you mean by your impertinence. sir?" demanded the Squire.

"Just what I say. I believe you bear a grudge against my father, and only put me off the other day in order to prevent my being able to meet your demands to-morrow. What do you suppose we can do in less than twenty-four hours?"

"Madam!" said the Squire, purple with rage, "do you permit your son to insult me in this impudent manner?"

"I leave it to your own conscience, Squire Haynes, whether his charges are not deserved. I do not like to think ill of any man, but your course is very suspicious."

"I'll have no mercy on you. I'll sell you out root and branch," said Squire Haynes, trembling with passion, and smiting the floor with his cane.

"At all events the house is ours to-day," returned Mrs. Frost, with dignity, "and I must request you to leave us in quiet possession of it."

The Squire left the house in undignified haste, muttering threats as he went.

"Good, mother!" exclaimed Frank, admiringly. "You turned him out capitally. But," he added, an expression of dismay stealing over his face, "what shall we do?"

"We must try to obtain a loan," said Mrs. Frost. "I will go and see Mr. Sanger, while you go to Mr. Perry. Possibly they may help us. There is no time to be lost."

An hour afterwards Frank and his mother returned, both disappointed Mr. Sanger and Mr. Perry both had the will to help but not the ability. There seemed no hope left save in Mr. Morton.

At six o'clock the stage rumbled up to the gate.

"Thank heaven! Mr. Morton has come!" exclaimed Frank, eagerly.

Mr. Morton got out of the stage, and with him a feeble old man, or such he seemed, whom the young man assisted to alight. They came up the gravel walk together.

"How do you do, Frank?" he said, with a cheerful smile.

"We are in trouble," said Frank. "Squire Haynes is going to foreclose the mortgage to-morrow."

"Never mind!" said Mr. Morton. "We will be ready for him. He can't do either of us any more mischief, Frank. His race is about run."

A heavy weight seemed lifted from Frank's heart. For the rest of the day he was in wild spirits. He asked no question of Mr. Morton. Be felt a firm confidence that all would turn out for the best.

CHAPTER XIX

TURNING THE TABLES

The next morning Mr. Morton made inquiries of Frank respecting the mortgage. Frank explained that a loan of four hundred dollars would enable him to cancel it.

"That is very easily arranged then," said Mr. Morton.

He opened his pocketbook and drew out four crispy new United States notes, of one hundred dollars each.

"There, Frank, said he; "that will loosen the hold Squire Haynes has upon you. I fancy he will find it a little more difficult to extricate himself from my grasp."

"How can I ever thank you, Mr. Morton?" said Frank, with emotion.

"It gives me great pleasure to have it in my power to be of service to you, Frank," said his friend, kindly.

"We will have a mortgage made out to you," continued Frank.

"Not without my consent, I hope. I don't care for any security. You may give me a simple acknowledgment of indebtedness, and then pay me at your leisure."

Frank felt with justice that Mr. Morton was acting very generously, and he was more than ever drawn to him.

So passed the earlier hours of the forenoon.

About eleven o'clock Squire Haynes was observed approaching the house. His step was firm and elastic, as if he rejoiced in the errand he was upon.

The door was opened by Mrs. Frost, who invited the Squire to enter. He did so, wondering at her apparent composure.

"They haven't raised the money," thought he, apprehensively, "No, I am sure the notice was too short."

Frank was in the room, but Squire Haynes did not deign to notice him, nor did Frank choose to make advances. Mrs. Frost spoke upon indifferent subjects, being determined to force Squire Haynes to broach himself the business that had brought him to the farm

Finally, clearing his throat, he said: "Well, madam, are you prepared to cancel the mortgage which I hold upon your husband's farm?"

"I hope," said Mrs. Frost, "you will give us time. It is hardly possible to obtain so large a sum in twenty-four hours."

"As to that," he said, "you've had several years to get ready in."

"Have you no consideration? Remember my husband's absence, and that I am unacquainted with business."

"I have already told you." said the Squire, hastily, "that I require the money. I have a note to pay, and--"

"And if we cannot pay?"

"I must foreclose."

"Will that give you the money any sooner? I suppose you would have to advertise the farm for sale before you could realize anything, and I hardly think that can be accomplished sooner than a week hence."

"The delay is only subterfuge on your part," said the Squire, hotly. "You would be no better prepared at the end of a week than you are now. Once for all, let me tell you that all entreaties are vain. My mind is made up to foreclose, and foreclose I will."

"Don't be too sure of that," interrupted Frank, with a triumphant smile.

"You won't gain anything by your impertinence," the Squire said, loftily. "I might have got you a place, out of pity to your mother, if you had behaved differently. I need a boy to do odd jobs about the house, and I might have offered the place to you."

"Thank you for your kind intentions," said Frank, "but I fear the care of this farm will prevent my accepting your tempting offer."

"The care of the farm!" repeated the Squire, angrily. "Do you think I will delegate it to you?"

"I don't see what you have to do about it."

"Then you'll find out," roared the Squire. "I shall take immediate possession, and require you to leave at once."

"Then I suppose we had better pay the mortgage, mother," said Frank.

"Pay the mortgage! You can't do it."

"Have you the document with you?" inquired Mrs. Frost.

"Yes, madam." "Frank, you may call in Mr. Morton as a witness."

Mr. Morton entered.

"Now, Frank, you may count out the money for Squire Haynes."

"Why didn't you tell me you could pay in the first place?" demanded Squire Haynes, his wrath excited by his bitter disappointment.

"I wished to ascertain whether your course was dictated by necessity or a desire to annoy and injure us. I can have no further doubt about it."

There was no help for it. Squire Haynes was compelled to release his hold upon the Frost farm, and pocket his money. He had never been so sorry to receive money before.

This business over, he was about to beat a hurried retreat, when he was suddenly arrested by a question from Henry Morton.

"Can you spare me a few minutes, Squire Haynes?"

"I am in haste, sir."

"My business is important, and has already been too long delayed."

"Too long delayed?"

"Yes, it has waited twelve years."

"I don't understand you, sir," said the Squire.

"Perhaps I can assist you. You know me as Henry Morton. That is not my real name. My real name is Richard Waring."

Squire Haynes started violently, and scrutinized the young man closely through his spectacles. His vague suspicions were confirmed.

"Do you wish to know my business with you?"

The Squire muttered something inaudible.

"I demand the restitution of the large sum of money intrusted to you by my father, just before his departure to the West Indies,--a sum of which you have been the wrongful possessor for twelve years."

"Unless you comply with my demand I shall proceed against you legally."

"Pooh, pooh! Your threats won't avail you," said the Squire, contemptuously.

"Do you doubt my identity?"

"You may very probably be the person you claim to be, but that won't save you."

"Very well. You have conceded one important point."

He walked quietly to the door of the adjoining room, opened it, and in a distant voice called "James Travers."

At the sound of his name, Squire Haynes sank into a chair, ashy pale.

A man, not over forty, but with seamed face, hair nearly white, and a form evidently broken with ill health, slowly entered.

Squire Haynes beheld him with dismay.

"You see before you. Squire Haynes, a man whose silence has been your safeguard for the last twelve years. His lips are now unsealed. James Travers, tell us what you know of the trust reposed in this man, by my father."

"No, no," said the Squire, hurriedly. "It--it is enough. I will make restitution."

"You have done wisely," said Richard Waring. (We must give him his true name.) "When will you be ready to meet me upon this business?"

"To-morrow," muttered the Squire.

He left the house with the air of one who had been crushed by a sudden blow.

Numerous and hearty were the congratulations which Mr. Morton (I mean Mr. Waring) received upon his new accession of property.

"I do not care so much for that," he said; "but my father's word has been vindicated. My mind is now at peace."

There was more than one happy heart at the farm that night. Mr. Waring had accomplished the great object of his life; and as for Frank and his mother, they felt the black cloud which had menaced their happiness had been removed, and henceforth there seemed prosperous days in store. To cap the climax of their happiness, the afternoon mail brought a letter from Mr. Frost, in which he imparted intelligence that he had been promoted to a second lieutenancy.

"Mother," said Frank, "you must be very dignified now. You are an officer's wife."

CHAPTER XX

CONCLUSION

The restitution which Squire Haynes was compelled to make, stripped him of more than half his property. His mortification and chagrin were so great that he determined to remove from Rossville. He gave no intimation where he was going; but it is understood that he is now living in the vicinity of Philadelphia, in a much more modest way than at Rossville.

The Squire's handsome house in Rossville was purchased by Henry Morton. He has not yet taken up his residence there, but there is reason to believe that ere long there will be a Mrs. Morton, to keep him company therein.

Not long since, as he and Frank lay stretched out beneath a thick branching oak in the front-yard at the farm, Mr. Morton turned to our hero and said, "Are you meaning to go to college when your father comes home, Frank?"

"I have always looked forward to it," he said, "but lately I have been thinking that I shall have to give up the idea."

"Why so?"

"Because it is so expensive that my father cannot, in justice to his other children, support me through a four years' course. Besides you know, Mr. Morton, we are four hundred dollars in your debt."

"Should you like very much to go to college?"

"Better than anything else in the world."

"Then you shall go. I will defray your expenses through college."

Frank could hardly believe his ears.

"How good you are to me," said Frank, impulsively seizing his friend's hand. "What have I done to deserve so much kindness?"

"You have done your duty, Frank, at the sacrifice of your inclinations. I think you ought to be rewarded. God has bestowed upon me more than I need. I think he intends that I shall become his almoner. If you desire to express your gratitude, you best do it by improving the advantages which will be opened to you."

Frank hastened to his mother to communicate his brilliant prospects. Her joy was scarcely less than his.

"Do not forget, Frank," she said, "who it is that has raised up this friend for you. Give Him the thanks."

Before closing my chronicle, I must satisfy the curiosity of my readers upon a few points in which they may feel interested.

The Rossville Guards are still in existence, and Frank is still their Captain. They have already done escort duty on several occasions, and once they visited Boston, and marched up State Street with a precision of step which would have done no discredit to veteran soldiers.

While I am writing these lines intelligence has just been received from Frank's substitute at the seat of war. He has just been promoted to a captaincy. In communicating this he adds: "You may tell Frank that I am now his equal in rank, though his commission bears an earlier date. I suppose therefore I must content myself with being Captain Frost, Jr. I shall be very glad when the necessities of the country will permit me to lay aside the insignia of rank, and returning to Rossville, subside into plain Henry Frost again. If you ask me when this is to be, I can only say that it depends on the length of our struggle. I am enlisted for the war, and I mean to see it through! Till that time Frank must content himself with acting as my substitute at home. I am so well pleased with his management of the farm, that I am convinced it is doing as well as if I were at home to superintend it in person. Express to Mr. Waring my gratitude for the generous proposal he has made to Frank. I feel that words are inadequate to express the extent of our obligations to him."


Some years have passed since the above letter was written. The war is happily over, and Captain Frost has returned home with an honorable record of service. Released from duty at home, Frank has exchanged the farm for the college hall; and he is now approaching graduation, one of the foremost scholars in his class. He bids fair to carry out the promise of his boyhood, and in the more varied and prolonged Campaign which manhood opens before him we have reason to believe that he will display equal fidelity and gain an equal success.

THE END