Frank's Campaign, or, Farm and Camp, by Horatio Alger

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Title: Frank's Campaign or the Farm and the Camp

Author: Horatio Alger, Jr.

Release Date: Dec, 1998  [EBook #1573]
[Most recently updated: March 24, 2002]

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FRANK'S CAMPAIGN OR THE FARM AND THE CAMP

By HORATIO ALGER, JR.




FRANK'S CAMPAIGN


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. Rossville
is not large enough to sustain a course of lyceum lectures, and
the townspeople are obliged to depend for intellectual nutriment
upon such chance occasions as these. The majority of the
inhabitants being engaged in agricultural pursuits, the
population is somewhat scattered, and the houses, with the
exception of a few grouped around the stores, stand at
respectable distances, each encamped on a farm of its own.

One Wednesday afternoon, toward 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 and inside the village store and postoffice.

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 toward 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 Hon. Solomon Stoddard is expected to address the meeting.

Come one, come all.


At the appointed hour 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. Abraham 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."

A quiet smile played over the face of one of the listeners. With
a slight shade of irony in his voice he said, "If such are your
convictions, Mr. Holman, I think it a great pity that you are not
in the service. We need those who have clear views of what is
required in the present emergency. Don't you intend to
volunteer?"

"I!" exclaimed the other with lofty scorn. "No, sir; I wash my
hands of the whole matter. I ain't clear about the justice of
warring upon our erring brethren at all. I have no doubt they
would be inclined to accept overtures of peace if accompanied
with suitable concessions. Still, if war must be waged, I believe
I could manage matters infinitely better than Lincoln and his
cabinet have done."

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

"Ahem!" said Mr. Holman, a little suspiciously.

"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."

The buzz of voices died away; and all eyes were turned toward the
speaker's stand.

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

"I nominate Doctor 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. My professional engagements have not often
allowed me to take part in the meetings which from time to time
you have held in this hall. On the present occasion, however, I
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. The same consideration will not suffer me
to decline the unexpected responsibility which you have devolved
upon me. Before proceeding farther, I would suggest that a clerk
will be needed to complete the organization."

A young man was nominated and elected without opposition.

Doctor Plunkett again addressed the meeting: "It is hardly
necessary," he said, "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 cooperation. 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. I had hoped the Honorable Solomon Stoddard
would be here to address you; but I regret to learn that a
temporary illness will prevent his doing so. I trust that those
present will not be backward in expressing their opinions."

Mr. Holman was already on his feet. His speech consisted of
disconnected remarks on the general conduct of the war, mingled
with severe denunciation of the Administration.

He had spoken for fifteen minutes in this strain, when the
chairman interfered----

"Your remarks are out of order, Mr. Holman. They are entirely
irrelevant to the question."

Holman wiped his cadaverous features with a red silk
pocket-handkerchief, and inquired, sarcastically, "Am I to
understand that freedom of speech is interdicted in this hall?"

"Freedom of speech is in order," said the chairman calmly,
"provided the speaker confines himself to the question under
discussion. You have spoken fifteen minutes without once touching
it."

"I suppose you want me to praise the Administration," said
Holman, evidently thinking that he had demolished the chairman.
He looked around to observe what effect his shot had produced.

"That would be equally out of order," ruled the presiding
officer. "We have not assembled to praise or to censure the
Administration, but to consider in what manner we shall go to
work to raise our quota."

Holman sat down with the air of a martyr.

Mr. Frost rose next. 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 account 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."

Here Mr. Holman moved uneasily in his seat, and seemed on the
point of interrupting the speaker, but for some reason forbore.

"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. When I propose that you should lighten that
sacrifice so far as it lies in your power, by voting them a
bounty, it is because I consider that money will compensate them
for the privations they must encounter and the perils they will
incur. For that, they must look to the satisfaction that will
arise from the feeling that they have responded to their
country's call, and done something to save from ruin the
institutions which our fathers transmitted as a sacred trust to
their descendants. 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 out, root and branch!"

Mr. Frost could not read the thoughts that were passing through
the mind of his creditor. They might have given him a feeling of
uneasiness, but would not in the least have influenced his
action. He was a man loyal to his own convictions of duty, and no
apprehension of personal loss would have prevented his speaking
in accordance with what he felt to be right.

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. A large part of his success was
due to his ability in making the ordinary lessons of the
schoolroom interesting to his scholars.

Some forty students attended the academy, mostly from the town of
Rossville. Mr. Rathburn, however, received a few boarders into
his family.

There were three classes in the Latin language; but the majority
of those who had taken it up stopped short before they had gone
beyond the Latin Reader. One class, however, had commenced
reading the Aeneid of Virgil, and was intending to pursue the
full course of preparation for college; though .n regard to one
member of the class there was some doubt whether he would be able
to enter college. As this boy is to be our hero we will take a
closer look at him.

Frank Frost is at this time in his sixteenth year. He is about
the medium size, compactly made, and the heallhful color in his
cheeks is good evidence that he is not pursuing his studies at
the expense of his health. He has dark chestnut hair, with a
slight wave, and is altogether a fine-looking boy.

At a 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. His
manner is full of pretension. He never forgets that his father is
the richest man in town, and can afford to give him advantages
superior to those possessed by his schoolfellows. He has a
moderate share of ability but is disinclined to work hard. His
affectation of Superiority makes him as unpopular among his
schoolfellows as Frank is popular.

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. He comes
from a town ten miles distant, and boards with the principal. 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;
but he is resolved at least to prepare for college, feeling that even
this will constitute a very respectable education.

The reader is introduced to the main schoolroom of the Rossville
Academy on the morning of the day of 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, instead of
calling up the first class at once, paused a moment, and 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."

During this address, John Haynes looked about him with an air of
complacency and importance.  He felt little doubt that his own essay
on the "Military Genius of Napoleon" would win the prize.  He did not
so much care for this, except for the credit it would give him.  But
his father, who was ambitious for him, had promised him twenty-five
dollars if he succeeded, and he had already appropriated this sum in
imagination.  He had determined to invest it in a handsome boat which
he had seen for sale in Boston on his last visit to that city.

"After careful consideration," continued the teacher, "I have decided
that the prize should be adjudged to an essay entitled 'The Duties of
Boys on 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 in feeling 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 Poem's in blue and gold.

"Let this serve as an incentive to renewed effort," he said.

The second prize was awarded to one of the girls. As she has no
part in our story, we need say nothing more on this point.

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. "You only say that because you wanted the prize
yourself, and you're disappointed."

"Disappointed!" retorted John scornfully. "I don't want any of
old Rathburn's sixpenny books. I can buy as many as I please. If
he'd given 'em to me, I should have asked him to keep 'em for
those who needed 'em more."

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. He
put the two books carefully away in his desk, and settled himself
quietly to his day's lessons.

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.

"So much the worse for you," said his father coldly. "You might
have gained it if you had made an effort."

"No, I couldn't. Rathburn was sure to give it to his favorite."

"And who is his favorite?" questioned Squire Haynes, not yet
siding with his son.

"Frank Frost, to be sure."

"Frank Frost!" repeated the squire, rapidly wheeling round to his
son's view of the matter. His dislike of the father was so great
that it readily included the son. "What makes you think he is the
teacher's favorite?"

"Oh, Rathburn is always praising him for something or other. All
the boys know Frank Frost is his pet. You won't catch him
praising me, if I work ever so hard."

John did not choose to mention that he had not yet tried this
method of securing the teacher's approval.

"Teachers should never have favorites," said the squire
dogmatically. "It is highly detrimental to a teacher's influence,
and subversive of the principles of justice. 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 sha'n'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. He
began to hope that he might get the boat after all.

The squire, in dressing-gown and slippers, sat in a comfortable
armchair, 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 sha'n'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?"

"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."

"Plain binding, I suppose."

"Yes, sir."

"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. "Oh, thank you, sir!" he said.
"I wouldn't change places with Frank Frost now for all his
prize."

"I should think not, indeed," said the squire pompously. "Your
position as the son of a poor farmer wouldn't be quite so high as
it is now."

As he spoke he glanced complacently at the handsome furniture
which surrounded him, the choice engravings which hung on the
walls, and the full-length mirror in which his figure was
reflected. "Ten years from now Frank Frost will be only a common
laborer on his father's farm--that is," he added significantly,
"if his father manages to keep it; while you, I hope, will be
winning distinction at the bar."

Father and son were in a congenial mood that evening, and a
common hatred drew them more closely together than mutual
affection had ever done. They were very much alike--both cold,
calculating, and selfish. The squire was indeed ambitious for his
son, but could hardly be said to love him, since he was incapable
of feeling a hearty love for any one except himself.

As for John, it is to be feared that he regarded his father
chiefly as one from whom he might expect future favors. His
mother had been a good, though not a strong-minded woman, and her
influence might have been of advantage to her son; but unhappily
she had died when John was in his tenth year, and since then he
had become too much like his father.



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.

The farmhouse was small but comfortable, and the family had never
been tempted to sigh for a more costly or luxurious home. They
were happy and contented, and this made their home attractive.

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 center 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. "It must cost you a sight of money. As
for me, I only take a weekly paper, and I think I shall have to
give that up soon."

"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."

"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. So even in a
money way I was paid for my subscription. No, neighbor, though I
have good reason to economize, I don't care to economize in that
direction. I want my children to grow up intelligent citizens.
Let me advise you, instead of stopping your only paper, to
subscribe for two or three more."

"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. It does you great credit. I hope none
were envious of your success."

"Most of the boys seemed glad of it," was the reply; "but 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. However, we must
remember that his home influences haven't been the best. His
mother's death was unfortunate for him."

"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 a 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."

"And how did the town vote?"

"They sustained my proposition, much to the squire's indignation.
He doesn't seem to feel that any sacrifices ought to be expected
of him."

"What is the prospect of obtaining the men, father?"

"Four have already enlisted, but twenty-one are still required. I
fear there will be some difficulty in obtaining the full number.
In a farming town like ours the young men are apt to go off to
other places as soon as they are old enough; so that the lot must
fall upon some who have families."

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 awhile, "why I wish you
were older. You could take my place on the farm, and leave me
free to enlist. I should have no hesitation in going. I have not
forgotten that my grandfather fought at Bunker Hill."

"I know, father," said Frank, nodding; "and that's his musket
that hangs up in your room, isn't it?"

"Yes; it was his faithful companion for three years. I often
think with pride of his services. I have been trying to think all
day whether I couldn't make some arrangement to have the farm
carried on in my absence; but it is very hard to obtain a person
in whom I could confide."

"If I were as good a manager as some," said Mrs. Frost, with a
smile, "I would offer to be your farmer; but I am afraid that,
though my intentions would be the best, things would go on badly
under my administration."

"You have enough to do in the house, Mary," said her husband. "I
should not wish you to undertake the additional responsibility,
even if you were thoroughly competent. I am afraid I shall have
to give up the idea of going."

Mr. Frost took up the evening paper. Frank continued to look
thoughtfully into the fire, as if revolving 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. A plan had occurred to him,
and he was considering its feasibility.

"I think I could do it," he said, at last, turning over and
composing himself to sleep. "I'll speak to father the first thing
to-morrow morning."



CHAPTER IV. FRANK MAKES A PROPOSITION

When Frank woke the next morning the sun was shining into his
window. He rubbed his eyes and tried to think what it was that
occupied his mind the night before. It came to him in a moment,
and jumping out of bed, he dressed himself with unusual
expedition.

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," his mother
answered. "You can have your breakfast now, if you are in a hurry
to get to studying."

"Never mind, just now, mother," returned Frank. "I want to speak
to father about something."

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.

"Is breakfast ready?" asked Mr. Frost, looking up. "Tell your
mother she needn't wait for me."

"It isn't ready yet," said Frank. "I came out because I want to
speak to you about something very particular."

"Very well, Frank, Go on."

"But if you don't think it a good plan, or think that I am
foolish in speaking of it, don't say anything to anybody."

Mr. Frost looked at Frank in some little curiosity.

"Perhaps," he said, smiling, "like our neighbor Holman, you have
formed a plan for bringing the war to a close."

Frank laughed. "I am not quite so presumptuous," he said. "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?" asked Frank eagerly.

"Why, you are only fifteen, Frank," returned his father, in
surprise.

"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."

"And, of course, that will put you back; your class-mates will
get in advance of you."

"I have thought of that, father, and I shall be very sorry for
it. But I think that is one reason why I desire the plan."

"I don't understand you, Frank," said his father, a little
puzzled.

"You see, 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," said his father approvingly.
"That's the way my grandfather felt and acted, and it's the way I
like to see my son feel. So it would be a great sacrifice to me
to leave you all."

"And to us to be parted from you, father," said Frank.

"I have no doubt of it, my dear boy," said his father kindly. "We
have always been a happy and united family, and, please God, we
always shall be. But this plan of yours requires consideration. I
will talk it over with your mother and Mr. Maynard, and will then
come to a decision."

"I was afraid you would laugh at me," said Frank.

"No," said his father, "it was a noble thought, and does you
credit. I shall feel that, whatever course I may think it wisest
to adopt."

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 toward the house.

"Move the milking:-stool, Frank," he said, looking behind him,
"or the cow will kick it over."

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, looking up inquiringly.

"Some one 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, with strong interest.

"A gentleman with whom you are well--I may say intimately
acquainted," was the smiling response.

"It isn't Mr. Maynard?"

"No. It is some one that lives nearer than he."

"How can that be? He is our nearest neighbor."

"Then you can't guess?"

"No. I am quite mystified."

"Suppose I should say that it is your oldest son?"

"What, Frank?" exclaimed Mrs. Frost, turning from her husband to
her son, whose flushed face indicated how anxious he was about
his mother's favorable opinion.

"You have hit it."

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

"Ask father."

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

"But what does Frank know about farming?"

"I asked him that question myself. He admitted that he didn't
know much at present, but thought that, with Mr. Maynard's
advice, he might get along."

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 before studying his
Latin lesson, read over thoughtfully the following passage in his
prize essay on "The Duties of American Boys at the Present
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, toward putting
it down."

Frank put his essay carefully away in a bureau drawer in which he
kept his clothes, and, spreading open his Latin lexicon,
proceeded to prepare his lesson in the third book of Virgil's
Aeneid.



CHAPTER V. MR. RATHBURN MAKES A SPEECH

Frank's seat in the schoolroom was directly in front of that
occupied by John Haynes. Until the announcement of the prize John
and he had been on friendly terms. They belonged to the same
class in Latin, and Frank had often helped his classmate through
a difficult passage which he had not the patience to construe for
himself. Now, however, a coolness grew up between them,
originating with John. He felt envious of Frank's success; and
this feeling brought with it a certain bitterness which found
gratification in anything which he had reason to suppose would
annoy Frank.

On the morning succeeding the distribution of the prizes, Frank
arrived at the schoolhouse a few minutes before the bell rang.
John, with half a dozen other boys, stood near the door.

John took off his hat with mock deference. "Make way for the
great prize essayist, gentlemen!" he said. "The modern Macaulay
is approaching."

Frank colored with annoyance. John did not fail to notice this
with pleasure. He was sorry, however, that none of the other boys
seemed inclined to join in the demonstration. In fact, they liked
Frank much the better of the two.

"That isn't quite fair, John," said Frank, in a low voice.

"I am always glad to pay my homage to distinguished talent," John
proceeded, in the same tone. "I feel how presumptuous I was in
venturing to compete with a gentleman of such genius!"

"Do you mean to insult me?" asked Frank, growing angry.

"Oh, dear, no! I am only expressing my high opinion of your
talents!"

"Let him alone, John!" said Dick Jones, "It isn't his fault that
the teacher awarded the prize to him instead of you."

"I hope you don't think I care for that!" said John, snapping his
fingers. "He's welcome to his rubbishing books; they don't amount
to much, anyway. I don't believe they cost more than two dollars
at the most. If you'd like to see what I got for my essay, I'll
show you."

John pulled out his portemonnaie, and unrolled three new and
crisp bank-notes of ten dollars each.

"I think that's pretty good pay," he said, looking about him
triumphantly. "I don't care how many prizes Rathburn chooses to
give his favorite. I rather think I can get along without them."

John's face was turned toward the door, otherwise he would have
observed the approach of the teacher, and spoken with more
caution. But it was too late. The words had been spoken above his
ordinary voice, and were distinctly heard by the teacher. He
looked sharply at John Haynes, whose glance fell before his, but
without a word passed into the schoolroom.

"See if you don't get a blowing-up, John," said Dick Jones.

"What do I care!" said John, but in a tone too subdued to be
heard by any one else. "It won't do Rathburn any harm to hear the
truth for once in his life."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not in your place, that's all!" replied Dick.

"You're easily frightened!" rejoined John, with a sneer.

Nevertheless, as he entered the schoolroom, and walked with
assumed bravado to his seat in the back part of the room, he did
not feel quite so comfortable as he strove to appear. As he
glanced stealthily at the face of the teacher, who looked
unusually stern and grave, he could not help thinking, "I wonder
whether he will say anything about it."

Mr. Rathburn commenced in the usual manner; but after the
devotional exercises were over, he paused, and, after a brief
silence, during which those who had heard John's words listened
with earnest attention, spoke as follows:

"As I approached the schoolroom this morning I chanced to catch
some words which I presume were not intended for my ear. If I
remember rightly they were, 'I don't care how many prizes
Rathburn gives his favorite!' There were several that heard them,
so that I can be easily corrected if I have made any mistake. Now
I will not affect to misunderstand the charge conveyed by these
words. I am accused of assigning the prizes, or at least, one of
them, yesterday, not with strict regard to the merit of the
essays presented, but under the influence of partiality. If this
is the real feeling of the speaker, I can only say that I am
sorry he should have so low an opinion of me. I do not believe
the scholars generally entertain any such suspicion. Though I may
err in judgment, I think that most of you will not charge me with
anything more serious. If you ask me whether a teacher has
favorites, I say that he cannot help having them. He cannot help
making a difference between the studious on the one hand, and the
indolent and neglectful on the other. But in a matter like this I
ask you to believe me when I say that no consideration except
that of merit is permitted to weigh. The boy who made this charge
is one of my most advanced scholars, and has no reason to believe
that he would be treated with unfairness. I do not choose to say
any more on this subject, except that I have decided to offer two
similar prizes for the two best compositions submitted within the
next four weeks. I shall assign them to the best of my judgment,
without regard to the scholarship of the writer."

Mr. Rathburn spoke in a quiet, dignified manner, which convinced
all who heard him of his fairness. I say all, because even John
Haynes was persuaded against his own will, though he did not
choose to acknowledge it. He had a dogged obstinacy which would
not allow him to retract what he had once said. There was an
unpleasant sneer on his face while the teacher was speaking,
which he did not attempt to conceal.

"The class in Virgil," called Mr. Rathburn.

This class consisted of Frank Frost, John Haynes, and Henry
Tufts. John rose slowly from his seat, and advanced to the usual
place, taking care to stand as far from Frank as possible.

"You may commence, John," said the teacher.

It was unfortunate for John that he had been occupied, first, by
thoughts of his rejected essay, and afterward by thoughts of the
boat which he proposed to buy with the thirty dollars of which he
had become possessed, so that he had found very little time to
devote to his Latin. Had he been on good terms with Frank, he
would have asked him to read over the lesson, which, as he was
naturally quick, would have enabled him to get off passably. But,
of course, under the circumstances, this was not to be thought
of. So he stumbled through two or three sentences, in an
embarrassed manner. Mr. Rathburn at first helped him along.
Finding, however, that he knew little or nothing of the lesson,
he quietly requested Frank to read, saying, "You don't seem so
well prepared as usual, John."

Frank translated fluently and well, his recitation forming a very
favorable contrast to the slipshod attempt of John. This John, in
a spirit of unreasonableness, magnified into a grave offense, and
a desire to "show off" at his expense.

"Trying to shine at my expense," he muttered. "Well, let him! Two
or three years hence, when I am in college, perhaps things may be
a little different."

Frank noticed his repellent look, and it made him feel
uncomfortable. He was a warm-hearted boy, and wanted to be on
good terms with everybody. Still, he could not help feeling that
in the present instance he had nothing to reproach himself with.

John went back to his seat feeling an increased irritation
against Frank. He could not help seeing that he was more popular
with his schoolmates than himself, and, of course, this, too, he
considered a just cause of offense against him.

While he was considering in what way he could slight Frank, the
thought of the boat he was about to purchase entered his mind. He
brightened up at once, for this suggested something. He knew how
much boys like going out upon the water. At present there was no
boat on the pond. His would hold six or eight boys readily. He
would invite some of the oldest boys to accompany him on his
first trip, carefully omitting Frank Frost. The slight would be
still more pointed because Frank was his classmate.

When the bell rang for recess he lost no time in carrying out the
scheme he had thought of.

"Dick," he called out to Dick Jones, "I am expecting my boat up
from Boston next Tuesday, and I mean to go out in her Wednesday
afternoon. Wouldn't you like to go with me?"

"With all the pleasure in life," said Dick, "and thank you for
the invitation."

"How many will she hold?"

"Eight or ten, I expect. Bob Ingalls, would you like to go, too?"

The invitation was eagerly accepted. John next approached Henry
Tufts, who was speaking with Frank Frost.

Without even looking at the latter, he asked Henry if he would
like to go.

"Very much," was the reply.

"Then I will expect you," he said. He turned on his heel and
walked off without taking any notice of Frank.

Frank blushed in spite of himself.

"Don't he mean to invite you?" asked Henry, in surprise.

"It appears not," said Frank.

"It's mean in him, then," exclaimed Henry; "I declare, I've a
great mind not to go."

"I hope you will go," said Frank hastily. "You will enjoy it.
Promise me you will go."

"Would you really prefer to have me?"

"I should be very sorry if you didn't."

"Then I'll go; but I think he's mean in not asking you, for all
that."



CHAPTER VI. MR. FROST MAKES UP HIS MIND

"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, dropping his knife and fork in
his eagerness.

"After he had thought a little, he spoke of it favorably. He said
that, being too old to go himself, he should be glad to do
anything in his power to facilitate my going, if I thought it my
duty to do so."

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

"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, who is seeking a situation as farm
laborer."

"Is it anybody in this town?" asked Frank.

"No, it is 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!" exclaimed Frank and his mother in
concert.

"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, in a questioning tone.

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

Frank looked pleased. It made him feel that he was really of some
importance. Boys, unless they are incorrigibly idle, are glad to
be placed in posts of responsibility. Frank, though very modest,
felt within himself unused powers and undeveloped capacities,
which he knew must be called out by the unusual circumstances in
which he would be placed. The thought, too, that he would be
serving his country, even at home, filled him with satisfaction.

After a pause, Mr. Frost said: "There is one point on which I
still have some doubts. As you are all equally interested with
myself, 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 toward 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."

"As if that sum would pay a man for leaving his home and
incurring the terrible risks of war!" exclaimed Mrs. Frost,
looking indignant.

"Very likely he did not believe it himself; but he was irritated
with me, and it is his habit to impute unworthy motives to those
with whom he differs. Aside from this, however, 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 promptly.

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

"Don't decide too hastily," said Mr. Frost. "Remember that in our
circumstances this amount of money would be very useful. Although
Frank will do as well as any boy of his age, I do not expect him
to make the farm as profitable as I should do, partly on account
of my experience being greater, and partly because I should be
able to accomplish more work than he. 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? Besides, I shall know that the
comforts at the camp must be fewer than you would enjoy at home.
We shall not wish to fare so much better than you."

"Do you think with your mother, Frank?" asked Mr. Frost.

"I think mother is right," said Frank, proud of having his
opinion asked. He was secretly determined, in spite of what his
father had said, to see if he could not make the farm as
profitable as it would be under his father's management.

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."

"Hadn't I better leave school at once?"

"You may finish this week out. However, I may as well begin my
instructions without delay. I believe you have never learned to
milk."

"No, sir."

"Probably Carter will undertake that. Still, it will be desirable
that you should know how, in case he gets sick. You may come out
with me after supper and take your first lesson."

Frank ran for his hat with alacrity. This seemed like beginning
in earnest. He accompanied his father to the barn, and looked
with new interest at the four cows constituting his father's
stock.

"I think we will begin with this one," said his father, pointing
to a red-and-white heifer. "She is better-natured than the
others, and, as I dare say your fingers will bungle a little at
first, that is a point to be considered."

If any of my boy readers has ever undertaken the task of milking
for the first time, he will appreciate Frank's difficulties. When
he had seen his father milking, it seemed to him extremely easy.
The milk poured out in rich streams, almost without an effort.
But under his inexperienced fingers none came. He tugged away
manfully, but with no result.

"I guess the cow's dry," said he at last, looking up in his
father's face.

Mr. Frost in reply drew out a copious stream.

"I did the same as you," said Frank, mystified, "and none came."

"You didn't take hold right," said his father, "and you pressed
at the wrong time. Let me show you."

Before the first lesson was over Frank had advanced a little in
the art of milking, and it may as well be said here that in the
course of a week or so he became a fair proficient, so that his
father even allowed him to try Vixen, a cow who had received this
name from the uncertainty of her temper. She had more than once
upset the pail with a spiteful kick when it was nearly full. One
morning she upset not only the pail, but Frank, who looked
foolish enough as he got up covered with milk.

Frank also commenced reading the Plowman, a weekly agricultural
paper which his father had taken for years. Until now he had
confined his readings in it to the selected story on the fourth
page. Now, with an object in view, he read carefully other parts
of the paper. He did this not merely in the first flush of
enthusiasm, but with the steady purpose of qualifying himself to
take his father's place.

"Frank is an uncommon boy," said Mr. Frost to his wife, not
without feelings of pride, one night, when our hero had retired
to bed. "I would trust him with the farm sooner than many who are
half a dozen years older."



CHAPTER VII. 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, laying down a copy of
the New York Herald, which he had been reading.

"Who do you think has enlisted?"

"I do not choose to guess," said his father coldly. "If you feel
disposed to tell me, you may do so.

John looked somewhat offended at his father's tone, but he was
anxious to tell the news. "Frost's going to enlist," he said
shortly.

"Indeed!" said the squire, with interest. "How did you hear?"

"I heard him say so himself, just now, in the store."

"I expected it," said Squire Haynes, with a sneer. "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 jackanapes 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."

"Oh, he thinks everything of Frank," said John bitterly. "He'll
be nominating him for representative next."

The squire winced a little. He had been ambitious to represent
the town in the legislature, and after considerable wire-pulling
had succeeded in obtaining the nomination the year previous. But
it is one thing to be nominated and another to be elected. So the
squire had found, to his cost. He had barely obtained fifty
votes, while his opponent had been elected by a vote of a hundred
and fifty. All allusions, therefore, recalling his mortifying
defeat were disagreeable to him.

"On the whole, I don't know but I'm satisfied," he said,
recurring to the intelligence John had brought. "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 got talent for something better
than that, I should hope."

"No," said the squire, "I have other news 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 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 sha'n'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 intentions of the wicked may be
frustrated.



CHAPTER VIII. DISCOURAGED AND ENCOURAGED

In a small village like Rossville news flies fast. Even the
distinctions of social life do not hinder an interest being felt
in the affairs of each individual. Hence it was that Mr. Frost's
determination to enlist became speedily known, and various were
the comments made upon his plan of leaving Frank in charge of the
farm. That they were not all favorable may be readily believed.
Country people are apt to criticize the proceedings of their
neighbors with a greater degree of freedom than is common
elsewhere.

As Frank was on his way to school on Saturday morning, his name
was called by Mrs. Roxana Mason, who stood in the doorway of a
small yellow house fronting on the main street.

"Good morning, Mrs. Mason," said Frank politely, advancing to the
gate in answer to her call.

"Is it true what I've heard about your father's going to the war,
Frank Frost?" she commenced

"Yes, Mrs. Mason; he feels it his duty to go."

"And what's to become of the farm? Anybody hired it?"

"I am going to take charge of it," said Frank modestly.

"You!" exclaimed Mrs. Roxana, lifting both hands in amazement;
"why, you're nothing but a baby!"

"I'm a baby of fifteen," said Frank good-humoredly, though his
courage was a little dampened by her tone.

"What do you know about farming?" inquired the lady, in a
contemptuous manner. "Your father must be crazy!"

"I shall do my best, Mrs. Mason," said Frank quietly, but with
heightened color. "My father is willing to trust me; and as I
shall have Mr. Maynard to look to for advice, I think I can get
along."

"The idea of putting a boy like you over a farm!" returned Mrs.
Roxana, in an uncompromising tone. "I did think your father had
more sense. It's the most shiftless thing I ever knew him to do.
How does your poor mother feel about it?"

"She doesn't seem as much disturbed about it as you do, Mrs.
Mason," said Frank, rather impatiently; for he felt that Mrs.
Mason had no right to interfere in his father's arrangements.

"Well, well, we'll see!" said Mrs. Roxana, shaking her head
significantly. "If you'll look in your Bible, you'll read about
'the haughty spirit that goes before a fall.' I'm sure I wish you
well enough. I hope that things'll turn out better'n they're like
to. Tell your mother I'll come over before long and talk with her
about it."

Frank inwardly hoped that Mrs. Roxana wouldn't put herself to any
trouble to call, but politeness taught him to be silent.

Leaving Mrs. Mason's gate, he kept on his way to school, but had
hardly gone half a dozen rods before he met an old lady, whose
benevolent face indicated a very different disposition from that
of the lady he had just parted with.

"Good morning, Mrs. Chester," said Frank cordially, recognizing
one of his mother's oldest friends.

"Good morning, my dear boy," was the reply. "I hear your father
is going to the war."

"Yes," said Frank, a little nervously, not knowing but Mrs.
Chester would view the matter in the same way as Mrs. Mason,
though he felt sure she would express herself less disagreeably.

"And I hear that you are going to try to make his place good at
home."

"I don't expect to make his place good, Mrs. Chester," said Frank
modestly, "but I shall do as well as I can."

"I have no doubt of it, my dear boy," said the old lady kindly.
"You can do a great deal, too. You can help your mother by
looking out for your brothers and sisters, as well as supplying
your father's place on the farm."

"I am glad you think I can make myself useful," said Frank,
feeling relieved. "Mrs. Mason has just been telling me that I am
not fit for the charge, and that discouraged me a little."

"It's a great responsibility, no doubt, to come on one so young,"
said the old lady, "but it's of God's appointment. He will
strengthen your hands, if you will only ask Him. If you humbly
seek His guidance and assistance, you need not fear to fail."

"Yes," said Frank soberly, "that's what I mean to do."

"Then you will feel that you are in the path of duty. You'll be
serving your country just as much as if you went yourself."

"That's just the way I feel, Mrs. Chester," exclaimed Frank
eagerly. "I want to do something for my country."

"You remind me of my oldest brother," said the old lady
thoughtfully. "He was left pretty much as you are. It was about
the middle of the Revolutionary war, and the army needed
recruits. My father hesitated, for he had a small family
depending on him for support. I was only two years old at the
time, and there were three of us. Finally my brother James, who
was just about your age, told my father that he would do all he
could to support the family, and father concluded to go. We
didn't have a farm, for father was a carpenter. My brother worked
for neighboring farmers, receiving his pay in corn and
vegetables, and picked up what odd jobs he could. Then mother was
able to do something; so we managed after a fashion. There were
times when we were brought pretty close to the wall, but God
carried us through. And by and by father came safely home, and I
don't think he ever regretted having left us. After awhile the
good news of peace came, and he felt that he had been abundantly
repaid for all the sacrifices he had made in the good cause."

Frank listened to this narrative with great interest. It yielded
him no little encouragement to know that another boy, placed in
similar circumstances, had succeeded, and he just felt that he
would have very much less to contend against than the brother of
whom Mrs. Chester spoke

"Thank you for telling me about your brother Mrs. Chester," he
said. "It makes me feel more as if things would turn out well.
Won't you come over soon and see us? Mother is always glad to see
you."

"Thank you, Frank; I shall certainly do so. I hope I shall not
make you late to school."

"Oh, no; I started half an hour early this morning."

Frank had hardly left Mrs. Chester when he heard a quick step
behind him. Turning round, he perceived that it was Mr. Rathburn,
his teacher.

"I hurried to come up with you, Frank," he said, smiling. "I
understand that I am to lose you from school."

"Yes, sir," answered Frank. "I am very sorry to leave, for I am
very much interested in my studies; but I suppose, sir, you have
heard what calls me away."

"Your father has made up his mind to enlist."

"Yes, sir."

"And you are to superintend the farm in his absence?"

"Yes, sir. I hope you do not think me presumptuous in undertaking
such a responsibility?"

He looked up eagerly into Mr. Rathburn's face, for he had a great
respect for his judgment. But he saw nothing to discourage him.
On the contrary, he read cordial sympathy and approval.

"Far from it," answered the teacher, with emphasis. "I think you
deserving of great commendation, especially if, as I have heard,
the plan originated with you, and was by you suggested to your
father."

"Yes, sir."

The teacher held out his hand kindly. "It was only what I should
have expected of you," he said. "I have not forgotten your essay.
I am glad to see that you not only have right ideas of duty, but
have, what is rarer, the courage and self-denial to put them in
practice."

These words gave Frank much pleasure, and his face lighted up.

"Shall you feel obliged to give up your studies entirely?" asked
his teacher.

"I think I shall be able to study some in the evening."

"If I can be of any assistance to you in any way, don't hesitate
to apply. If you should find any stumbling-blocks in your
lessons, I may be able to help you over them."

By this time they had come within sight of the schoolhouse.

"There comes the young farmer," said John Haynes, in a tone which
was only subdued lest the teacher should hear him, for he had no
disposition to incur another public rebuke.

A few minutes later, when Frank was quietly seated at his desk, a
paper was thrown from behind, lighting upon his Virgil, which lay
open before him. There appeared to be writing upon it, and with
some curiosity he opened and read the following:

"What's the price of turnips?"

It was quite unnecessary to inquire into the authorship. He felt
confident it was written by John Haynes. The latter, of course,
intended it as an insult, but Frank did not feel much disturbed.
As long as his conduct was approved by such persons as his
teacher and Mrs. Chester, he felt he could safely disregard the
taunts and criticisms of others. He therefore quietly let the
paper drop to the floor, and kept on with his lesson.

John Haynes perceived that he had failed in his benevolent
purpose of disturbing Frank's tranquillity, and this, I am sorry
to say, only increased the dislike he felt for him. Nothing is so
unreasonable as anger, nothing so hard to appease. John even felt
disposed to regard as an insult the disposition which Frank had
made of his insulting query.

"The young clodhopper's on his dignity," he muttered to himself.
"Well, wait a few months, and see if he won't sing a different
tune."

Just then John's class was called up, and his dislike to Frank
was not diminished by the superiority of his recitation. The
latter, undisturbed by John's feelings, did not give a thought to
him, but reflected with a touch of pain that this must be his
last Latin recitation in school for a long time to come.



CHAPTER IX. 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,
but had enjoyed few opportunities of cultivating his mind. Though
a faithful laborer, he was destitute of the energy and ambition
which might ere this have placed him in charge of a farm of his
own. In New England few arrive at his age without achieving some
position more desirable and independent than that of farm
laborer. However, he looked pleasant and good-natured, 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.
His first motive was, of course, to make up his father's loss to
the family, as far as it was possible for him to do so, but he
was also desirous of showing Mrs. Roxana Mason and other
ill-boding prophets that they had underrated his abilities.

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 armchair,
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--how constantly they would miss him at the family meal and
in the evening circle. Then there was the dreadful uncertainty of
war. He might never return, or, if spared for that, it might be
with broken constitution or the loss of a limb.

"If it hadn't been for me," Frank could not help thinking,
"father would not now be going away. He would have stayed at
home, and I could still go to school. It would have made a great
difference to us, and the loss of one man could not affect the
general result."

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.

"Your gun's only a wooden one," said Maggie, with an air of
superior knowledge. "You couldn't kill a rebel with that."

"I'd kill 'em some," persisted Charlie earnestly, evidently
believing that a wooden gun differed from others not in kind, but
in degree.

"But suppose the rebels should fire at you," said Frank, amused.
"What would you do then, Charlie?"

Charlie looked into the fire thoughtfully for a moment, as if
this contingency had not presented itself to his mind until now.
Suddenly his face brightened up, and he answered. "I'd run away
just as fast as I could."

All laughed at this, and Frank said: "But that wouldn't be acting
like a brave soldier, Charlie. You ought to stay and make the
enemy run."

"I wouldn't want to stay and be shooted," said Charlie
ingenuously.

"There are many older than Charlie," said Mr. Frost, smiling,
"who would doubtless sympathize entirely with him in his
objection to being shooted, though they might not be quite so
ready to make confession as he has shown himself. I suppose you
have heard the couplet:

          " 'He who fights and runs away
               May live to fight another day.' "


"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 out 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. "I want to see the
last of you."

"I hope you won't do that for a long time to come," said Mr.
Frost, smiling.

"You know what I mean, Henry."

"Oh, 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."

"Oh, papa, papa, not yet, not yet," pleaded the children; and
with the thought that it might be many a long day before he saw
their sweet young faces again, the father suffered them to have
their way.

After the children had 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. Thoughts
of the approaching separation swallowed up all others. The
thought kept recurring that to-morrow would see them many miles
apart, and that many a long to-morrow must pass before they would
again be gathered around the fire.

"Frank," said his father, at length, "I have deposited in the
Brandon Bank 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 pocketbook a
roll of bills and handed them to Frank.

Frank opened his portemonnaie and deposited the money therein.

He had never before so large a sum of money in his possession,
and although he knew it was not to be spent for 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 toward 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. By the way, I had
nearly forgotten to say that there will be some interest due on
the first of January. Of course, you are authorized to pay it
just as if you were myself."

"How much will it be?"

"Twenty-four dollars--that is, six months' interest at six per
cent. on eight hundred dollars."

"I wish the farm were free from encumbrance," 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 to-morrow."

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



CHAPTER X. LITTLE POMP

There was a hurried good-by 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 homeward.

It was one of those quiet October mornings, when the air is 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 the only child which
the cruel slave system had left her, for the rest had been sold
South, 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 a bright little fellow, as black as the ace of
spades, and possessing to the full the mercurial temperament of
the Southern negro. Full of fun and drollery, 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 standstill.

"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
upward.

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.

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

Little 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 debbel, missus. I was kerryin' 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 little Pomp.

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

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

Frank had started forward to rescue Pomp from the consequences of
his precipitancy, but too late. He picked up the little fellow
and, carrying him out, strove to soothe him.

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, with a reassuring
smile. "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. Had it been upstairs, the removal would have been
attended with considerable difficulty as well as pain to Chloe.

Pomp, the acuteness of whose pain had subsided, looked on with
wondering eyes while Frank and Mrs. Frost "toted" his mother onto
the bed, as he expressed it.

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.

"You ain't too proud, missus, to tend to a poor black woman," she
said. "Down Souf dey used to tell us dat everybody looked down on
de poor nigger and lef' 'em to starve an' die if dey grow sick."

"They told you a great many things that were not true, Chloe,"
said Mrs. Frost quietly. "The color of the skin ought to make no
difference where we have it in our power to render kind offices."

"Do you believe niggers go to de same heaven wid w'ite folks,
missus?" asked Chloe, after a pause.

"Why should they not? They were made by the same God."

"I dunno, missus," said Chloe. "I hopes you is right."

"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?"

"I'se goin' to ride?" said Pomp inquiringly.

"Yes," said Frank good-naturedly.

"Hi, hi, dat's prime!" ejaculated Pomp, turning a somersault in
his joy.

"Scramble in, then, and we'll start."

Pomp needed no second invitation. He jumped into the carriage,
and was more leisurely followed by Frank and his mother.

It was probably the first time that Pomp had ever been in a
covered carriage, and consequently the novelty of his situation
put him in high spirits.

He was anxious to drive, and Frank, to gratify him, placed the
reins in his hands. His eyes sparkling with delight, and his
expanded mouth showing a full set of ivories, Pomp shook the
reins in glee, shouting out, "Hi, go along there, you ol'
debble!"

"Pomp, you mustn't use that word," said Mrs. Frost reprovingly.

"What word, missus?" demanded Pomp innocently.

"The last word you used," she answered.

"Don't 'member what word you mean, missus," said Pomp. "Hi, you
debble!"

"That's the word?"

"Not say 'debble'?" said Pomp wonderingly. "Why not, missus?"

"It isn't a good word."

"Mammy says 'debble.' She calls me little debble when I run away,
and don't tote in de wood."

"I shall tell her not to use it. It isn't a good word for anybody
to use."

"Hope you'll tell her so, missus," said Pomp, grinning and
showing his teeth. "Wheneber she calls me little debble she pulls
off her shoe and hits me. Hurts like de debble. Mebbe she won't
hit me if you tell her not to say 'debble.' "

Mrs. Frost could hardly forbear laughing. She managed, however,
to preserve a serious countenance while she said, "You must take
care to behave well, and then she won't have to punish you."

It is somewhat doubtful whether Pomp heard this last remark. He
espied a pig walking by the side of the road, and was seized with
a desire to run over it. Giving the reins a sudden twitch, he
brought the carriage round so that it was very near upsetting in
a gully.

Frank snatched the reins in time to prevent this catastrophe.

"What did you do that for, Pomp?" he said quickly.

"Wanted to scare de pig," exclaimed Pomp, laughing. "Wanted to
hear him squeal."

"And so you nearly tipped us over."

"Didn't mean to do dat, Mass' Frank. 'Pears like I didn't think."

Mrs. Frost was too much alarmed by this narrow escape to consent
to Pomp's driving again, and for the moment felt as if she should
like to usurp his mother's privilege of spanking him. But the
little imp looked so unconscious of having done anything wrong
that her vexation soon passed away.

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



CHAPTER XI. PUNISHING A BULLY

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. He
would occasionally encounter difficulties which he found himself
unable to surmount without assistance. At such times he thought
of Mr Rathburn's kind offer. 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.

A few days after the incident narrated in the last chapter, Frank
was out in the woods not far from Chloe's cottage, collecting
brushwood, to be afterward carried home, when his attention was
called to an altercation, one of the parties in which he readily
recognized as little Pomp. To explain how it came about, we shall
have to go back a little.

Pomp was returning from Mrs. Frost's, swinging a tin kettle
containing provisions for his mother and himself, when all at
once he met John Haynes, who was coming from the opposite
direction.

Now, John was something of a bully, and liked to exercise
authority over the boys who were small enough to render the
attempt a safe one. On the present occasion he felt in a
hectoring mood.

"I'll have some fun out of the little nigger," he said to
himself, as he espied Pomp.

Pomp approached, swinging his pail as before, and whistling a
plantation melody.

"What have you got there, Pomp?" asked John.

"I'se got a pail," said Pomp independently. "Don't yer know a
pail when you see him?"

"I know an impudent little nigger when I see him," retorted John,
not overpleased with the answer. "Come here directly, and let me
see what you've got in your pail."

"I ain't got noffin for you," said Pomp defiantly.

"We'll see about that," said John. "Now, do you mean to come here
or not? I'm going to count three, and I'll give you that time to
decide. One--two--three!"

Pomp apparently had no intention of complying with John's
request. He had halted about three rods from him, and stood
swinging his pail, meanwhile watching John warily.

"I see you want me to come after you," said John angrily.

He ran toward Pomp, but the little contraband dodged him
adroitly, and got on the other side of a tree.

Opposition only stimulated John to new efforts. He had become
excited in the pursuit, and had made up his mind to capture Pomp,
who dodged in and out among the trees with such quickness and
dexterity that John was foiled for a considerable time. The ardor
of his pursuit and its unexpected difficulty excited his anger.
He lost sight of the fact that Pomp was under no obligation to
comply with his demand. But this is generally the way with
tyrants, who are seldom careful to keep within the bounds of
justice and reason.

"Just let me catch you, you little rascal, and I will give you
the worst licking you ever had," John exclaimed, with passion.

"Wait till you catch me," returned Pomp, slipping, eel-like, from
his grasp.

But Pomp, in dodging, had now come to an open space, where he was
at a disadvantage. John was close upon him, when suddenly he
stood stock-still, bending his back so as to obtain a firm
footing. The consequence was that his too ardent pursuer tumbled
over him, and stretched his length upon the ground.

Unfortunately for Pomp, John grasped his leg in falling, and held
it by so firm a grip that he was unable to get free. In the
moment of his downfall John attained his object.

"Now I've got you," he said, white with passion, "and I'm going
to teach you a lesson."

Clinging to Pomp with one hand, he drew a stout string from his
pocket with the other, and secured the hands of the little
contraband, notwithstanding his efforts to escape.

"Le' me go, you debble," he said, using a word which had grown
familiar to him on the plantation.

There was a cruel light in John's eyes which augured little good
to poor Pomp. Suddenly, as if a new idea had struck him, he
loosened the cord, and taking the boy carried him, in spite of
his kicking and screaming, to a small tree, around which he
clasped his hands, which he again confined with cords.

He then sought out a stout stick, and divested it of twigs.

Pomp watched his preparations with terror. Too well he knew what
they meant. More than once he had seen those of his own color
whipped on the plantation. Unconsciously, he glided into the
language which he would have used there.

"Don't whip me, Massa John," he whimpered in terror. "For the lub
of Heaven, lef me be. I ain't done noffin' to you."

"You'd better have thought of that before," said John, his eyes
blazing anew with vengeful light. "If I whip you, you little
black rascal, it's only because you richly deserve it."

"I'll nebber do so again," pleaded Pomp, rolling his eyes in
terror. Though what it was he promised not to do the poor little
fellow would have found it hard to tell.

It would have been as easy to soften the heart of a nether
millstone as that of John Haynes.

By the time he had completed his preparations, and whirled his
stick in the air preparatory to bringing it down with full force
on Pomp's back, rapid steps were heard, and a voice asked, "What
are you doing there, John Haynes?"

John looked round, and saw standing near him Frank Frost, whose
attention had been excited by what he had heard of Pomp's cries.

"Save me, save me, Mass' Frank," pleaded poor little Pomp.

"What has he tied you up there for, Pomp?"

"It's none of your business, Frank Frost," said John
passionately.

"I think it's some of my business," said Frank coolly, "when I
find you playing the part of a Southern overseer. You are not in
Richmond, John Haynes, and you'll get into trouble if you
undertake to act as if you were."

"If you say much more, I'll flog you too!" screamed John, beside
himself with excitement and rage.

Frank had not a particle of cowardice in his composition. He was
not fond of fighting, but he felt that circumstances made it
necessary for him to do so now. He did not easily lose his
temper, and this at present gave him the advantage over John.

"You are too excited to know what you are talking about," he said
coolly. "Pomp, why has he tied you up?"

Pomp explained that John had tried to get his pail from him. He
closed by imploring "Mass' Frank" to prevent John from whipping
him.

"He shall not whip you, Pomp," said Frank quietly. As he spoke he
stepped to the tree and faced John intrepidly.

John, in a moment of less passion, would not have ventured to
attack a boy so near his own size. Like all bullies, he was
essentially a coward, but now his rage got the better of his
prudence.

"I'll flog you both!" he exclaimed hoarsely, and sprang forward
with upraised stick.

Frank was about half a head shorter than John, and was more than
a year younger, but he was stout and compactly built; besides, he
was cool and collected, and this is always an advantage.

Before John realized what had happened, his stick had flown from
his hand, and he was forcibly pushed back, so that he narrowly
escaped falling to the ground.

"Gib it to him, Mass' Frank!" shouted little Pomp. "Gib it to
him!"

This increased John's exasperation. By this time he was almost
foaming at the mouth.

"I'll kill you, Frank Frost," he exclaimed, this time rushing at
him without a stick.

Frank had been in the habit of wrestling for sport with the boys
of his own size. In this way he had acquired a certain amount of
dexterity in "tripping up." John, on the contrary, was
unpractised. His quick temper was so easily roused that other
boys had declined engaging in friendly contests with him, knowing
that in most cases they would degenerate into a fight.

John rushed forward, and attempted to throw Frank by the strength
of his arms alone. Frank eluded his grasp, and, getting one of
his legs around John's, with a quick movement tripped him up. He
fell heavily upon his back.

"This is all foolish, John," said Frank, bending over his fallen
foe. "What are you fighting for? The privilege of savagely
whipping a poor little fellow less than half your age?"

"I care more about whipping you, a cursed sight!" said John,
taking advantage of Frank's withdrawing his pressure to spring to
his feet. "You first, and him afterward!"

Again he threw himself upon Frank; but again coolness and
practice prevailed against blind fury and untaught strength, and
again he lay prostrate.

By this time Pomp had freed himself from the string that fettered
his wrists, and danced in glee round John Haynes, in whose
discomfiture he felt great delight.

"You'd better pick up your pail and run home," said Frank. He was
generously desirous of saving John from further humiliation.
"Will you go away quietly if I will let you up, John?" he asked.

"No, d----you!" returned John, writhing, his face almost livid
with passion.

"I am sorry," said Frank, "for in that case I must continue to
hold you down."

"What is the trouble, boys?" came from an unexpected quarter.

It was Mr. Maynard, who, chancing to pass along the road, had
been attracted by the noise of the struggle.

Frank explained in a few words.

"Let him up, Frank," said the old man. "I'll see that he does no
further harm."

John rose to his feet, and looked scowlingly from one to the
other, as if undecided whether he had not better attack both.

"You've disgraced yourself, John Haynes," said the old farmer
scornfully. "So you would turn negro-whipper, would you? Your
talents are misapplied here at the North. Brutality isn't
respectable here, my lad. You'd better find your way within the
rebel lines, and then perhaps you can gratify your propensity for
whipping the helpless."

"Some day I'll be revenged on you for this," said John, turning
wrathfully upon Frank. "Perhaps you think I don't mean it, but
the day will come when you'll remember what I say."

"I wish you no harm, John," said Frank composedly, "but I sha'n't
stand by and see you beat a boy like Pomp."

"No," said the farmer sternly; "and if ever I hear of your doing
it, I'll horsewhip you till you beg for mercy. Now go home, and
carry your disgrace with you."

Mr. Maynard spoke contemptuously, but with decision, and pointed
up the road.

With smothered wrath John obeyed his order, because he saw that
it would not be safe to refuse.

"I'll come up with him yet," he muttered to himself, as he walked
quietly toward home. "If he doesn't rue this day, my name isn't
John Haynes."

John did not see fit to make known the circumstances of his
quarrel with Frank, feeling, justly, that neither his design nor
the result would reflect any credit upon himself. But his wrath
was none the less deep because he brooded over it in secret. He
would have renewed his attempt upon Pomp, but there was something
in Mr. Maynard's eye which assured him that his threat would be
carried out. Frank, solicitous for the little fellow's safety,
kept vigilant watch over him for some days, but no violence was
attempted. He hoped John had forgotten his threats.



CHAPTER XII. 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 me for a letter?" he asked triumphantly.

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

"I guess he is, or he wouldn't have written such a long letter."

"How do you know it's long?" asked Alice. "You haven't read it."

"I judge from the weight. There are two stamps on the envelope. I
was tempted to open it, but, being directed to mother, I didn't
venture."

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. Of its necessity we had a convincing proof at
a small station between Hartford and New Haven. One of our
number, who, I accidentally learned, is a Canadian, and had only
been tempted to enlist by the bounty, selected a seat by the door
of the car. I had noticed for some time that he looked nervous
and restless, as if he had something on his mind.

"At one of our stopping-places--a small, obscure station--he
crept out of the door, and, as he thought, unobserved, dodged
behind a shed, thinking, no doubt, that the train would go off
without him. But an officer had his eye upon him, and a minute
afterward he was ignominiously brought back and put under guard.
I am glad to say that his case inspired no sympathy. To enlist,
obtain a bounty, and then attempt to evade the service for which
the bounty was given, is despicable in the extreme. I am glad to
know that no others of our company had the least desire to follow
this man's example.

"We passed through New York, Philadelphia, and Washington, but I
can give you little idea of either of these cities. The time we
passed in each was mostly during the hours of darkness, when
there was little opportunity of seeing anything.

"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 toward 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 depend 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.'

"And now let me attempt to give you a picture of our present
situation, with some account of the way we live.

"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 production 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. My comrades succeeded in obtaining some boards
somewhere, and we are a little in advance of our neighbors in
this respect.

"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
silence, 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 a warm interest in this
brave boy, and I fervently hope that the chances of war will
leave him unscathed.

"I must give you a description of Hiram Marden, another of our
small company, a very different kind of person from Frank Grover.
But it takes all sorts of characters to make an army, as well as
a world, and Marden is one of the oddities. Imagine a tall young
fellow, with a thin face, lantern jaws, and long hair 'slicked'
down on either side. Though he may be patriotic, he was led into
the army from a different cause. He cherished an attachment for a
village beauty, who did not return his love. He makes no
concealment of his rebuff, but appears to enjoy discoursing in a
sentimental way upon his disappointment. He wears such an air of
meek resignation when he speaks of his cruel fair one that the
effect is quite irresistible, and I find it difficult to accord
him that sympathy which his unhappy fate demands. Fortunately for
him, his troubles, deep-seated as they are, appear to have very
little effect upon his appetite. He sits down to his rations with
a look of subdued sorrow upon his face, and sighs frequently
between the mouthfuls. In spite of this, however, he seldom
leaves anything upon his tin plate, which speaks well for his
appetite, since Uncle Sam is a generous provider, and few of us
do full justice to our allowance.

"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
hardtack 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. Two of my comrades are sitting close by, playing
euchre. When I joined them I found they were in the habit of
playing for small stakes, but I have succeeded in inducing them
to give up a practice which might not unlikely lead to bad
results.

"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 FARTHER: 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 shal be seven years
old. I hope you 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 XIII. MISCHIEF ON FOOT

As may be supposed, John Haynes was deeply incensed with Frank
Frost for the manner in which he had foiled him in his attack
upon Pomp. He felt that in this whole matter he had appeared by
no means to advantage. After all his boasting, he had been
defeated by a boy younger and smaller than himself. The old
grudge which he had against Frank for the success gained over him
at school increased and added poignancy to his mortification. He
felt that he should never be satisfied until he had "come up"
with Frank in some way. The prospect of seeing him ejected from
the farm was pleasant, but it was too far off. John did not feel
like waiting so long for the gratification of his revengeful
feelings. He resolved in the meantime to devise some method of
injuring or annoying Frank.

He could not at once think of anything feasible. Several schemes
flitted across his mind, but all were open to some objection.
John did not care to attempt anything which would expose him, if
discovered, to a legal punishment. I am afraid this weighed more
with him than the wrong or injustice of his schemes.

At last it occurred to him that Mr. Frost kept a couple of pigs.
To let them out secretly at night would be annoying to Frank, as
they would probably stray quite a distance, and thus a tedious
pursuit would be made necessary. Perhaps they might never be
found, in which case John felt that he should not grieve much.

Upon this scheme John finally settled as the one promising the
most amusement to himself and annoyance to his enemy, as he chose
to regard Frank. He felt quite averse, however, to doing the work
himself. In the first place, it must be done by night, and he
could not absent himself from the house at a late hour without
his father's knowledge. Again, he knew there was a risk of being
caught, and it would not sound very well if noised abroad that
the son of Squire Haynes had gone out by night and let loose a
neighbor's pigs.

He cast about in his mind for a confederate, and after awhile
settled upon a boy named Dick Bumstead.

This Dick had the reputation of being a scape-grace and a
ne'er-do-well. He was about the age of John Haynes, but had not
attended school for a couple of years, and, less from want of
natural capacity than from indolence, knew scarcely more than a
boy of ten. His father was a shoemaker, and had felt obliged to
keep his son at home to assist him in the shop. He did not prove
a very efficient assistant, however, being inclined to shirk duty
whenever he could.

It was upon this boy that John Haynes fixed as most likely to
help him in his plot. On his way home from school the next
afternoon, he noticed Dick loitering along a little in advance.

"Hold on, Dick," he called out, in a friendly voice, at the same
time quickening his pace.

Dick turned in some surprise, for John Haynes had a foolish
pride, which had hitherto kept him very distant toward those whom
he regarded as standing lower than himself in the social scale.

"How are you, John?" he responded, putting up the knife with
which he had been whittling.

"All right. What are you up to nowadays?"

"Working in the shop," said Dick, shrugging his shoulders. "I
wish people didn't wear shoes, for my part. I've helped make my
share. Pegging isn't a very interesting operation."

"No," said John, with remarkable affability. "I shouldn't think
there'd be much fun in it."

"Fun! I guess not. For my part, I'd be willing to go barefoot, if
other people would, for the sake of getting rid of pegging."

"I suppose you have some time to yourself, though, don't you?"

"Precious little. I ought to be in the shop now. Father sent me
down to the store for some awls, and he'll be fretting because I
don't get back. I broke my awl on purpose," said Dick, laughing,
"so as to get a chance to run out a little while."

"I suppose your father gives you some of the money that you earn,
doesn't he?' inquired John.

"A few cents now and then; that's all. He says everything is so
high nowadays that it takes all we can both of us earn to buy
food and clothes. So if a fellow wants a few cents now and then
to buy a cigar, he can't have 'em."

John was glad to hear this. He felt that he could the more
readily induce Dick to assist him in his plans.

"Dick!" he said abruptly, looking round to see that no one was
within hearing-distance, "wouldn't you like to earn a two-dollar
bill?"

"For myself?" inquired Dick.

"Certainly."

"Is there much work in it?" asked indolent Dick cautiously.

"No, and what little there is will be fun."

"Then I'm in for it. That is, I think I am. What is it?"

"You'll promise not to tell?" said John.

"Honor bright."

"It's only a little practical joke that I want to play upon one
of the boys "

"On who?" asked Dick, unmindful of his grammar.

"On Frank Frost."

"Frank's a pretty good fellow. It isn't going to hurt him any, is
it?"

"Oh, no, of course not."

"Because I wouldn't want to do that. He's always treated me
well."

"Of course he has. It's only a little joke, you know."

"Oh, well, if it's a joke, just count me in. Fire away, and let
me know what you want done."

"You know that Frank, or his father, keeps pigs?"

"Yes."

"I want you to go some night--the sooner the better--and let them
out, so that when morning comes the pigs will be minus, and
Master Frank will have a fine chase after them."

"Seems to me," said Dick, "that won't be much of a joke."

"Then I guess you never saw a pig-chase. Pigs are so contrary
that if you want them to go in one direction they are sure to go
in another. The way they gallop over the ground, with their
little tails wriggling behind them, is a caution."

"But it would be a great trouble to Frank to get them back."

"Oh, well, you could help him, and so get still more fun out of
it, he not knowing, of course, that you had anything to do with
letting them out."

"And that would take me out of the shop for a couple of hours,"
said Dick, brightening at the thought.

"Of course," said John; "so you would get a double advantage.
Come, what do you say?"

"Well, I don't know," said Dick, wavering. "You'd pay me the
money down on the nail, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," said John. "I'll show you the bill now."

He took from his pocketbook a two-dollar greenback, and displayed
it to Dick.

"You could buy cigars enough with this to last you some time," he
said insinuatingly.

"So I could. I declare, I've a good mind to take up your offer."

"You'd better. It's a good one."

"But why don't you do it yourself?" asked Dick, with sudden
wonder.

"Because father's very strict," said John glibly, "and if I
should leave the house at night, he'd be sure to find it out."

"That's where I have the advantage. I sleep downstairs, and can
easily slip out of the window, without anybody's being the
wiser."

"Just the thing. Then you agree?"

"Yes, I might as well. Are you particular about the night?"

"No, take your choice about that. Only the sooner the better."

The two boys separated, John feeling quite elated with his
success.



CHAPTER XIV. A RAID UPON THE PIG-PEN

The more Dick thought of the enterprise which he had undertaken,
the more he disliked it. He relished fun as much as any one, but
he could not conceal from himself that he would be subjecting
Frank to a great deal of trouble and annoyance. As he had told
John, Frank had always treated him well, and this thought made
the scheme disagreeable to him.

Still, John had promised him two dollars for his co-operation,
and this, in his circumstances, was an important consideration.
Unfortunately, Dick had contracted a fondness for smoking--a
habit which his scanty supply of pocket-money rarely enabled him
to indulge. This windfall would keep him in cigars for some time.
It was this reflection which finally turned the wavering scale of
Dick's irresolution, and determined him to embrace John's offer.

The moon was now at the full, and the nights were bright and
beautiful. Dick decided that it would be best to defer the
accomplishment of his purpose till later in the month, when
darker nights would serve as a screen, and render detection more
difficult.

By and by a night came which he thought suitable. A few stars
were out, but they gave only a faint glimmer of light, not more
than was necessary.

Dick went to bed at nine o'clock, as usual. By an effort he
succeeded in keeping awake, feeling that if he once yielded to
drowsiness, he should probably sleep on till morning. At
half-past nine all in the house were abed. It was not till
eleven, however, that Dick felt it safe to leave the house. He
dressed himself expeditiously and in silence, occasionally
listening to see if he could detect any sound in the room above,
where his parents slept. Finally he raised the window softly, and
jumped out. He crept out to the road, and swiftly bent his steps
toward Mr. Frost's house.

As this was not more than a third of a mile distant, a very few
minutes sufficed to bring him to his destination. Dick's feelings
were not the most comfortable. Though he repeatedly assured
himself that it was only fun he was engaged in, he felt very much
like a burglar about to enter a house.

Arrived before the farmhouse, he looked cautiously up to the
windows, but could see no light burning.

"The coast is clear," he thought. "I wish it were all over, and I
were on my way home."

Dick had not reconnoitered thoroughly. There was a light burning
in a window at the other end of the house.

The pig-pen was a small, rough, unpainted building, with a yard
opening from it. Around the yard was a stone wall, which
prevented the pigs from making their escape. They were now, as
Dick could with difficulty see, stretched out upon the floor of
the pen, asleep.

Dick proceeded to remove a portion of the stones forming the
wall. It was not very easy or agreeable work, the stones being
large and heavy. At length he effected a gap which he thought
would be large enough for the pigs to pass through. He next
considered whether it would be better to disturb the slumbers of
the pigs by poking