The Boy Patriot | Page 8

Robertson had long had a famous military company of his own, called the Fairport Guard. A guard against what had never been publicly stated; and as they had no written constitution for their association, posterity must ever remain in ignorance on this point. Up and down the streets of Fairport it was their delight to parade on a Saturday afternoon, to the infinite amusement of the small girls who ate molasses candy and looked at the imposing array.
The breaking out of the war infused a new military spirit into all the youngsters on the Atlantic coast, and the Fairport Guard came in for their share of this growing enthusiasm. Cocks' tail feathers and broomsticks were suddenly in great requisition for the increasing rank and file, and the officers bore themselves with added dignity, and gave out their orders with an earnestness which proved that they appreciated the work they were imitating.
When it was rumored that Blair Robertson had become a communicant in the church to which his mother belonged, there was a general groan among his old followers and adherents. Here was an end, in their minds, to the Fairport Guard, and every other species of fun in which Blair had been so long a leader and abettor.
Blair was at first inclined to shrink from his old companions; but as the right spirit grew and strengthened within him, he mingled among them more freely, actuated by the desire to win new citizens for the kingdom of heaven, and to guide his wild associates into such paths as would make them a blessing to their native land.
Blair's heart had been like rich ground, in which his mother had been sowing, sowing, sowing good seed, prayerfully waiting until it should spring up and take root to his own salvation and the glory of God. That happy time had come. All the words of counsel, all the pure teaching that had been stored in his mind, seemed now warmed into life, and ever rising up to prompt him to good and guard him from evil. Happy are the boys who have such a mother.
A series of rainy Saturdays had postponed the question as to whether the Fairport Guard should parade as usual under the command of their long honored captain. A bright sunny holiday came at last, and Blair's decision on this point must now be declared. Long and prayerfully the boy had considered the subject, and his conclusion was fixed and unalterable.
The change in Blair's principles and feelings had not alienated him from his former companions. Each one of them had now for him a new value. They were to him wandering children of his heavenly Father, whom he longed to bring back to that Father's house. The wildest and most erring among them called forth his most tender interest, as farthest from the kingdom of heaven and in the most danger of utter destruction.
Blair's love of his country too had been but deepened and increased by his late realization of the allegiance he himself owed to the King of kings. His native land was now to him a dear portion of the great vineyard on which he desired the especial blessing of God. He more deeply appreciated the fact that every true Christian man is indeed an element of wholesome life and prosperity to the neighborhood and land in which he dwells. The boys of the present day were soon to be the men on whom the state must rely for power and permanency. With a true patriot's zeal, Blair resolved to do all in his power to bring the boys of Fairport to be such Christian men as would be a blessing in their day and generation. These thoughts had gone far to fix his decision with reference to the Fairport Guard.
It was with a burst of enthusiastic applause that the little company saw Blair appear upon the public square in his well-known uniform. His three-cornered hat of black pasteboard was surmounted by a long black feather, and fastened under his chin by a fine leather strap, the strap being bordered by a ferocious pair of whiskers, to afford which the "black sheep" of some neighboring flock had evidently suffered. His grandfather's coat, which had been worn at Bunker Hill, enveloped his slender form, and increased the imposing effect of his tall figure upon the minds of his subordinates.
"Three cheers for Captain Robertson! Three cheers for Blair!" shouted the boys as their leader approached.
The cheers rung out on the air somewhat feebly, though that was owing to the weakness of the throats that raised them, rather than to any want of goodwill, and so Blair understood it.
"Now give us a speech before we fall into rank," called out one of the company.
"That is just what I mean to do, if