CHAPTER IX.
THE BLUE BOOK.
Days passed, but there was the same hush upon the house. Everybody movedabout softly, and spoke in low tones. Horace was not told that he mustgo to school, but he knew aunt Louise thought his shoes made a greatdeal of noise, and just now he wanted to please even her. More thanthat, it was very pleasant to see the boys; and while he was playinggames he forgot his sorrow, and forgot his mother's sad face. There wasone thing, however, which he could not do: he had not the heart to becaptain, and drill his company, just now.
"Horace," said Grace, as they were sitting on the piazza steps onemorning, "I heard ma tell grandma yesterday, you'd been a better boythis week than you had been before since--since--pa went away."
"Did she?" cried Horace, eagerly; "where was she when she said it? Whatdid grandma say? Did aunt Madge hear her?"
"Yes, aunt Madge heard her, and she said she always knew Horace would bea good boy if he would only think."
"Well, I _do_ think," replied Horace, looking very much pleased; "Ithink about all the time."
"But then, Horace, you know how you've acted some days!"
"Well, I don't care. Aunt Madge says 'tisn't so easy for boys to begood."
Grace opened her round blue eyes in wonder.
"Why, Horace, I have to make my own bed, and sweep and dust my room,and take care of my drawers. Only think of that; and Prudy always roundinto things, you know! Then I have to sew, O, so much! I reckon youwouldn't find it very easy being a girl."
"Poh! don't I have to feed the chickens, and bring in the eggs, and gofor the cows? And when we lived home----"
Here Horace broke down; he could not think of home without rememberinghis father.
Grace burst into tears. The word "home" had called up a beautifulpicture of her father and mother sitting on the sofa in the library,Horace and Pincher lying on the floor, the door open from the balcony,and the moon filling the room with a soft light; her father had a smileon his face, and was holding her hand.
Ah! Grace, and Horace, and their mother would see many such pictures ofmemory.
"Well, sister," said Horace, speaking quite slowly, and looking down atthe grass, "what do I do that's bad?"
"Why, Horace, I shouldn't think you'd ask! Blowing gunpowder, andrunning off into the woods, and most killing Pincher, and going troutingdown to the 'crick' with your best clothes on, and disobeying your ma,and----"
"Sayin' bad words," added Horace, "but I stopped that this morning."
"What do you mean, Horace?"
"O, I said over all the bad things I could think of; not the swearin'words, you know, but 'shucks,' and 'gallus,' and 'bully,' and 'byhokey,' and 'by George;' and it's the last time."
"O, I'm so glad, Horace!" cried Grace, clapping her hands and laughing;"and you won't blow any more powder?"
Horace shook his head.
"Nor run off again? Why, you'll be like Ally Glover, and you know I'mtrying to be like little Eva."
"I don't want to be like Ally Glover," replied Horace, making a wryface; "he's lame, and besides, he's too dreadful good."
"Why, Horace," said his sister, solemnly; "anybody can't be too good;'tisn't possible."
"Well, then, he's just like a girl--that's what! I'm not going to be'characteristic' any more, but I don't want to be like a girl neither.Look here, Grace; it's school time. Now don't you 'let on' to ma, oranybody, that I'm going to be better."
Grace promised, but she wondered why Horace should not wish his motherto know he was trying to be good, when it would make her so happy.
"He's afraid he'll give it up," thought she; "but I won't let him."
She sat on the piazza steps a long while after he had gone. At last abright idea flashed across her mind, and of course she dropped her workand clapped her hands, though she was quite alone.
"I'll make a merit-book like Miss All'n's, and put down black marks forhim when he's naughty."
When Horace came home that night, he was charmed with the plan, for hewas really in earnest. His kind sister made the book very neatly, andsewed it into a cover of glossy blue paper. She thought they would tryit four weeks; so she had put in twenty-eight pages, each page standingfor one day.
"Now," said she, "when you say one bad word I'll put down 'one B. W.'for short; but when you say two bad words, 'twill be 'two B. W.,' youknow. When you blow gunpowder, that'll be 'B. G.'--no, 'B. G. P.' forgunpowder is two words."
"And when I run off, 'twill be 'R. O.'"
"Or 'R. A.,' said Grace, for 'ran away.'"
"And 'T.' for 'troutin'," said Horace, who was getting very muchinterested; "and--and--'P. A. L.' for 'plaguing aunt Louise,' and 'C.'for 'characteristic,' and 'L. T.' for 'losing things.'"
"O, dear, dear, Horace, the book won't begin to hold it! We mustn't putdown those little things."
"But, Grace, you know I shan't do 'em any more."
Grace shook her head, and sighed. "We won't put down all those littlethings," repeated she; "we'll have 'D.' for 'disobedience,' and 'B. W.,'and--O! one thing I forgot--'F.' for 'falsehood.'"
"Well, you won't get any F's out of me, by hokey," said Horace, snappinghis fingers.
"Why, there it is, 'one B. W.' so quick!" cried Grace, holding up bothhands and laughing.
Horace opened his mouth in surprise, and then clapped his hand over itin dismay. It was not a very fortunate beginning.
"Look here, Grace," said he, making a wry face; "I move we call that no'count, and commence new to-morrow!"
So Grace waited till next day before she dated the merit-book.
All this while Pincher's foot was growing no better. Aunt Louise saidyou could almost see the poor dog 'dwindle, peak, and pine.'
"But it's only his hurt," said Grace; "'tisn't a sickness."
"I reckon," returned Horace, sadly, "it isn't a _wellness_, neither."
"Why not send for Mrs. Duffy?" suggested aunt Madge. "If any one canhelp the poor creature, it is she."
Mrs. Duffy was the village washerwoman, and a capital nurse. It was ananxious moment for little Horace, when she unwrapped the crushed paw,Pincher moaning all the while in a way that went to the heart.
"Wull," said Mrs. Duffy, who spoke with a brogue, "it's a bad-lookingfut; but I've some intment here that'll do no har-rum, and it may hulpthe poor craycher."
She put the salve on some clean linen cloths, and bound up the wound,bidding them all be very careful that the dog "didn't stir his fut."
"O, but he don't want to stir!" said Horace. "He just lies down by thestove all day."
Mrs. Duffy shook her head, and said, "he was a pooty craycher; 'twasmore the pities that he ever went off in the wuds."
Horace hung his head. O, if he could have blotted out that day ofdisobedience!
"Wasn't it a real rebel, _heathen_ man," cried Prudy, "to put the trapwhere Pincher sticked his foot in it?"
Pincher grew worse and worse. He refused his food, and lay in a basketwith a cushion in it, by the kitchen stove, where he might have been alittle in the way, though not even aunt Louise ever said so.
If Grace, or Susy, or Prudy, went up to him, he made no sign. It wasonly when he saw his little master that he would wag his tail for joy;but even that effort seemed to tire him, and he liked better to lickHorace's hand, and look up at his face with eyes brimful of love andagony.
Horace would sit by the half hour, coaxing him to eat a bit of broiledsteak or the wing of a chicken; but though the poor dog would gladlyhave pleased his young master, he could hardly force himself to swallowa mouthful.
These were sad days. Grace put down now and then a "B. W." in the bluebook; but as for disobedience, Horace had just now no temptation tothat. He could hardly think of anything but his dog.
Pincher was about his age. He could not remember the time when he firstknew him. "O, what jolly times they had had together! How often Pincherhad trotted along to school, carrying the satchel with the school-booksin his teeth. Why, the boys all loved him, they jus
t loved him so."
"No, sir," said Horace, talking to himself, and laying the dog's headgently on his knee: "there wasn't one of them but just wished they hadhim. But, poh! I wouldn't have sold him for all the cannons andfire-crackers in the United States. No, not for a real drum, either;would I, Pincher?"
Horace really believed the dog understood him, and many were the secretshe had poured into his faithful ears. Pincher would listen, and wink,and wag his tail, but was sure to keep everything to himself.
"I tell you what it is, Pincher," Horace burst forth, "I'm not going tohave you die! My own pa gave you to me, and you're the best dog thatever lived in this world. O, I didn't mean to catch your foot in thattrap! Eat the chicken, there's a good fellow, and we'll cure you allup."
But Pincher couldn't eat the chicken, and couldn't be cured. His eyesgrew larger and sadder, but there was the same patient look in themalways. He fixed them on Horace to the last, with a dying gaze whichmade the boy's heart swell with bitter sorrow.
"He wanted to speak, he wanted to ask me a question," said Horace, withsobs he did not try to control.
O, it was sad to close those beautiful eyes forever, those beseechingeyes, which could almost speak.
Mrs. Clifford came and knelt on the stone hearth beside the basket, andwept freely for the first time since her husband's death.
"Dear little Pincher," said she, "you have died a cruel death; but yourdear little master closed your eyes. It was very hard, poor doggie, butnot so hard as the battle-field. You shall have a quiet grave, goodPincher; but where have they buried our brave soldier?"
CAPTAIN HORACE AND HIS DOG. Page 138.]