The Drummer Boy | Page 4

you a long, long
time yet."
"I hope you will; but we must think of the worst, and be prepared for it,
my son. If it is God's will, I can give you up. And you--you must make
up your mind to brave all dangers, even to die, if necessary. It is a great
and holy cause you are engaging in. It is no gay and pleasant adventure,
as perhaps you think. Are you sure you have thought of it well?"
"I have," responded Frank. "I am going; and I am going to do my duty,
whatever it is. For a few minutes after I came to bed, thinking of what
you had said, and of leaving you, and of"--here he choked--"I was
almost sorry I had said a word about going; it looked so dreary and sad
to me. But I said my prayers, and now I feel better about it. I don't think
any thing can shake my resolution again."
"If it is so," replied his mother, "I have nothing more to say." And she
kissed him, and gave him plentiful good advice, and finally prayed with

him, kneeling by his bedside.
"O, don't go, mother," said Frank; "it is such a comfort to have you here!
May-be it is the last time."
"May-be it is, my son. But I must bid you goodnight. You must sleep.
See how soundly Willie is sleeping all this time! He don't know that he
is losing a brother."
After she was gone, Frank felt more lonesome than ever, the house was
so silent, the moonshine in his chamber was so cold. But he hugged his
warm little brother close to his heart, and cried very softly, if he cried at
all.
I do not know how much he slept that night. No doubt his excited
thoughts kept him awake until very late, for he was fast asleep the next
morning when Helen came to call him.
"Hurrah!" he exclaimed, starting up; "fight for the old flag!" for he was
dreaming of a battle. "Hallo!" he said, rubbing his eyes open. "That you,
Helen?"
"A wide-awake drummer boy you are," she replied, with her usual
good-natured irony. "You'll have to rouse up earlier than this, I tell you,
if you ever beat the reveillé for the soldiers."
"So much the more reason why I should have a good nap in the
morning, when I can," said Frank.
"Well, lie and sleep, if you want to," she added, with a touch of
tenderness. "I thought I'd let you know breakfast was ready."
But Frank was wide awake enough now. He felt there was something
great and grand in the day before him, and he was anxious to meet it.
He was up and dressed in a minute. He threw open his window, and
looked away towards the city, which lay dim and strange in the
beautiful mists of the morning, with the crimson clouds of the sunrise
lifting like curtains behind it. And the far-off roar of the rumbling

streets reached his ear, inspiring him freshly with hope and action.
All the family were at breakfast, except Hattie, the sick one, when
Frank came down stairs. Even Willie had crept out of bed before him,
wondering what made his brother sleep so long that morning. And now
he found the little fellow dividing his attentions between his breakfast
and his toy gun, which had acquired a new interest in his eyes since
Helen had told him Frank was going to the war.
"I'm going with my bwother Fwank," he declared, shouldering arms
over his johnny-cake. "And if any body--any webel"--breathing
earnestly--"hurt my bwother Fwank, me shoot 'em me will!"
"Yes," remarked Helen, "you and Frank will put down the rebellion,
I've not the least doubt."
This was meant for a sly hit at Frank's youthful patriotism; but Willie
took it quite seriously.
"Yes," he lisped; "me and Fwank--we put down the webellion. Take
aim!"--pointing his toy at his father's nose. "Fire! bang! See, me kill a
webel."
"How little the child realizes what it is to fight the rebels," said his
mother, with a sigh.
"I'm afraid," said Helen, "Frank doesn't realize it much more than
Willie does. He has just about as correct a notion about putting down
the webellion."
"Very likely," said Frank, who had learned that the beat way to treat a
joke of this kind is always to humor it, instead of being offended. For a
joke is often like a little barking dog--perfectly harmless, if you pass
serenely by without noticing it, or if you just say, "Poor fellow! brave
dog!" and pat its neck; but which, if you get angry and raise your stick,
will worry you all the more for your trouble, and perhaps be provoked
to bite.

There