The Drummer Boy | Page 4

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 reveill�� 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 was a silence of several minutes--Willie alone manifesting a desire to keep up the conversation on war matters. He stuck his johnny-cake on the end of his gun, and bombarded his mother's coffee-cup with it; and was about to procure more johnny-cake, in order to shell the sugar-bowl, which he called "Fort Sumter," when Helen put an end to his sport by disarming him.
"I want father to go to town with me, to the recruiting office," said Frank; "for I don't suppose I will be accepted, unless he does."
That sounded like proceeding at once to business, which Mr. Manly never liked to do. He was one of those easily discouraged men, whose rule is always to postpone until to-morrow what they are not absolutely