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Title: The Knights of the White Shield
       Up-the-Ladder Club Series, Round One Play

Author: Edward A. Rand

Release Date: February 4, 2005 [EBook #14903]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

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UP-THE-LADDER CLUB SERIES.

ROUND ONE PLAY.



THE KNIGHTS OF THE WHITE SHIELD.


BY


EDWARD A. RAND


AUTHOR OF "SCHOOL AND CAMP SERIES:" "PUSHING AHEAD; OR, BIG BROTHER DAVE,"
"ROY'S DORY AT THE SEA-SHORE," AND "LITTLE BROWN-TOP;" "BARK CABIN ON
KEARSARGE," "SCHOONER ON THE BEACH," "NELLIE'S NEW YEAR," "CHRISTMAS JACK,"
"KINDLING-WOOD JIMMY," ETC.


1886.

New York.




DEDICATED

TO KEN AND THE OTHER BOYS.




CONTENTS

CHAPTER
      I. MAKING A CLUB
     II. THE GRAND MARCH
    III. FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOL SCHOLARS, AN OFFER
     IV. THE "PAMMERRAMMER"
      V. THE NATION'S BIRTHDAY
     VI. A SICK PATRIOT
    VII. THE NAILED DOOR AND WINDOW
   VIII. THE ENTERTAINMENT
     IX. THE CUPOLA
      X. AUNT STANSHY'S BOARDER
     XI. THE CLUB IN SPLINTERS
    XII. THE CLUB MENDED
   XIII. A KNIGHT GOES TO SEA
    XIV. SETTING A TRAP
     XV. THE FAIR
    XVI. THE FIRE
   XVII. TWO MUD-TURTLES
  XVIII. A NEW DEPARTURE
    XIX. THE WRECK
     XX. THE ROUND HIGHER UP




UP-THE-LADDER CLUB.




CHAPTER I.

MAKING A CLUB.


There was a clattering of feet on the stairs leading to the chamber of
Aunt Stanshy's barn. First there popped up one head and a pair of curious
eyes. Then there popped up a second head and two more eyes. Then there
popped up a third head and two more eyes.

"Jolly! Don't she beat all?"

It was Sid Waters who said this.

"It's de best barn in de lane," said Juggie Jones, a little colored boy,
his dark eyes lighting up with true interest.

"Well, I think it is a pretty good barn," rejoined Charlie Macomber, with
apparent unconcern. At the same time a secret pride was dwelling in his
bosom, that suddenly made his jacket too tight for him. If Seamont, in
which the barn was located, was one of the best of towns in the opinion of
its inhabitants, this particular barn, in Charlie's estimate, was one of
the best structures of that sort in the place. Below, on the first floor,
there was a chance of a stall for Brindle, now grazing in a little pasture
adjoining the garden. There was, also, a stall for a horse, and an extra
stall, though empty, always gives dignity to a barn, suggesting what has
been, and, while speaking of a glory departed, hints of that which may be
another day.

But the chamber! What palace of gold ever had a room equal to that
chamber? It had a row of barrels, behind which or in which you could
safely hide. It had a ladder that would let you smartly bump your head
against the highest rafter in the roof, a cross-beam, too, from which you
could suspend a swing, and a window in the rear from which you could look
upon the Missigatchee River (supposed to have been christened by the
Indians). This river-view you could have had, if the window had not been
boarded up, but there was a front window, whose big square shutter was
generally open. This gave a boy a view of the lane and, if maliciously
disposed, a chance to safely let drive an apple or a snow-ball at any
"down-townie" that might rashly invade the neighborhood. There was also a
window high up, at one end, well latticed with cobwebs. Then there was a
closet, which was splendid for "Hy-spy," and--notice!--honor upon
honor--there was a "cupelo," as Charlie called it, on top of the barn.
Through the slats of the "cupelo," one could look upon the river shining
gloriously at sunset, as if the sun were a Chinese mandarin that at this
hour spread his yellow silk robe upon the river in a vain attempt to warm
up the cold waters just from the sea. Besides this there were various
attractions, such as oars in the corner, nets hanging from nails, and let
it not be forgotten that a big strip of dried halibut dangled from a spike
in the wall. To a hungry boy what is there better than such a halibut,
unless it be two halibuts? Already there had been sly, toothsome pickings
of this.

It is no wonder, then, that the soul of Sid Waters, to say nothing of his
stomach in view of the halibut, was powerfully affected, and again he
cried out, "Jolly!" Then he clapped his hands, shouting, "Just the place
for a club!"

"A club" said Juggie Jones. "Got nuff dose on my wood-pile."

"He means an or-gorgan-gangor--" Charlie spoke very hesitatingly. It was
a long word and threatened to catch crosswise in his windpipe and choke
him.

"Organization?" inquired Sid. "O I will show you. We had plenty of 'em in
Boston."

As Sid had just moved from the city, and especially a city so full of
knowledge as Boston, Charlie and Juggie received this piece of news with
all possible respect.

"We can make one right here," suggested Charlie.

"Yes, straight off," said the late citizen of Boston.

"But whar's de boys?" asked Juggie.

"O three will do," said Sid Waters, "for you don't want many to start
with. I know the club will be popular after she has been started. And
then, fellers," he said, in a quiet tone, "there's a better chance for
offices in a small club, you know. We can fill 'em all now and get good
berths."

It was a great temptation, but a conviction of the importance of numbers
finally prevailed. The three pioneers in this great club movement saw also
it would look better to defer all elections until others had joined, as it
would give these a chance for position. The magnanimity native to the
three conquered, and it was decided to accumulate more material before
making the club.

"We might adjourn and meet in an hour," suggested Sid. "That would give us
more opportunity to invite other fellers in."

How Charlie did admire Sid for his easy flow of language! The "lane," as
Seamont called the narrow street before the barn, was now searched for
recruits, and the barn-chamber was deserted a whole hour. The big
horse-flies sawed on their bass-viols at their leisure. The warm gold of
the sunshine undisturbed continued to decorate the floor of the chamber.
Hark! There's a noise in the yard! It grows to a harried, breathless
scramble on the stairs. Finally eight boys appeared, the future members of
the club, save one or two later additions. There was Sid or Sidney Waters,
aged eleven. He was the oldest boy present, and the brains really of the
enterprise. He was a bit vain, rather selfish, and liked to have his own
way, a very rare failing among boys. Still, he was a bright boy, and he
had his generous impulses as well as his selfish ones. Rick Grimes, aged
ten, was a stout, Dutchy kind of lad, rather slow and heavy, but
well-meaning and pretty resolute. There was also Billy Grimes, Rick's
cousin, and a year younger. You would have said that these two boys came
from the same ancestral stock when you saw their cheeks. These had a
well-filled look, as if padded for Thanksgiving.

This peculiarity of feature gave the cousins special titles in whose
selection the boy-instinct for nicknames had shown its unerring accuracy
of aim. One was "Choppy," and the other, Billy, was "Cousin Choppy." Their
playmates were generally considerate and did not apply these titles unless
they "got mad." Forgetting themselves, these titles might be sent flying
about freely as snow-balls in a January thaw. There was Worthington
Wentworth. It takes a long breath and a very straight throat to say that,
and we will not repeat it, but will call him Wort Wentworth, as the boys
did. His hair was twisted all over his head, like a brush fence, and his
black eyes were very lively. He was one of the rogues of the club, and at
school took more rattannings, as a mark of his teacher's affection, than
any other boy. Juggie Jones--full name Jugurtha Bonaparte Jones--was a
little colored fellow lately from the South, now living with his granny, a
washer-woman, in a little yellow house at the head of the lane. He was
always laughing and showing his white teeth. He was a great favorite with
the boys. Wort and Juggie were of the same age as Charlie,--nine. Pip or
Piper Peckham, aged eight, was a big-eyed, black-haired, little fellow
with a peaked face. Timid, sensitive to neglect, very fond of notice, he
was sometimes a subject for the tricks of his playmates. Then there was
Tony or Antonio Blanco, a late arrival at Seamont. He was an olive-faced,
black-haired, shy little fellow. When he spoke, he used English, but his
accent was Italian. He was rarely heard from. An air of mystery encircled
him. Whether his father was a count in Italy or a seller of pea-nuts in
New York, no one at Seamont had been able to say for a month, and that was
a long time in circles of gossip. It was finally asserted that his father
lived in Italy. Tony was of the same age as Pip.

Concerning Charlie we shall find out farther along.

"Will the gentlemen please come to order," shouted Sid Waters, pompously,"
and sit--sit--on the floor?"

The meeting obeyed at once.

"Ahem--I 'spose we had better fill the offices first. Who will be
president?"

This magnanimous tender of the office to any one present was received in
silence. The meeting was overawed by the thought of this mighty honor so
nigh at hand. All recovered in a short time, and several, including Pip
Peckham, were about to sacrifice themselves for the common good, when Sid
dexterously presented himself as an offering ahead of them all, and said:
"Well, if nobody wants it, as I don't like to see an office go a-beggin',
I'll--I'll take it!"

"Three cheers for our president!" said Charlie, magnanimously, and the
three were given, though it must be confessed that several disappointed
souls cheered faintly.

"We ought to have a governor," said Charlie.

"What! besides a president?" inquired Sid, a slight sneer noticeable in
his tones.

"Don't they have a governor in Massachusetts?" inquired Charlie,
triumphantly.

"Well, ye--ye--yes."

That settled it, for Massachusetts custom was plainly authority in this
matter.

Rick Grimes was made governor.

"Treasurer now!" called out Sid.

"Charlie, would you like to be that?" he whispered. Charlie was about to
say "Yes," when the fruit hanging before his thirsty lips was suddenly
snatched away.

"I'd like that," piped a voice. It was Pip Peckham.

"Ahem!" said the president, "I think the office ought to be given to
experience," and here he looked in the direction of Charlie.

"Who's he?" inquired Billy. "Who's Sperience?"

"Silence!" ordered the president. "Little boys must speak only when they
are spoken to."

Billy pouted.

"Why couldn't we have two treasuries?" inquired Gov. Grimes, putting the
thing for its keeper. This happy solution of a difficult problem was at
once accepted. Charlie was named as the first official of this grade, and
Pip as the second.

"We ought to have a keeper of the great seal," said the president.

"What is that?" asked the inquisitive Billy. The president was puzzled to
say just what it did mean, "But," he affirmed, "I think we ought to have
it. It is something, I know, and they put it on things."

"I know what it is," said Gov. Grimes, eagerly. "My uncle has two down on
the wharf, in a tank, a great one and a little one, and I guess we could
have the great one up here, and some one be keeper of it."

The contempt of the president was undisguised. "That isn't it! If I could
only think, but there is so much noise! Order, gentlemen!"

Whatever noise had been made, the president was the author of the most of
it, though he did not seem to know it.

"Perhaps we'd better 'journ that," said Gov. Grimes. "That's what they do
to things in meetings, when they want to put them off, my father says."

"Well, we can do that, only I think we'd better have a--"

"I will!" shouted Wort, fearful that he might lose his chance for an
office, and eagerly assenting beforehand to any thing that was coming.

"You be janitor, and take care of the--the--hall?" said Sid, looking round
on the barn-chamber. "That's what I meant."

"Yes, yes!"

"There ought to be a sentinel," said Sid; "one, you know, to look after
the door and not let any down-townies up. Will you, Juggie?"

"Yes," replied that man of war, Jugurtha Bonaparte Jones.

"Billy's got nothing," said Juggie.

"So he hasn't," said Gov. Grimes. "We ought to have a secretary, to put up
notices and soon."

"Billy shall be that," declared the president. As Billy was backward in
his studies and could not write, his office promised to be one of great
honor and no duties. Every body had been pat into office except one, shy,
silent, little olive-face, Tony. He was contented to be an unnoticed
flower in the field. Charlie was the first to detect it, and whispered to
Sid, "Tony hasn't got nothing."

It was felt to be a very small kind of a club that had not an office for
every member, and Tony was made assistant-sentinel. The club was in
raptures, every body in office!

"What shall be the name of the club?" asked the president. This was
followed by a long discussion. Earth and sky were searched for a name.

"Call it Star Club," said Billy.

"No, that aint bright enough," replied the governor. The titles "Sun,"
"Moon," and "Comet" were successively rejected. "Let's ask teacher,"
chirped little Pip. The idea took, and it was resolved to visit "teacher"
as soon as the club had been manufactured.

"I think we ought to pay something," suggested Charlie. The club resolved
that each member should pay a cent a month.

"And what do with the money?" asked the governor.

"Buy swords," replied the martial Jugurtha.

The idea spread like wild-fire, and, not stopping to count how long at the
above rate it would take to accumulate money sufficient to buy a sword for
every one, the club voted Juggie's proposition a wise and patriotic one.

"I think," said the self-forgetful Sid, "that the president ought to have
the first sword."

"And the governor next," said Rick.

"And the treasury next," said Charlie.

"I'm that, Charlie, too, and I want one," clamored Pip.

"A sentinel ought to have one fust, 'cause he's at de door, and might hab
to dribe away down-townies," said Juggie.

"No, me first," said the governor.

"No, me," said the president.

"No, me," said the secretary.

It was "me!" "me!" "me!" all over the barn chamber, and the members of
that swordless club were almost at swords' points.

"Sposin' we 'journ this," said Charlie the peace-maker, remembering the
rule for "doing things" in meetings.

"Yes," exclaimed Sid, "and until we get a real sword each one can chalk a
sword on his pants."

"Hurrah!" sang out Gov. Grimes, and each one, happy in the thought that he
could have a sword as speedily as his neighbor, cheered lustily.

"Now, boys, let's go and see 'teacher' about our name," suggested the
president. The barn was vacated at once, and the members of the club went
down stairs as if a fire were after them, and then rushed along the lane,
all heading for a cozy story-and-a-half house where "teacher" lived. "The
Sunday-school teacher" was Miss Bertha Barry, brown-haired, brown-eyed,
vivacious Bertha Barry. All the boys were in her class, save Tony.

"O, she won't do for a teacher," said old Mrs. Jones, when the pastor
invited Bertha to enter the Sunday-school as a worker. "Too flighty!"

"She wont stick," growled Timothy Scriggins, a venerable male gossip, who
scolded every body and every thing, satisfied only with Timothy Scriggins.

However, she _did do_ and she did _stick_. The boys took a very positive
fancy to this young, sprightly, energetic teacher, and their liking
lasted. She compelled their respect and she won their hearts. They looked
upon her as an older sister, and promptly confided to her their troubles
and solicited her advice. In a troop, running, panting, they came into her
yard and presented themselves at her door.

"Come into the sitting-room, boys. Glad to see you. Well!"

Her air said: "I wonder what brought my class in a body to me," something
was evidently on the minds of all. The president quickly dissipated the
mystery.

"We--we--" said Sid, trying to catch his breath, "have--formed
a--club--and--want--you--to name it."

"Yes! yes! yes!" was the chorus coming from the eager faces turned up to
Miss Bertha.

"Name a club? Dear me! What shall I tell you? Where is your club?"

"Here!" said Sid, looking round in pride.

"No; I mean, where do you hold your meetings?"

"In my barn," said Charlie. "You go in from the street and go up some
stairs. It's up stairs."

"You might go up higher," added the governor. "There's a ladder there, so
you can get up--up in the cupelo, but you wont want to go up there."

"Why, that suggests a name. It's a little odd, but you'll think of it
every time you go up stairs and see the ladder. Call it 'Up-the-Ladder
Club,' and then it will have a meaning that you are boys who mean to do
your best, climbing up always, up, up, up!"

Miss Bertha here reached as high as she could, and her admirers, with
sparkling eyes, stretched upward their small arms, also, shouting,
"Up-the-Ladder Club! Up-the-Ladder Club!"

"I'll put it to vote, teacher," said the president, with dignity. "Those
in favor of it, say 'Aye.'"

A ringing "Aye" was now given, and after it, came a sharp-featured,
wrinkled face at the door.

"Land's sake, Bertha, what's the matter?"

"O it's only my class, grandmother."

"It scat me dreadfully. I thought it was fire," and, saying this, the old
lady, with a sigh of relief, withdrew.

"And now, teacher, we want a badge; something to wear, you know,"
exclaimed Sid.

"What's that you have on?" Miss Bertha asked of Juggie.

"A sword," replied that warrior, displaying his right leg, on which he had
already chalked a sword.

"That's for the down-townies," said the governor, in a martial tone.

"I'm--afraid--the 'down-townies' will laugh at that; are not you?"

The club had only thought of what they might do to the "down-townies," not
at all of what the latter would do to them. They certainly had not given a
thought to any ridicule these old enemies might heap upon them. A sadden
chill now struck the sword-plan and it went down in the boys' estimation
like the mercury in the glass on a cold day.

"Now, I don't want my class to be sword-boys. I can't say I fancy the
idea. I will tell you something that I think will be nice, and I will make
the badge."

Here the mercury began to climb the glass again, and that chilled look in
the boys' faces began to thaw out.

"I will make you--each one of you--a pretty white shield, to be worn on
the left arm, make it of pasteboard, so it will be stiff, and then cover
it nicely with white silk."

The boys began to hurrah. The mercury was away up the glass now.

"A white shield, that will mean something. That means purity, honesty,
every thing good and fair, and that your beautiful white shield will be
your defense against harm. You are my knights of the white shield."

The applause following this was almost tumultuous.

"You are the Up-the-Ladder Club, that is, boys who are always going ahead
in every thing good; climbing up, not lazy or bad, but boys, with an
ambition--a true Up-the-Ladder Club--"

"Or," suggested Sid, impressively, "the Knights of the White Shield."

How Charlie did admire the ready wit of the president! The enthusiasm of
the club increased. As in that reputed story of Maria Theresa, where her
nobles are said to have surrounded her, and, waving their swords
enthusiastically, pledged her their support, so the Up-the-Ladder Club
waved their caps around this their young queen. The excitement became so
intense it was necessary to open the door to give it suitable vent, and
out into the open air went these newly-dubbed knights.

"There go Bertha Barry's boys, I know," growled Timothy Scriggins, who
chanced to meet this band of knights issuing from the yard of their queen.
"I never saw sich a teacher."

Well, the boys loved her. There was now a rush for the barn. When they
had all safely arrived in the chamber, Charlie suddenly and soberly
exclaimed, "There!"

"What's the matter?" inquired Sid. "You look pale. Has any one put his
sword--I mean his shield into--I mean on you?"

Charlie did not feel like joking. A dark thought had overshadowed him and
changed a peaceful to a threatening sky.

"What is it?" asked Gov. Grimes.

"I did not," replied Charlie, "ask Aunt Stanshy if we might have the
barn!"

That was an omission indeed, and the club appreciated it, as "Aunt
Stanshy" was well known by the boys. All the sunshine seemed to disappear
suddenly and a cloud was on every thing.

Aunt Stanshy's name in full was Constantia, but, like the crown-jewels of
England, it was only used on very important occasions. The house and barn
both belonged to Aunt Stanshy, property that had been willed her by her
father, Solomon Macomber, whose body slept under the wings of a blue-stone
cherub in the cemetery. Her nephew, Charles, on the death of his wife,
came to live with Aunt Stanshy, bringing his infant heir. When the father
died, little Charlie was left in Aunt Stanshy's care. She was a tall,
resolute woman, so tall that Simes Badger told Charlie that when he wanted
to put colors on a flag-staff, he needn't go out of the house. That made
Charlie mad. Aunt Stanshy had sharp, black eyes, and spectacles made them
look all the sharper. As Charlie said, "Aunt Stanshy's eyes sometimes look
as if they had snappin' crackers in 'em." Aunt Stanshy was really kind at
heart and really loved Charlie, and he had all the comforts of home; but
she would sometimes speak quick, and she was always sure to "speak her
mind," be the rate of speech slow or quick. Simes Badger was a retired old
salt and kept the light-house; not that scanty funds compelled him, but
mostly because he must do something about the sea to keep him at all
contented. Simes once remarked, "I'll allow that Stanshy is a leetle tart
at times, and I've knowed her since she was a gal. But then if you take a
good sour apple and stew it and sugar it, it makes a first-class
apple-pie. Howsomever, it must be well stewed and well sugared." The boys
now trembled lest this vigorous, resolute soul might not favor their
plans, and denying it a place of meeting might end the days of the infant
club.

"There," said Sid, mournfully, "we've made a club, but we've got no place
to stick it in! How would it do to make Aunt Stanshy an honorary member of
the club?"

The faces of all brightened at this happy thought.

"And not athk her to pay a thent a month, but ektheuth her," suggested
Pip, who had a lisping style of speech.

This was another happy thought and acceptable to the club.

"I'll go and ask her," said Charlie. As he went down stairs, the members
of the club gathered around the open window, anxiously looking out and
awaiting the return of their embassador to her majesty in the kitchen,
Constantia the first. Aunt Stanshy was washing clothes when Charlie
entered. With a drooping head and faltering tongue he told about the club
and asked for the barn, having announced her honorary membership, and also
the remission of the monthly due. Aunt Stanshy had a streak of fun in her
nature and a big one. When she looked out into the yard, and glancing up
saw the seven sober, anxious faces at the barn window, she laughed and
said, "Well, Charlie, have I got to lug a big, heavy white shield around?"

"O it's a beautiful one of pasteboard and silk."

"Well, well, say yes."

When he had gone, Aunt Stanshy took her hands out of the suds, sat down in
a flag-bottomed chair by the store, and laughed till her sides ached. She
was washing again when the granny of the "Sentinel" came in to help her.
Granny took the flag-bottomed chair and asked, "What's de news, Stanshy?"

Aunt Stanshy burst out laughing, and the big ribbon-ends of her cap
fluttered like a pennant at the mast-head.

"Why, I'm an honorary member and sha'n't have to pay a cent; ha, ha, ha!"

"A what?"

But Aunt Stanshy made no explanation. She only pounded her clothes and
roared, so tickled was she. Subsiding, she soon broke out again.

"Why, chile, what's de matter?" asked granny. "You done gone crazy and
sure for't."

"I'm an honorary member, and have got to wear a silk shield, I tell you."

Granny went home, shaking her head and saying, "I do b'lieve she's losin'
her mind sure, and dat am mournfu' in one so young an' lubly."




CHAPTER II.

THE GRAND MARCH.


"Please, aunty, lend me your wash-stick."

As he spoke Charlie was all excitement, running eagerly from the barn into
the house. Obtaining the coveted treasure, he as eagerly ran back. Two
minutes passed.

"May I have the curtain-stick up in your chamber that you don't want?"

"How do you know I don't want it?"

"'Cause it's doing nothing, standing up in the corner."

"O what eyes! Yes, you may have it."

Three minutes went.

"Aunty, couldn't I have the broom-handle out in the entry? Some of the
boys knew you wouldn't let me, but I said you would. I knew you would let
a feller take it," said the ingenious Charlie.

"For pity's sake, Charles Pitt Macomber, what next?"

This was Charlie's real name and used for greater impressiveness.

"That broom-handle is what I fasten the back window with, and if any
bugglars get in tonight, I must blame you."

However, Charlie carried his point. In a few minutes he appeared again,
and pointed at his shoulder.

"Aunty, see here!"

"Why, Charles Pitt, what have you done to your shoulder?"

Charlie grinned. There, on the left shoulder, was a chalk shield.
"Teacher, of course, must have time to make our silk shields, and so we
got up these."

Aunt Stanshy's eyes let out some funny, bright sparks.

"O, no, it's only the grand march."

"The grand march!"

"Yes, and see here, aunty. I have only this chalk shield, and you don't
want your boy to go that way. Please let me take that old sword above the
sitting-room mantel-piece," pleaded Charlie, with beseeching eyes.

"Grandsir's sword? O that wont do. Why, that sword was at the battles of
Quebec and Banker Hill and Waterloo and--"

Constantia! In her loyalty to grandsir's memory, she was unconsciously
mentioning places he had never been in! All this array of names only fired
Charlie's ardor. At last Aunt Stanshy said, "There, take it! The next
thing, I spose, you'll want me."

"We may; but you'd have to dress up in man's clothes, you know."

"Never!" said Aunt Stanshy, firmly. "Don't go out of the lane with
grandsir's sword!"

"We'll be along soon."

"How will I know it? I may be up stairs."

"We will give three cheers under the window."

There was an increasing commotion in the barn chamber.

"Now, fellers!" exclaimed Sid Waters. "You won't be ready for the grand
march."

"Yes, yes, yes," they shouted back.

"Is the chariot ready for the president?" inquired Sid.

"Yes," said Charlie, who purposed to furnish his go-cart for the occasion.
"It's down in the yard."

"I have the first ride, you know."

"And I the second," said the governor.

"Yes, but the governor must go behind while the president rides."

Rick's heart sank within him, but all had promised to obey orders and
there was no appeal.

"Every feller's--I mean knight's--uniform ready?" asked the president.

Charlie's certainly was. Every moment he could spare out of school that
day, he had been sewing in his snug little bedroom. Such stitches! They
looked like pairs of bars trying to straddle a brush fence. For epaulets
he arranged pieces of black cloth, the center of each being brightened
with a strip of red. His belt was made of white flannel dotted with a
flaming row of red stars, and with these were interspersed various sizes
of mild chocolate suns. Each of the other warriors sported a chalk shield,
as did Charlie. This was the only thing in common. Other insignia varied
in character, color, and size, as much as would those of Chinese,
Anglo-Saxon and Zulu troops. Pip Peckham, in his anxiety for distinction,
had chalked a shield on each shoulder! The cheapness of the material used
would readily permit this, but Pip's appearance was insignificant beside
Charlie's, who strode forward to the march, flourishing grandsir's sword.
Not even Alexander, Julius Cæsar, Napoleon, or General Grant, ever had a
sword to be compared with Charlie's that day. The warriors moved out from
their "armory" into the yard. Aunt Stanshy was up stairs making a bed.
Suddenly under her window, arose a wild, semi-civilized, semi-barbarous
shout.

"What is to pay?" she screamed. "O those little boobies!" and she sprang
to the window. The "Grand March" had been inaugurated with full pomp. Sid
Waters, as president, was sitting in the go-cart, his head ornamented with
a huge smothering three-cornered hat, made out of a New York daily. Rick
Grimes, as governor, was walking behind the go-cart, now and then giving
the "chariot" an obsequious push, but impatiently awaiting his turn for a
ride. Billy Grimes and Pip Peckham were serving as horses, and soldiers
also, pulling along the president and sharing the broom-handle between
them. Whether that handle might be a "musket" or a "spear," no one could
say. Charlie served as a body-guard, now looking at Aunt Stanshy's window
and then glancing in pride at grandsir's sword. Juggie was a color-bearer,
and at the same time a color-guard of one appeared in the shape of Tony,
flourishing Aunt Stanshy's clothes-stick. The colors were a very small
American flag on a very long bean-pole. Twenty feet ahead of the whole
procession, in solitary glory, walked Wort. He was a kind of "chief
marshal," Sid had said, but Wort could not forget that he had also been
made "keeper of the great seal" that very day, and in token of it he took
along the borrowed curtain-stick.

"Halt!"

This summons came not from the chief marshal but the president, and was
promptly obeyed by all. Wort retreated from his advanced position and
assumed command. "The grand review will now begin," he shouted. "The whole
of you may get into line. Now forward! For--_ward_!"

"Say wheel, first!" called out Sid, not intending Aunt Stanshy or any
other spectator should hear the advice be thought it necessary to give the
chief marshal.

"Wheel first!" shouted Wort, but the only "wheel" that started was one on
the go-cart, which concluded to leave its axle, much to the disgust of the
president and the confusion of the company. Sid sprang from the cart.
"Here, let me do it, Wort."

"Form in line!" Wort shouted majestically.

"Form in line!" Sid was whispering to several old veterans. "Where's
Juggie?"

"Here, cap'n."

"Keep your bugle handy and sound it when Wort says, 'Charge!'"

Juggie proudly brandished a fish-horn which he had borrowed of Simes
Badger.

"Shoulder arms!" screamed Wort.

"Ground arms!"

"Ow, my teeth!" squeaked Pip, whose foot had been vigorously rammed by
Billy Grimes.

"Order arms! Present arms! March! Charge!"

These directions followed one another so rapidly that only the oldest
veterans, and they wildly, could attempt obedience.

"Blow your bugle!" shouted Sid to Juggie.

"Charge! Cavalry, forward!" Wort was shrieking.

It was a wild melee. The cavalry (go-cart) was shoved forward by Gov.
Grimes, running it against Pip and Billy, while the "infantry" rushed
ahead, each on his own hook, the color-bearer and the color-guard trying
to get into place somewhere. Wort vainly endeavored to keep at the head of
something or somebody. All this time Juggie was swelling his cheeks and
sounding his horn, and this was the only thing that was successfully done.
Fortunately the ground to be charged across was not a long stretch, and in
a moment they were all shoving against the fence.

"Wort, you didn't do that right," claimed the president.

"Yes, I did."

"No, you're wrong," asserted Sid.

"Let me try?" asked Rick.

"No, this will do," said Sid. "You may march us, Rick."

This compromise was accepted. Away they all went, Rick strutting forward
with great dignity, but Juggie waved his flag cautiously, for the
flourishing of such a long pole might lead to his capsizing. Tony followed
Juggie. Billy and Pip still tugged at the go-cart that the president
continued to monopolize. Charlie solemnly guarded the precious freight in
the "chariot." Wort, who had been at the head of the column, had now
wandered to the rear, and his face wore a puzzled look, as if he did not
know where to put the chief marshal.

"You ought to have two policemen in front," squeaked a little voice from
the sidewalk. It was Tommy Keys, a small boy, who had seen a procession in
Boston, and thought he knew how such things ought to be managed.

"Shet up," shouted the governor, indignant at even the faintest suggestion
of weakness, and he rushed upon Tommy with a drawn clothes-stick. Away
went the terrified Tommy.

"So may all our foes be routed!" said the president, and to this sentiment
there was a response of three cheers. Alas, how soon all that pride was to
be humiliated! The column was now nearing the head of the lane which ran
into Water Street, the leading business avenue of the town. Sid, who
always had an eye out to the course that was prudent, was exclaiming, in
low tones, "Don't--don't go too near Water Street! Look out for
down-townies, fellers!" It is often the case in a village of any size that
there will be among the boys two parties representing two different
sections and supposed to represent two different ideas and civilizations.
Seamont had its boy-clans, those at the lower end of the village being the
down-townies, and those at the upper end were designated as up-townies.
The club belonged to the up-townies, "the only fit class for gentlemen,"
Sid had declared The down-townies delighted to hurl all kinds of epithets
at the other boys, and these "gentlemen" up-townies could sling titles
almost as successfully, and both sides would sometimes give additional
flavor to their epithets by means of missiles, even as mothers sometimes
season their injunctions to boys with a twig from the old apple-tree in
the yard. The club had had no hand in these intestine feuds, but
sympathized with the warriors in their neighborhood, the up-townies. There
had been war recently between the two hostile sections, so that the boys
did not venture far from their homes, and what did our valiant column now
run into but a band of six belligerent down-townies! The club, at Sid's
suggestion, had already passed a vote to give no quarter to down-townies,
and that in case of trouble it should be "war to the last drop!" They
prudently did not say what that drop might be, blood or only perspiration.
Here was a grand test-hour close at hand. One of the down-townies raised a
provoking cry, "Ho, fellers; see those little ragamuffins!"

He pointed toward the column, whose advance Juggie was enthusiastically
stimulating by loud and prolonged blasts on the fish-horn.

"Boys, let's go for 'em," said one of the down-townies. Raising the
war-whoop of the down-townies, which was a savage, senseless yell, and
lacking the fine martial tones of the up-townies' battle-cry, the enemy
made their charge. Sid Waters stepped, or leaped rather, from the
"chariot" and ran toward the barn. Away went the "colors" in the hands of
Juggie, almost capsizing him, as the tall standard swayed violently. Away
went Wort, and away went Tony. Away rattled the go-cart, Billy and Pip
making excellent time as they dragged it along. An engine rushing to a
fire could not have gone much faster.

"Don't run!" shouted Gov. Grimes. "Stand your ground, my men! Rally!"

"No, sir," said Charlie, replying to the first appeal, and then, in
response to the second, said, quickly, "Yes, sir."

Charlie was the only one among "my men" willing to "rally." But the
governor was not discouraged. He was resolute, even at times to
stubbornness.

He waved his clothes-stick and shrieked, "Come on! I defy you!"

Charlie also looked defiant; but he was so intent on facing the enemy that
he did not pay proper attention to his armor, and the sword that had been
so loyal to grandsir now turned into a rebel to Charlie. It did what
swords will sometimes do; it insisted on mixing up with his chubby legs as
he changed his position, and over he went! Rick had grappled the enemy,
but it was a hopeless struggle, and things looked ominous for that
fragment of the club now in the battle.

Suddenly a sharp, penetrating, commanding voice was heard. "Don't you
touch 'em, you rascals," and a tall, resolute figure rose above the
prostrate Charlie, flourishing a broom. It was Aunt Stanshy, who, from her
window, had watched the boys, and, seeing the approach of that down-town
thunder-cloud, rushed out to meet the storm. Her prowess was witnessed by
Simes Badger, who, as a leading village gossip, was loafing away an hour
of leisure in a flag-bottomed chair before Silas Trefethen's grocery. He
told the story to all the village gossips of the masculine sex who
gathered at the grocery as soon as they had swallowed their tea and had
done as few chores at home as possible.

"Well!" said Simes, laughing.

He was a gaunt, long-drawn-out man, owning a straggling, gray beard, a
pair of brown, twinkling eyes, and a nasal voice.

"I saw something, to-day, that beat the Dutch. It was Aunt Stanshy, and
she did beat the Dutch; yes, she did, yaw, yaw, yaw! You see a parcel of
young ones went up the lane in fine feather, colors flying and drums
beat-in'." (This, to mildly put it, was a misstatement, as not a drum was
there to be beaten; but Simes had a weakness for "misstatements.") "Well,
they neared Water Street, and just then the enemy appeared, a lot of
down-townies, yaw, yawl My, didn't those sojers scatter, all but two! I
expected them two would be cut up like meat in a sausage-machine, but,
turnin' to look down the lane, I saw a sight! It was Stanshy! She had left
the house, broom in hand, and rushed up to the battle-ground, and there
she stood among them down-townie chaps, and she fetched that broom
backward an forward in grand style, as if sweepin' out of the way a lot of
dirt!"

Here Simes, who always fancied that he was gifted with dramatic powers
unusually fine, pulled a broom out of the stock in a neighboring barrel,
and began to sway it backward and forward.

"My! didn't Stanshy sweep the battle-field? The enemy went down like
leaves before a November gale!"

Simes, who was bound to act out the narrative, gave an unlucky sweep with
his broom above the heads of his grinning and gaping auditors, and whacked
Silas Trefethen, who was behind the counter putting up codfish.

"Mind, Simes, there! What are you up to, man?" shouted Silas, tartly,
trying to make a stand against the staggering blow dealt amid the laughter
of Simes's auditors.

"O, O! 'Scuse me, Silas! I was only 'lustratin'."

"'Lustrate next time on that post behind you. If Stanshy Macomber had such
rigor in her arm as that, I pity those down-townies!"

Was not Aunt Stanshy indignant when she heard how Simes Badger had taken
her off at the store! "I'll try my broom on him next time," she told
Juggie's granny.

Aunt Stanshy was very popular with the club, who passed a vote of thanks
to their honorary member. The down-townies, though, christened her "the
dragon of the lane," and did not venture near her. Knowing that this fear
existed, Sid Waters and other members of the club, especially the
runaways, now ventured several times as far as Water Street, shouting
defiance to imaginary enemies behind corners and trees. Sid was
exceedingly daring with his tongue. It was noticed that he never again
_rode_ on such occasions. He evidently wished to have his legs handy, as
he could rely on these better than the go-cart.




CHAPTER III.

FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOL SCHOLARS, AN OFFER.


Charlie and Aunt Stanshy worshiped at St. John's. Dear old St. John's! It
was a brick edifice, homely in its style, but glorious in its
associations. It had two tiers of arched windows, the upper row letting
light into a long, lofty gallery, that generally had for its occupants
perhaps a dozen very shy auditors. If a "coaster" were in port over
Sunday, then the heavy, shuffling tread of several men of the sea might be
heard on the gallery stairs. This might happen when the service was a
third through, and by the time it was two thirds through the shuffling
tread might be heard on the stairs again, and this time echoing toward the
door. The gallery was plain and old-fashioned in its finish, but it was
supported by twisted wooden pillars considered to be marvels of
architectural ingenuity in their day. The pews were old-fashioned in their
form and decoration; but then they were surrounded by so many dear
associations of the past, that when Aunt Stanshy entered one of those box
pews she seemed to have stepped aboard a ship and it drifted her at once
far, far away among old friends. On a rainy day, especially, did Aunt
Stanshy enjoy the old church. True, not many would come out, and their
heads above the backs of the pews looked like scattered turtle heads
lifted above the surface of a pond in the woods. Aunt Stanshy was sure to
be there, and, while she heard the rain beating upon the windows, there
was the minister's voice reverently echoing in prayer, and Aunt Stanshy
had such a sense of protection from this world's many storms. On
fair-weather Sundays there would be quite a rush for the old church. The
Browns, Pauls, Randalls, Jamesons, Tapieys, would turn up, smiling,
radiant and self-assured as if they had never been absent from church a
single service. Their manner almost seemed to declare that they had been
there day and night. O, young people, do dare to be rainy-weather
Christians!

Aunt Stanshy and Charlie were walking away from the church the noon of the
Sunday after the grand march. At St. John's, the Sunday-school followed
the morning service.

"Aunty," said Charlie, nudging his companion, "here comes somebody."

That somebody was Mr. Walton, to whom were intrusted the spiritual
interests of the congregation. He was tall, stalwart, owned a fair
complexion, and wore his hair rather long; hair, too, that would curl, no
matter how patiently the brush and comb coaxed it to be straight and
dignified. His blue eyes had a rather sharp look at first when turned
toward you, but you soon felt that they were kindly, sympathetic, and
magnetic. Mr. Walton was very friendly toward the boys, and for that
reason he had a strong hold on the affections of many little fellows.

"Well, Miss Macomber, I am glad to see you out, and as for my boy here, I
should miss him ever so much if he were not in my school."

"I should miss _you_, if you wasn't there," replied Charlie, anxious to
return the compliment.

"Don't you know of some boy you could get into the school, Charlie?" asked
Mr. Walton.

"I know of one who belongs to my club."

"You belong to a club! What is the name of it?"

"The U. T. L. Club."

"U. T. L.! What does that mean?"

"It is Miss Bertha Barry's notion, sir," explained Aunt Stanshy, with an
air that was somewhat critical. Then she had noticed, or fancied that she
had detected, that Mr. Walton, who was single, rather liked Miss Bertha
and her ideas. He did not seem to notice Aunt Stanshy's tone, but
remarked,

"U. T. L.! That means 'Up Too Late!'"

"Ha, ha, guess again," replied the delighted Charlie.

"Useful To Learn!"

"No sir."

"Up With The Lark!"

"You have got one word too many in there. 'Up The' is right."

"Up The--Lane!"

"That's where I live," said Aunt Stanshy, proudly.

"Up The--"

"It's 'Up The Ladder,' sir," said Charlie.

"Well, Up-the-Ladder boys ought to be making advances and going ahead all
the time."

"That is what teacher says."

"What do you do in the club?"

"We had a grand march yesterday, and we have a pammerrammer next
Saturday."

"All the boys in your club go to Sunday-school?"

"All except Tony."

"Who is Tony?"

"He's an Italian boy, and his father is away off."

"Couldn't you get him into your class?"

"I might try."

"I will make the club an offer. If they will get five boys into school and
keep them there two months, I will give them a banner."

Charlie was delighted and promised to tell the boys in the club.

Mr. Walton here left Charlie and Aunt Stanshy, and went to his home. Aunt
Stanshy greatly reverenced any one who led the worship of the congregation
in the old church and encompassed such with a dignity-fence that was about
as high as the famous steeple of old St. John's, and that was a landmark
for souls at sea.

Then there was a family mystery about Mr. Walton that fascinated Aunt
Stanshy. He lived with his old white-haired mother, and there were hints
and whispers that the two mourned over a once wayward and now absent
member of the family. It leaked out that this was a son younger than Mr.
Walton, and he had married a beautiful foreign lady whom the clergyman
loved also, but had relinquished to the younger brother. This younger son
was off somewhere on the sea, it was whispered; but he had a child ashore.
On stormy days, it was noticed that the white-haired mother would watch
the steeple, which consisted of a series of diminutive houses rising one
above the other, as if ambitious to fly, but finally relinquishing the
task into the hands or wings rather of a gilded weather-cock. The mother
would watch the pigeons flying into their hiding-places in the steeple,
seeking a refuge from the wild storm, and then her eyes would be lifted
higher to the weather-vane, as if seeking for news about the sea-wind.
Still higher went her thoughts--to God.

"She's thinking of _him_, that son," said the observant neighbors, who
never knowingly gave up a chance to see something. To Aunt Stanshy this
bit of mystery only made Mr. Walton all the more interesting.

Mr. Walton thought the next day he would fish for scholars in the Grimes
neighborhood, where Tony lived. Billy and Rick, or "the governor," as the
club boys more generally called him now, lived in a long, low-roofed
building that had two green doors. One door led into the home where lived
Simes Badger when off duty at the light house. His wife took care of Tony.
In the other part of the house lived Billy and the "governor" with Jotham
and Ann Grimes. Billy was the child of Jotham and Ann. The "governor's"
parents lived in Dakota, but kept him at the East for the sake of an
education in its better schools. It was after dark when Mr. Walton chanced
to reach the long, low-roofed house, and "rap-rap" went his vigorous
knuckles against green door number one.

"Who's there?" sang out a boyish voice within.

"Tush, tush, Tony! Wait till I come," said Simes from his little bedroom
at one side of the kitchen. He was off duty, Jotham Grimes having gone to
the light-house. "It may be some sailor who wants me," added Simes. Mr.
Walton, having heard a boy's voice, concluded its owner must still be at
the door, and he announced his errand.

"It's rather late to call, but I wanted to know if you wouldn't like to
come into our Sunday-school?"

"No, your old Sunday-school may go to the bottom of the sea," was the
gruff reply of the disappointed Simes, who did not know his caller.

Mr. Walton felt that it might be prudent at that hour to withdraw, but he
did not relinquish his intention to secure Tony; and Tony finally came to
school.

The boy exceedingly interested the minister. "Where have I seen that
face?" asked Mr. Walton, and with bowed head he sat in his study brooding
over the problem, looking intently down as if trying to make out a pearl
at the bottom of the sea.




CHAPTER IV.

THE PAMMERRAMMER.


"Auntie, what do you think a couple of standing up collars would cost?"

"A standing up collar, Charles Pitt! What do you want that for?"

"Why, we have a pammerrammer to-morrow, and I am the one to 'splain it;
that is, me or the governor."

"He is gettin' to be a man!" thought Aunt Stanshy in sorrow. "A
pammerrammer!" she inquired. "I most get into that. Do you have
spectators?"

"O, yes. It is only a cent a ticket, and that will get you a reserved
seat."

"Then I must take a reserved seat."

Aunt Stanshy told the boys she would come whenever they notified her that
the pammerrammer was ready. A lively shout of announcement soon came from
half a dozen heralds up in the barn window, and Aunt Stanshy dropped her
sewing.

"All ready, aunty! Come now," shouted Charlie.

Aunt Stanshy quickened her steps into a run.

"There goes Stanshy," said Simes Badger, watching her from Silas
Trefethen's grocery. "Runnin' t' a fire, I guess. She only needs an engine
behind her t' make the thing complete."

Flying through the yard, Aunt Stanshy rushed up the barn chamber stairs.
Passing the "sentinel" with the powerful aid of a cent, she looked around
upon the chamber. In its center there was a stout wooden post, and between
this post and a closet, at one end of the chamber, there had been
suspended a dirty, ragged sheet, which the governor's aunt had taken from
the attic and given to the club. Across this sheet stretched a panoramic
strip of paper which Aunt Stanshy at once recognized as Charlie's
handiwork. It took two boys, Sid and Wort, to stand at the two ends of the
curtain and manage the "pammerrammer." As Sid unrolled the glorious
succession of artistic beauties that Charlie had sketched, Wort at the
other end pulled them along and rolled them up. In front of the curtain
was ranged a plank. A carpenter's bench that bordered a wall of the barn
supported one end of the plank, and a barrel the other end. This elevated
roost was denominated "reserved seats," and all cent admissions secured
"one of the most eligible chances in the Hall," so Sid declared. There was
a string of sweet little beauties on the bench, girls from the
neighborhood, and among them was little May Waters, her face one of
wonderful vivacity, a kind of panorama in itself, where the most varied
emotions chased one another in rapid succession. Aunt Stanshy found a sled
to sit on, and the performance began. Gov. Grimes wished to try his hand
first at explaining the pictures. He began, grandiloquently,

"This--this--is a building, no, Faneuil Hall. The next is a picture of a
ship. That is a--"

"Don't roll her so tight, Wort," whispered a voice behind the curtain.

"Monkey!" said the governor, finishing his sentence, but unfortunately
chancing to look toward that sensitive soul, Pip Peckham.

"I aint," said Pip.

"Who said you was?" inquired Wort.

"You!" charged Pip, turning to the governor.

"I didn't."

"You looked at me."

"Silence in the audience!" shrieked Sid to the now jolly spectators.

"You've got your end all twisted up, Wort," said the governor.

"O dear!" groaned the president.

The straightening out of the last difficulty was effected after a while,
and Gov. Grimes began again: "Here are some big, black dogs in a
melon-patch."

"Bears, bears!" eagerly whispered Charlie, alarmed for the reputation of a
club that could not tell the difference between dogs and bears.

"Well, bears, then," said the governor petulantly, "and I aint going to be
it any more."

The discomfited lecturer insisted on resigning, and Charlie took the
floor. He knew his old and beloved "pammerrammer" by heart, and he began
promptly where the governor left off.

"Here are some bears in a melon-patch. There's a picture of Westminster
Abbey, and here's a boy lifting a girl over a fence, and here's a flag
from Europe, and here's one from some part of Asia or some other place."

In the midst of Charlie's glib description there was a crash. The plank,
_alias_ the reserved seats, did not have a firm support. Its weakness had
been noticed, but not remedied.

"Who's the one to fix the bench?" inquired Sid.

"The governor," replied Wort.

But the governor was not one who believed in Aunt Stanshy's motto, "Do
to-day's things to-day." She was trying to impress it on Charlie, but she
could not be expected to stamp every mind in the club with the necessity
of the injunction.

"One boy is enough for me," she would say.

The plank had remained firm as long as it could, but several wriggling
children were too much even for the patience of a plank, and--down it
went! Little May Waters dropped at the feet of Charlie as he was busily
"'splaining." He gallantly picked her up and tried to comfort her, and
various members of the club rushed to the rescue of other ladies. It was
concluded now to adjourn the "pammerrammer."

"Man down in the yard!" called out Wort, who was "sentinel" when he had
nothing else to do. Wort looked over the edge of the window-sill. About
all he could see was an old hat, and a very bad hat at that.

"Let's sprinkle him! We can say we only saw a hat," and immediately
scraping up with his foot a quantity of hay-seed, he liberally sprinkled
the seedy hat. It was like unto like.

"Now look here," said Sid, "that was mean. If your father wore an old hat,
how would you like to have a feller sprinkle hay-seed on it?"

Sid had a good deal of the gentleman about him.

"There he comes! There he comes! Put!" said Wort. A foot-step could be
plainly heard on the stairs, and Wort started for the closet, again
saying, "Put!"

"I am not going to run," said the governor, with his usual resoluteness.

"Nor I," said Sid.

"Nor I," said Charlie.

"Nor I," said Billy.

Others declared the same. They all stood their ground, or floor, rather.
The noise on the stairs was continued, and soon a seed-strewn hat appeared
in sight, and then a big head of hair, and then a man's body. The boys
clustered closely together, and when the man turned toward them, they saw
that the roughly-dressed man had a roughly featured face, but its
expression was kindly.

"He will eat uth up," whispered Pip, trying to get behind Billy Grimes.
The stranger was not a cannibal though. He took off his hat, shook it, and
said, "If that was an accident, it's all right. If any one did it, meaning
to do it, was it just the thing?"

The boys felt the appeal and shook their heads.

"We don't justify it, and I'm the president," said Sid, with a look of
importance, "and no one of us that you see did it."

"I hope not. Sometimes folks are not lucky, and if any of your fathers
went trampin' round and couldn't get work, you wouldn't like to have any
body throw hay-seed on him."

"No, that's so," said Charlie. "It's too bad!"

The man turned to go down stairs.

"I--I guess my aunt could give you a job. She wanted somebody this morning
to saw her wood."

"Did she? Where is she?"

"I'll show you," and Charlie's obliging drumsticks followed the man down
stairs. Then he went into the kitchen and made an appeal for the stranger.

"Well, I'll give him the job," replied Aunt Stanshy.

In a minute more the man was at the wood-pile driving Aunt Stanshy's saw
rapidly through a stick of pine.

The club had been looking out of the window while Charlie interceded for
the man. When he joined his clubmates some one exclaimed, "What's that?"

It was a noise from the closet into which Wort had plunged, or, rather, a
noise that started there, for it was continued down into the story below,
even as the noise of a rushing snow-slide along a roof begins at the
ridgepole, but ends on the ground beneath the eaves.

"It's Wort!" said Charlie, excitedly. "O dear! he's gone."

"Gone where?" inquired Sid. "Into the bowels of the earth?"

Charlie's answer was to rush down stairs, followed by the club in a very
hasty and undignified way. There, at the end of a long spout that
terminated eight inches from the floor, was a couple of good-sized legs
squirming to get out. Then Wort's voice was heard, coming from the
interior of the box, "Let me out! Let me out!"

"Can't you _get_ out?" asked the governor.

"No, no! Let me out! Let me out--quick!"

It was even so. Wort must be _let_ out.

"O, Aunt Stanshy, Wort--Wort--is in the fodder-box, and can't get out!"
shrieked Charlie at the open kitchen window.

"What under the sun--" And, without a word more, Aunt Stanshy left the
clothes she was washing and rushed into the yard.

"Come here, mister, and bring your saw," she said to the man at the
wood-pile, "and, Charlie, bring a hammer from the nail-box on the
entry-shelf!"

The man at the wood-pile rushed after Aunt Stanshy, saw in hand, while
Charlie hurriedly brought the hammer.

"Now saw into that box and knock away with the hammer, mister. You see,
Silas Trefethen wanted to hire my barn last winter, and thought he would
put in what he called a fodder-box running down from the closet above to
this floor, and then intended to knock the closet away when he had carried
the box down here, thinking he might save some steps that way, but he was
taken sick and the closet was left there; and that closet floor, I
suppose, wasn't left just right."

Aunt Stanshy was talking while the man was sawing and hammering away. He
plied his tools vigorously, and soon let Wort out into the full light of
day once more. The boys shouted and laughed also as Wort wriggled forward
into liberty. He looked up, but seeing that his liberator was the man he
had seeded, he dropped his head, and, refusing to look again, slunk away
with an air that indicated a strong desire to find another box where he
could shut himself up for the present.

The man concluded who his enemy was, and he said, "I guess we are even
now."




CHAPTER V.

THE NATION'S BIRTHDAY.


"The great thing on the Fourth is to have a good time," said the
president.

"No, the great thing," said the practical governor, "is to be sure and
wake up in season."

"That's so," chimed several voices in chorus.

"How shall we fix it?" asked Pip.

"Tie your toe to the bed-post," said some one.

"Put a lot of stones in your bed," said Sid, "and then you can't sleep
easy."

"Two sleep together and tie their toes to one another," said the governor.

Objections were found against all these plans, as they had been
ineffectually tried by various members of the club.

"Go and holler under every boy's window," said Billy Grimes, with the air
of one who had made an important discovery. "I will holler under your's,
Pip," was his magnificent offer.

"But who will be the feller to go to your window?" asked Sid.

"Why--why--_you_."

"Well, who will holler under my window?" said Sid.

"I," said Wort.

"And under yours?" continued the president.

"I," said Juggie.

"And who under Juggle's?"

"I," said Tony.

"And who under Tony's?"

"I," said Charlie.

"And who under Charlie's?"

That was a problem.

"Aunt Thanthy," suggested Pip.

"Aunt Stanshy is going out visiting," remarked Charlie.

There was a very sad pause. Despair was on the faces of the club. A happy
thought came to Charlie. "Some one has got to sit up and wake the next
one, and I will. I can take a nap the next forenoon, you know."

"Three cheers for Charlie!" called out Wort, and they were cordially
given. It was arranged on the spot that Charlie should sit up. If Aunt
Stanshy had been at home she would have vetoed the plan, but, purposing to
be absent the night before the Fourth she had engaged Silas Junkins to
stay with Charlie and guard the premises. Charlie had no difficulty in
obtaining Silas's consent to the plan, and not only his consent, but also
his co-operation. In the main entry of Aunt Stanshy's house was a tall,
old-fashioned clock. It was an aged household servant, and had done duty
in the entry many years. It always stood in one place, one particular
corner in the rear of the entry. It is a wonder its voice did not show any
sign of collapse, as it had called off the hours so many years. It would
not have been strange if it had lost its patience. But uncomplainingly,
even cheerily and without any sign of weakness, it told you what time it
was. Charlie sometimes heard it in the night, and then it sounded like,
"Cheer up! cheer up!" its pleasant voice halting on the "cheer," and then
emphasizing the "up." It divided all its peals into two such notes, and
when Charlie heard it strike one o'clock the effect was quite enlivening
as be lay there in his dark little chamber. At an hour earlier, when it
sounded twelve "Cheer ups," what a joyous procession of notes that was! It
was like a watchman's voice ringing out "All's well!" twelve times. It
occurred to Charlie that he might occupy a chair in the entry, and, if at
all inclined to go to sleep, the striking of the clock would keep him
awake. Silas Junking moved a table into the entry for Charlie, and set a
lamp on it. At nine Silas, who enjoyed very much a large quantity of
sleep, went to his rest in a little bedroom on the same floor with the
entry.

"You can step into my room and wake me, Charlie, if any thing happens."

"O, I sha'n't need to," was the watchboy's very emphatic reply.

"Well, good-night!"

"Good-night!"

"Now all I've got to do," soliloquized Charlie, "is just to keep awake,
and it is a great deal better than to go to sleep with a string tying your
big toe to the bed-post. Hark, there is some one firing off a gun! Wont I
wake 'em with a blow on my horn!" Here he saw himself, as he visited house
after house, arousing boy after boy. It would be like the falling of a row
of bricks, where the only need is to push over the first one and the whole
set will follow. Every thing, though, depended on the fall of the first
brick. Would Charlie do his part?

"I'll take this story-book about Indians, giants, and fairies," he said,
"into the entry, and that will keep me awake splendid."

It was a book startling enough, and the trouble was that it was too
startling.

After looking at the book a while, Charlie's mind was so peopled with
ferocious giants, Indians on the war-path, fire-breathing dragons, and
ghostly genii, that he transferred them to all the corners of the room,
and especially to that receptacle of shadows, the space under the table,
the very place where his legs were--ugh! Charlie did not like to look at
the book, and, dared not, at the forms under the table! He shut the book
and he shut his eyes. Hark, the clock was saying "Cheer up!" and somebody
in the lane fired a pistol that seemed to say, "Wake up!" Yes, yes, that
was all right, Charlie thought, but--but--he guessed he would close his
eyes just this once--and close them just this once--and close them just
this once--and in a few minutes the champion watchman was fast asleep! In
an hour the clock struck again, and its voice seemed harsh, as if saying,
"Young man, young man, wake up!" The notes had no startling effect on
Charlie. Indeed, he heard them only as a very sweet, musical voice. The
pistols and cannons going off in Water Street reached his ear as mild
little pops. Things went on in this way till morning. About five Charlie
dropped on the floor the book of Indians and dragons, that patiently had
been resting in his lap all night. It roused him. He partially opened his
eyes. Before him was an opened door that led into the parlor, and, sitting
in his chair, he could see the parlor windows, whose curtains were up and
whose panes were brightened by the light in the eastern sky. What did he
see at those windows? Had some of the Indians, imagined to be under
Charlie's table, gone to the outside of the windows, there to look in,
grinning at him and shaking their head-feathers at a boy stupidly sitting
near a table on which was a lighted lamp? Charlie rubbed his eyes for a
better look, then rubbed again and again, and--and--were those Indians
shouting, "Charlie, how are you?" He now sprang to his feet, fully awake,
and there were several members of the club, their faces streaked with red
chalk, their caps ornamented with all kinds of feathers, their--Charlie
did not take another look at their decorations! He only glanced at the
clock, exclaimed, "Five o'clock! Whew!" seized his cap, and rushed
out-doors.

"Wake up, Charlie! Wake up, Charlie!" was the greeting of his comrades.

"Whew, fellers, aint this cheeky?" inquired Charlie.

"I should think it was--in you. Did your nap refresh you?" asked Sid.

"Why didn't you come round and wake me up?" said the governor.

"And me?" said Billy.

"And me?" said Pip.

"And me?" said Tony.

"You see--you see," replied Charlie, "I overslept."

"That is," said Sid, "you slept _over_ the table. Three cheers for
Charlie, our faithful watchman! I nominate Charlie for _honorary_
sentinel."

The cheers were delivered, and Charlie was declared by the president to
have been unanimously chosen honorary sentinel.

"You see, boys," said Sid, patronizingly, "I don't know what would have
become of you if it hadn't been for _me_. My big brother Nehemiah was out
banging away all night, and he got tired and came home about three, and
said to me, 'You in bed now? I thought you were going to get up several
hours earlier than the lark.' Well--after a while--I dressed quick, I tell
you, and then I went and woke our governor, and Billy, and so on."

Sid omitted to say how long that "after a while" might be, and that his
brother aroused him several times, and finally he got into his clothes.
Nobody, however, was disposed to ask questions, as every one had slept
later than he intended.

"Knights of the White Shield!" suddenly shouted Sid, "three good ringers
on your bugles for our honorary member, Miss Stanshy Macomber? Here she
comes!"

Aunt Stanshy was now returning from her visit, having concluded to make an
early start for home, feeling somewhat anxious for its safety on "the
glorious Fourth." The club separated into two ranks, and, as Aunt Stanshy
passed along, each one of the "knights" touched his feathery head-gear,
while every horn sent out as ringing a blast as possible.

"Massy!" cried Aunt Stanshy. "My ears!" Then she retreated to her home as
quickly as possible lest another salute be tendered her.

What a day that was! What liberty! It seemed as if those patriots in the
Up-the-Ladder Club had been oppressed by a terrible yoke of bondage,
domestic especially, but it was all lifted and thrown off that day. There
was freedom--to blow horns, freedom to fire crackers, freedom to "holler,"
freedom to crack torpedoes, freedom to buy pea-nuts, buns, ancient figs
and dates and abominable cheap candy, freedom to make one's self as dirty,
tired--and cross the next day--as possible! O, blessed liberty to boys who
had patiently borne the yoke three hundred and sixty-four days, ever since
the last Fourth! After a forenoon of miscellaneous and multiplied joys,
the club planned to spend an afternoon in the woods. Emptying their
pockets, they found that, altogether, they could raise eleven cents, and
this was laid out in the judicious expenditure of as many buns as
possible.

"It is proposed, White Shields," said Sid, "this afternoon that we spend a
little time playing, a little time in bun-lunching, and then we will have
a raft-race on the water near the railroad track."

This programme was carried out in part successfully. The games concluded
with success, there was a successful time in eating, as far as the number
of buns would permit. Then there was a little speech-making.

"I understand," said the president, as he concluded his remarks, "that the
rights of one of our number have been interfered with. He has been
forbidden to fire off any more crackers, and must confine himself to
caps."

This announcement was followed by groans and hisses, even as thunder and
lightning come after the black summer cloud. The person who had lost his
freedom and been compelled to return to slavery was Charlie.

Aunt Stanshy had said to him at the dinner-table, "I don't want you to
fire any more crackers to-day."

Charlie's chin went down.

"Why?"

"Because there is danger of setting fire to something. The wind is warm
and dry."

Charlie's chin now went up.

"It was warm and dry, but the wind has just changed, and it is coming in
from the sea, and it is damp and misty."

"But, that wont put out fires."

Charlie's chin now dropped again and dropped to stay. He went up stairs
and, having a knack at rhyming, wrote a string of lines and put them in
his pocket. Sid had found out the contents of Charlie's pocket when it had
been emptied in behalf of the bun fund, and at the "collation" in the
woods, he concluded his speech with these words: "I learn that the Hon.
Charles Pitt Macomber, who has been forbidden to fire off crackers, has
some poetry, and I will ask him to read it I would only add that freemen
must stand for their rights." Cheers were now given for "the poet of the
day." Charlie stood up and read these lines, which were subsequently found
by Aunt Stanshy in the pocket of his pants, for these needed the help of
her needle after the great and fatiguing duties of the Fourth. The name
and age of the author, Charlie had been particular to place over the
poetry. We give the lines exactly as they appear in the original now in
our possession.


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH.

By C.P. MACOMBER, (nine years.)

  "Hurrah for the Glorious Fourth of July,
  When sky-rockets mount to the sky,
  When fire-crackers are whizzing so fine,
  And all is Majesty Grandeur an' sublime.

  "If I could have the whole day to myself,
  I would fire off crackers all day like an elf,
  The Giant Torpedoes would fall to the ground,
  And all would come down with a terrible sound.

  "What good are little paper caps?
  I would not give two ginger snaps,
  They do not make a noise worth hearing,
  But fire-crackers, the ladies are fearing."


If Charlie should write this again, he would change the above, but it is
too late to alter now, and we give it as preserved in our note-book.
Furious applause followed this ebullition of poetic genius.

The collation was followed by the raft-race. The ditch that ran beside the
railroad embankment widened in one place to forty feet. Half a dozen logs
were here floating. The keeper of the great seal had brought with him a
hammer and a handful of nails, and seeing on his way several strips of
board, he had picked them up and now nailed the six logs together in
pairs, making three rafts.

"There will now be a race between our first treasurer, our sentinel, and
the keeper of the great seal," pompously announced Sid. "This will be the
first race. I expected Tony and the governor would compete, but they have
gone home. The Fourth was too much for them."

They both began to be sick after the collation. Rick, with his usual
pertinacity, wanted to "stick it out," but his feelings overcame him, and
he adjourned. He and Tony had eaten too much green-tinted candy. The
participants in the raft-race were preparing for the contest, Charlie
having already boarded his craft and pushed off into position, when a cry
from Pip arrested the attention of all and made them think of something
besides rafting.

"Down-townieth!" he shrieked, and pointed up the railroad embankment.
There stood a stout boy whom Charlie recognized immediately as one of the
evil force that raided on the club the day of the grand march! It was Tim
Tyler, one of the hardest boys in Seamont, aged fifteen. Back of him was a
smaller boy, but a competitor in vice, Bobby Landers. How many others
might soon show themselves, no one could say, but the down-townies were
clannish and loved to turn out in crowds, and to the club the probability
appeared to be, that others would speedily rise up and charge along the
railroad track. Sid Waters, who had urged freemen to stand for their
rights, was now turning on his heel. He headed for a fence that separated
the railroad lot from the woods. It was evident that the first club race
would be, not on the water, but the land, and that Sid Waters's legs would
take an unexpected but active part in it. Other legs followed his, and
this race of freemen for their rights became a general one. At first, it
was not positively certain who would reach the fence first and so beat in
the race, but Sid's alacrity in starting was so great that he gained the
prize, or would have taken it, had any been offered. The others though
made very good time, and showed what freemen could do when hard pushed by
their oppressors. Charlie, alas! was too far from shore to share in their
good fortune, and, besides, Tim Tyler was on hand to object to any such
movement.

"Don't be in too much of a hurry to leave," he said provokingly to
Charlie, and seizing a pole left by one of the retreating club, pushed off
the raft that Charlie had shoved near the shore.

"Leave me alone," growled Charlie.

"I have, haven't I? I don't see how any one could be much more aloner than
you are off there."

Charlie looked like a jar of pickles, a keg of gunpowder, and a small
thunder-cloud combined. He was so angry that he could now say nothing.
When Tim had repeatedly pushed Charlie's vessel back from the shore,
Charlie as obstinately pushing toward it again, Tim cried out, "Say, I
will make you an offer. Do you see that?"

He pulled out of his pocket a dirty bottle and held it up.

"There, some of the best beer made anywhere is in that. If you will take a
swaller, I'll let you come ashore."

Charlie could hardly contain himself now. He was scarcely able to sputter
out this defiance, "When you catch me tasting that stuff, you'll know it!"

"O jest hear him, Bob!" said Tim, mockingly. "I s'pose this young sailor,
who don't know enough about sailin' to get his craft ashore, has jined a
temperance society."

"Yes," said Charlie, "I belong to Mr. Walton's at St. John's."

"What saint is that?"

The wrathful Charlie gave Tim a look of contempt and turned away.

"O, so he wont turn his pretty face this way, wont he?"

Having said this, Tim changed his tone and shouted fiercely, "You've got
to look this way, sir. Bob, you get on that other raft and I will take
this one here, and we will catch that young saint."

The two unoccupied rafts were immediately brought into service. Never did
an innocent merchantman fleeing from two pirates make a harder exertion
than did Charlie to get away from Tim and Bob. They gained on him, though,
rapidly.

"There they come," thought Charlie, giving one look back at the dirty,
saucy buccaneers. Tim had now reached the middle of the little pond when a
thing greatly in his favor proved to be a serious thing against him, and
that was the strength of his push. The fastenings of the log-raft were not
equal to any violent pressure upon them, and suddenly they gave way and
the logs separated. Tim's legs separated with them till they could part no
farther, and then he tried to spring from one log to the other. Alas for
him, he put his foot in the wrong place, and that wrong place was the
water! Down he went into as thorough a bath as ever a young rascal got in
this world. The water was not over his head, and he was soon on his feet,
but the dip had been complete enough to satisfy the most vindictive
members of the Up-the-Ladder Club, and Tim was spitting and sputtering,
then spitting and sputtering again, trying to clear month, eyes, nose,
ears, of the unwelcome, dirty ditch-water.

"Give--us--a--hand, Bob," he gasped.

Charlie did not stay to see any further developments, but pushed for the
shore, safely reaching it, and then made his way to the fence, climbing it
and gaining the wood-lot. In the meantime, the other members of the club
had halted and were consulting together. It was Juggie who arrested their
flight. "It is too bad," he said, "to leave Charlie."

That remark detained Billy, and then Sid, Wort, and Pip stopped.

Sid laughed and said, "My father has been in the army and he would call
this the flying artillery. So you see it is all right."

"I'm afraid it's all wrong," said Billy, "to leave Charlie behind."

"Yes," said Wort, "to run away from a member of the club."

There was now a general feeling of indignation toward any member of the
club that had deserted Charlie, if that member could be found, as each
one's motive had not been to desert another, but the prudent impulse to
save himself.

Sid was among the fiercest to shout and the most furious to propose.
"Charlie deserted!" he said. "Who's deserted Charlie? That wont do! Back,
fellers, to the rescue!"

A brave, sympathetic shout arose. A few minutes ago Sid would have been
afraid of it as something that might attract the enemy's attention, but he
calculated that they must now be at a safe distance from the down-townies.

"Let's make a flank movement on the enemy," said the president.

"What ith that?" asked Pip.

"Why, not so much to go _at_ them as to go about them and take them
unawares in the rear."

This mode of attack, which did not necessitate the actual facing of the
enemy, was very popular and took wonderfully with the club. To Sid, in
particular, it was a very agreeable mode. He boldly headed this movement.
He intended to go off in a direction where no enemy would ever be met, but
in his ignorance of the woods, he took a course that would have led the
club back to the pond, and it was an agreeable thing for Charlie that he
did, as that fugitive from the pirates soon was met.

"Hullo, there he is!" shouted Wort.

"Who?" asked Sid, trembling, and fearful that it might be Tim Taylor.

"Here I am, boys," shouted Charlie.

"Ho, to the rescue!" cried Sid, now taking long leaps forward. "Charlie, I
rescue thee!"

"We are coming to fank de enemy," said Juggie, anxious to have a hand in
winning the laurels now coming so rapidly to the Knights of the White
Shield.

"Going to surround the enemy," exclaimed the warlike Sid, "and also rescue
Charlie, but--but--we might as well go back now. Did you have a hard time,
Charlie?"

"I did have a time, I tell you," and Charlie eagerly told the story of his
adventures.

"How we will go back, boys," said the president, "and go round home
through the woods."

"No, sir," declared Billy, who had somewhat of his cousin's resoluteness;
"I'm going home the way we came, and if any body stops me, it is his
lookout."

The heroic sentiment was loudly applauded, and the club returning
valiantly stormed the railroad fence and carried it--a remarkable feat
considering that there was nobody on it to oppose them.

Billy Grimes in his earnestness even brought down the top-rail with him.

"Stop, fellers!" warned Sid. "The enemy!" Lifting their eyes to the top of
the high railroad embankment, they saw Tim in the act of chastising Bob.
It was afterward ascertained that Tim was rewarding Bob for not helping
him more efficiently at the time of the raft accident. Tim completed the
bestowal of this reward, and then noticing the club, he shook his fist at
them. He did not linger, but followed sullenly by Bob, passed down the
other side of the embankment. The club did not find out whether this was
an intended retreat, or simply the taking of a convenient route to reach
home. They put their own construction on it, and the movement was judged
to be "a shameful retreat by the enemy." Billy led off in a brave,
determined charge up the embankment--Sid shouting, "Hurrah! Glory for us!
Those getting the battle-field are victors, you know!"

Nobody disputed this, and the valiant knights continued their triumphant
advance to their very homes.

The Fourth was drawing to a close. The sun was breaking out through the
clouds that had covered the heavens, and so brilliant was the outburst of
colors, it seemed as if the folds of an immense star-spangled banner had
been suddenly let loose in the western sky. It very soon paled though. The
clouds thickened everywhere and the easterly wind that had been blowing
all the afternoon, bringing occasional mist, now drove to land a blinding
fog. Finally it began to rain, and yet gently, as if reluctant to spoil
any festivities of the Fourth. Gathering up all their pyrotechnic
resources, it was found that the club boys could muster a few pin-wheels,
five Roman candles, and a "flower-pot." Most of these had been stored in
the barn, but were now moved out-doors and taken to the shelter of a stout
leafy maple by the side of the lane.

"The rain wont trouble us here," said the president. "Where is Charlie?"

"He has gone to get his fire-works," replied Billy Grimes. "He left them
in the house and it is locked, for his Aunt Stanshy has gone out, and he's
waiting for her, I guess."

"We had better begin, fellers, and he will come soon. The rain is coming,"
said Sid, warned by a big drop that glancing through the branches smote
him on the nose. Pin-wheels, candles, and the other attraction were
pronounced a success, though their discharge was hastened on account of
the thickening rain.

The boys separated, tired and sleepy, sorry to part with the Fourth, and
yet secretly glad that there was such a thing as "bed."

"Whar's Charlie," asked Juggie, as the boys separated. No one knew.
"Good-bye, Charlie!" shouted one after the other, and all hastened to
their homes.

Charlie was where he had been the last twenty minutes, occupying a seat
out in the porch at the back door and waiting for Aunt Stanshy. He had
fallen asleep, so thoroughly tired was this patriotic young American, and
the day for him was ending as it began--in a chair. Aunt Stanshy came at
last, feeling her way through the shadows in the porch and striving to
reach the back door, whose key she carried.

"What's this?" she said, running against the sleeper. "If it isn't that
boy! And here the rain has been working round into the porch and it is
coming on him! If you don't take cold, Charles Pitt Macomber, then I am
mistaken! Wake up, wake up!"




CHAPTER VI.

A SICK PATRIOT.


The next morning, Aunt Stanshy was stirring at the usual hour, and her
usual hour in summer was five. She did not generally expect to see Charlie
down stairs until half past six. This morning, Aunt Stanshy; looked up at
the clock on the high mantel-piece and saw that it was seven, then half
after seven, then eight, and half after eight; but all this time there was
neither sound nor sight of Charlie.

"Massy, where is that boy? I thought I would let him sleep, he was so
tired, but he ought to be around now," reflected Aunt Stanshy.

She opened the door that led up to his chamber and slowly mounted the
steep, narrow, yellow stairs, turning to the right into Charlie's sanctum.
A turn to the left would have taken her to her own room. Peeping into
Charlie's room, she saw the boy fast asleep on the bed. Stealing softly
across the bare floor and reaching the red and yellow home-braided rug
before his bed, she looked down on the sleeping Charlie. A smile parted
his lips, and be murmured something unintelligible to Aunt Stanshy. Then
she laid her hand on his head, giving a little start.

"That boy took cold last night, and is a bit feverish. I'll let him lie
here a spell longer."

Saying this, she was about to turn away, when Charlie's eyes opened.

"That you--you, aunty?"

"Yes; why?"

"I thought it was a dream. I had a dream, and thought we gave the
down-townies an awful scare."

"You did? Was that what you were smiling at? I mean just now."

"I guess so. And then I believe we were going to give three cheers."

"Well, do you feel like getting up?"

"Y-e-s."

He rose on his elbows, but sank back again.

"I guess, if you have no objection, aunty, I will lie a little longer."

"I guess you had better, for you took cold last night out in the porch.
Would you like to take your breakfast in bed, and have my little table
that I lend to people who are sick in bed?"

"O, yes."

"And would you like to have a piece of toast, a little tea, and an
orange?"

"O, yes. You are the best aunty in the world."

"Am I, dear?"

Aunt Stanshy was not very demonstrative, so that this "dear" was
exceedingly precious to the warm-hearted Charlie, as was also a small hug
that she gave him. While she was preparing his breakfast Charlie lay
quietly in bed, and heard the sound of the rain on the slanting roof. To a
tired boy in bed, and longing to have some excuse for absence from school,
what music is sweeter than the sound of rain on the roof? Let it be a real
north-easter sweeping in from the sea, pushing along a fleet of many
clouds packed with a heavy cargo of rain, and, as it advances, let this
wind sound many big, hoarse trumpets all about the houses and barns, up
and down the streets! An organ in church played by Prof. Jump-up-and-down
is nothing compared with such a north-easter; Charlie heard the grand
music of the wind. By and by he heard Aunt Stanshy's step on the stairs.
She came slowly up, up, and then Charlie saw her turning from the entry
into his room, bringing the sick-table and Charlie's breakfast She
bolstered him up in bed, putting two or three fat pillows behind his back.
Then she put the little sick-table before him. One side had been hollowed
in, so that an invalid could draw it close about his body. Charlie was now
the invalid to do that thing. What tea! what toast! what an orange!

"Now that you have some strength, do you want to dress and then come down
and sit with me in the sitting-room and see me iron?" asked Aunt Stanshy,
after breakfast.

"O, yes, and not go to school?"

"No school to-day, when that cold is on you."

Charlie crawled into his clothes and went down stairs to the sitting-room.
Aunt Stanshy was ironing. She generally did her ironing in the
sitting-room, as the kitchen was very small, and, on a hot day, it was so
hot there that one felt like sizzling at the touch of water.

"Here are some picture-books for you."

"O, thanks, thanks, aunty!"

"One of those picture-books is about Indian wars."

"Did you ever see an Injun?"

"Not the raving, tearing, tomahawk kind."

"I shouldn't want to see that one."

"Several years ago sort of tame ones used to come round and have baskets
to sell. My great-great-grandmother had quite an adventure with the real
kind once."

"O, tell it to me!"

Opening his eyes to that peculiar width appropriate to the hearing of an
Indian story, Charlie intently listened.

"My great-great-grandmother was all alone one day in the house, for the
men-folks had gone to market or somewhere. She happened to be looking out
of the window, when she saw an Indian looking over the fence. What a
customer! He was an ugly-looking crittur, I don't doubt. What could she
do, for he might be tomahawking her in less than no time? Wimmin folks, in
them days, were not like Miss Persnips, that keeps the little
thread-and-needle store on the corner, without any snap to 'em. My
great-great-grandmother just tore round that room at a lively rate. She
slammed the shutters, she banged about the chairs. Then she pretended that
there were lots of men-folks in the house, and she kept calling to Tom,
Bill, Jerry, Nehemiah. O, she had a string of 'em, all on her tongue's
end! I don't know but she pointed a gun out of the winder, man-fashion.
What did that crittur do but gather up his traps and walk off as harmless
as a bumble-bee when his sting is gone. I've heard with my own eyes my
grandmother tell that story about her grandmother."

"Heard her with your eyes?"

"Of course not! With my ears, ears. Where are yours, for pity's sake?
There is an old garrison-house on the other side of the river, and I will
show it to you some time, or I will show you what is left. They have built
over the garrison-house and back of it, making a farm-house of it, but
there is something still to be seen."

"What a blessed old aunty!" thought Charlie. And the wind, what grand
music it made! The chimney seemed to be a big bass-viol that this
north-easter played on.

At noon Aunt Stanshy said, "What will you have for dinner?"

"May I order it, the way I did at a saloon in Boston last summer? May I
write what I want on paper, and put it on the table?"

"Yes, if orderin' will make it taste better, and it seems to affect some
folks' vittles that way."

So Charlie and Aunt Stanshy "played saloon." He wrote his order on a slip
of paper, and left it on the table for her inspection while he went up
stairs. Directing her spectacles toward it, she read, with some amazement,
this request:

"Please bring me for dinner, a pickle Aunt Stanshy, would be what you know
nice to toast."

"Toasted pickle!" exclaimed Aunt Stanshy, in alarm.

Charlie had now returned to the sitting-room.

"You don't mean, Charles Pitt, a toasted pickle!"

"Why, no; ha! ha! There are two things on that paper. I said, 'Please
bring me for dinner, Aunt Stanshy, what you know to toast.' That is on one
side, and on the other, 'A pickle would be nice,' and I see now that you
could read the words straight across, and it would mean what you say; ha!
ha! I don't expect a pickle, of course, for I am sick, you know."

"O!"

She did not laugh. She was rather mortified to think she had not read the
order aright. The noblest natures have their infirmities. Afterward, being
ashamed of herself because she did not take pleasantly this unintended
joke, she manifested her penitence by getting up an extra dinner for
Charlie. There was more toast, and even of a finer quality. There was
another orange, and there was some jelly that Aunt Stanshy took the pains
to buy at Miss Persnips's store. This was a sweet but thin-voiced little
woman, who sold a variety of things in a store on the corner of the lane
and Water Street.

"It is nice to be sick, Aunt Stanshy."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes, just a grain sick."

It was so pleasant to be in the warm, comfortable sitting-room and watch
the dreary weather out in the lane. The back side of the house butted on
the lane, no fence intervening. Aunt Stanshy had no objection to such a
close contact, but rather liked it, declaring it to be "social." She did
not favor, though, the sociability that drunken sailors manifested several
times when going from the saloons on Water Street down to their vessels at
the wharf in which the lane ended. They would stagger against the house,
pushing one another and bombarding it. Aunt Stanshy was on hand, though. A
pail of freshly-drawn water, Arctic cold, and from an upper window,
administered freely to the offenders, had been known to produce a healthy
effect. Aunt Stanshy's remedies for various troubles might be vigorous,
but they were generally effective. There was not much passing in the lane,
that stormy day. A fisherman, in an oil-skin suit, went by, trundling a
wheel-barrow of fish to a store in town. At noon, somebody else appeared.

"There's Mr. Walton," said Aunt Stanshy.

"And there's Tony with him," said Charlie.

"Where's his father?"

"Tony says he is in Europe."

"He the one that people say is an Italian, and--and--nobody knows what he
is up to?"

"That's the one, aunty."

The minister and Tony, hand in hand, passed out of sight.

"This is the kind of day when Mr. Walton's mother will be watching the
weather, looking up at the vane. People say that she has a great deal to
say about the sea, and takes a great interest in sailors."

"What for?"

"Because they say she has a son somewhere at sea."

"And don't any one know where he is really?"

"No; and they have hinted and suspected and guessed and done every thing,
except ask old Miss Walton right out, but they can't find out a thing.
She's close as a clam in this matter."

By and by there appeared in the lane a drunken man. As he staggered along
he was exposed to all the pitiless pelting of the wild north east rain,
and moved away like a dark, forlorn shadow.

"Poor fellow!" the sympathizing Charlie exclaimed. "Who's that, I wonder?"

"Where?"

"A drunken man in the lane."

"If people would only take the water inside and the rum outside, sort of
turnin' things round, it would be much better, better," said Aunt Stanshy,
going to the window. She gave one look and came back to her ironing.
Charlie thought he heard her sigh. He had already noticed that Aunt
Stanshy never made fun of drunken people.

"Who is it?" he asked.

She did not answer, but taking up her flat-iron again, pounded the clothes
with it vigorously, as if trying to call attention from herself to her
work.

"Is she crying?" thought Charlie.

As if wet with her tears, her spectacles gleamed sharply. The muscles of
her arms swelled as she pounded the innocent sheet before her, and Charlie
was reluctant to ask again. For some time there was silence, the only
interrupting sound being Aunt Stanshy's pound--pound--pound. Charlie sat
in his chair, looking steadily out upon the somber, dripping rain.

"Don't you want to play something?"

It was Aunt Stanshy speaking. A troubled look on her face had passed away
and she was ironing quietly again.

"Yes;" said Charlie, "you--you sick?"

Aunt Stanshy gave no answer to this, but asked again, "Don't you want to
play?"

"Play what?"

"Boat."

"Boat! how!"

"O make believe, you know."

Charlie thought in silence.

"You lend me a box, aunty?"

"Yes, certainly."

"And that little broom you sweep with?"

The amateur ship-carpenter went to work.

"There is my mast," said Charlie, securing the broom to the bottom of the
box which he had turned over. "Now I must have sails. It is going to be a
monitor, too, like what I read about in a book the other day."

After some effort, and more tribulation, there appeared a splendid piece
of naval architecture, a monitor with a turret, the deck bordered with a
twine-railing, two sails hanging down from Aunt Stanshy's small broom.

"That broom makes me think of what I learned at school when I was a girl."

"What was that?"

"I am not much of a scholar, but I remember this. Admiral Tromp was a
Dutchman, and commanded a fleet that went against the English. Tromp was
so successful that he tied a broom to his mast-head and went sailing over
the waters, and that meant he had swept his enemy from the sea, and if he
hadn't, he would certainly do it and make clean work of it. Over the blue
waters he went skipping along, feeling dreadful big, with that broom at
the mast-head. The English boys, though, came at him again and whipped
him, and poor Tromp was finally killed in a sea-fight. I don't know what
became of his broom. You had better call that an English and not a Dutch
broom."

When Charlie went up stairs that night, the _Neponset_ as he called the
monitor, was still sailing in the sitting-room, its sails all set, its
broom at the mast-head. He thought it was splendid to be sick.

"How long do you think this sickness may go on?" was the last question he
asked Aunt Stanshy that night.

"O, if it is a slow fever, it might last several weeks, but I don't want
to discourage you."

"Discourage!" It was magnificent. Two or three weeks of toast and jelly
and oranges and many soft words, and not a few hugs! That night he was
dreaming of boxes of oranges he was emptying, and of glasses of jelly big
as hogsheads, out of which he was taking jelly by the shovelful! The next
morning he felt--though unwilling to confess it--much better. At noon keen
old Dr. Pillipot happened to come along, and Aunt Stanshy referred
Charlie's case to him. Old Dr. Pillipot bent his sharp, gray eyes down
toward Charlie and made up a horrid face as he growled, "Let me see your
tongue, young man. Hem! Looks quite well. Let me feel your pulse. So!
Quite good. The weather has changed, and as it is mild and sunny, he might
walk down to school this--afternoon.

"O dear!" groaned Charlie, when the doctor had left. "I wish I had scared
his horse off when I saw him coming down the lane. You and I, aunty, did
have such a nice time!"

O, the trials of this life!

Charlie, though, had a dose of comfort from Aunt Stanshy. She told him he
need not go to school until the next day, and when the morning came, she
said:

"I believe the _Neponset_ took a cargo on board in the night."

There in the shadow of the mast-head was a column of doughnuts!

"You may take them all to school with you, Charlie."

Now he was glad that he was not sick. He disposed of six doughnuts that
forenoon, and as these, if tied together, would have made good chain-shot
for the monitor, and yet did not affect him unfavorably, it was proof that
Charlie was restored to health.




CHAPTER VII.

THE NAILED DOOR AND WINDOW.


Charlie made a discovery in the barn. In that side toward the river there
was a door on the first floor, and there was also a window in the chamber
above. Not only was the door closed, and closed also was the wooden
shutter of the window, but over each iron hook dropped in its staple and
securing the door and window were two nails stoutly driven. All this
Charlie had noticed before. He now traced these half-obliterated words in
chalk on the door: "This is not to be opened." He was standing before this
prohibition, wondering who put it there, and for what purpose, thinking
how nice it would be to have the door open that the club might have a
chance to get down that way into the dock. Then he thought how pleasant it
would be, also, to have the window open that the club might have a lookout
upon the river and off toward the sea, on whose blue rim, a mile away,
could be seen the white tower of the light-house, where Simes Badger and
his assistant served their country alternate days. Suddenly, Charlie heard
a thick, hoarse voice behind him: "Your Aunt Stanshy in, sonny?"

Charlie turned, somewhat startled, and there was Simes Badger himself.

"She has gone out, I guess, sir."

"What are you looking at that door for? I don't believe your Aunt Stanshy
wants you to open it."

"O, I was not going to open it."

If, after the half-effaced chalk-marks, Charlie had seen a written threat,
"On pain of death," he could not have been more determined to let that
window alone.

"Do you know, Mr. Badger, who shut and nailed that window?"

"Aunt Stanshy herself. I saw her with my own eyes."

"You did?"

"Yes. You see--there, I don't know but I'm telling a secret--but then you
won't say any thing."

Having made this prudent remark, and not waiting for any promise from
Charlie, Simes, who dearly loved to tell a thing, and especially any thing
that might astonish a hearer, began his story.

"You see, Tim Tyler is your Aunt Stanshy's second cousin."

"Tim's father?" said Charlie, in astonishment.

"You mean young Tim Tyler's father? Ginerally old Tim is young Tim's
father, sartin as the sea is father of our river. But this old Tim is
young Tim's uncle. Then you didn't know it? Well, you are young, and I
spose nobody told you. Well, Stanshy and old Tim were brought up side by
side in this neighborhood and were good as chickens to one another. Some
folks say they'd been better friends still, if their parents hadn't set
their faces agin it, and so they were never married to one another. They
were never married at all. Did you ever see old Tim?"

"I don't know as ever I saw old Tim, but then I've seen _that_ boy, and he
is rough," said Charlie, recalling the afternoon of the Fourth.

"Tim Tyler don't live in this part of the town, and it's no wonder you
never saw him. He hardly ever comes down this way now, though he often did
once. Well, the wust lookin' old drunkard you ever see about town, spot
him for Tim."

"Then I guess I have seen him," remarked Charlie, recalling the drunkard
he had watched the afternoon of his severe sickness, and remembering, too,
Aunt Stanshy's singular conduct.

"Tim looks poorly enough now, but it wasn't so once. Straight and smart,
and bright as the blades of a new jack-knife, was Tim. His face was
blushin' like a posy, and his beard was long and handsome, like Moses the
prophet's. He was nice as a pictur till rum got the better of him, and
then he changed, I tell ye. For many years he had the privilege of fishin'
from this barn. From the stairs on the 'tother side of that door, he would
get down into his fishin' boat in the dock. He would bring his fish in
here, split 'em and prepare 'em for market. Sometimes Stanshy kept a horse
and cow below, and then Tim would hist his fare into the upper window and
clean his fish there. But one day Aunt Stanshy cleaned him out, and when
Stanshy starts on a cleanin' tour, she makes thorough work of it, and puts
things through promptly. And she did clean out old Tim! But I must go back
and hitch the horse into the cart, and say what you know as well as I,
that your Aunt Stanshy is a great teetotaler, a leetle too much I think."
[Simes liked his nip.] "But seein' how her minister's in favor of it, she
is wuss than ever. Now to go on. Your father, boy, let me say, had a hand
in this trouble, though not meaningly, and it was this way. Tour father
came to live with your Aunt Stanshy, and one day Tim took him out
a-fishin', and not only tipped a jug to his own lips, but sot it to your
father's also. When they came back home, it was plain they had been up to
suthin' besides fishin'. Well, Tim might as well have touched a lion's
whip--what do you call it?"

"Whelp. I was reading about lions to-day."

"Yes, touched a lion's whelp as touched your father; for didn't Aunt
Stanshy pitch into him! I heard it all. It was when he was a-splittin'
fish, and Aunt Stanshy came out, and didn't she walk into Tim! I never see
an eel skinned more purtily than she dressed Tim for temptin' a poor,
motherless boy, as she called your father. 'Don't!' your father would go,
tryin' to pacify her; 'don't!' It had no more effect than tryin' to fan
out of the way a tornader. Indeed, jest because she and Tim had been on
good terms with one another and understood one another so well, I think
for that reason she was all the hotter. You know when brothers do quarrel,
they go it wuss than other folks. Well, Tim at fust would say nothing but
he was orful mad. He was that kind of mad that you see in the sky when a
thunder-storm is brewin', and yet no rain has fallen; only the flash is
there, and the thunder is there a-rumblin', and the lightnin' is there a
sawin' up and down, but nary a drop of rain! At last Tim spoke, and he
declared it was the last he'd ever have to do with her, and afore he'd ask
a favor of her, he took a horrid oath, he'd see hisself a-drownin' in that
dock fust. I hated to hear him swear that way, for, sez I, 'Young man, you
may get there yet, and you may be glad to have Stanshy's help.' Then he
took a barrel of fish he was fillin', and he was so mad he rolled the
whole mess into the water, sayin' he would have nothin' to do with any
thing that had touched Aunt Stanshy's barn. I asked him why he didn't then
throw himself over! That touched him up, and he grabbed his knives and
pitched them into the dock. It was a queer sight to see them fish in that
barrel floatin' away. But then the rum was in him and maddened him. When
he had left, it was Aunt Stanshy's turn to do suthin'. I heard it all, for
I was in the yard doin' a few chores for Stanshy. Fust, there was a slam
in the barn chamber. I jest slipped up them stairs and peeked over the
edge of the floor. Stanshy had pulled the shutter in with a vengeance.
Then she hooked it and drove the nails over the hook as tight as bricks. O
she is a woman of 'mazin' vigor, Stanshy is, when she gets agoin'. She
came down stairs and she fastened up this door, and then I seed her
fumblin' in her pocket, and, pullin' out a piece of chalk, she began to
write. When Stanshy had finished, of course, I was at my chores agin very
busily engaged. Well, since that day, there has been silence between
Stanshy and Tim like that round the old tombstones in the church-yard. I
hope some day it will be different."

With this benevolent wish, Simes closed.

"A bad scrape," remarked Charlie.

"Yes, people ought not to drink so much," said the abstemious and ascetic
Simes. "They ought to stop this side of a drop too much."

"They ought to stop this side of any drop at all," stoutly affirmed the
young member of Mr. Walton's temperance society.

"Pre--pre--haps so," replied Simes.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE ENTERTAINMENT.


Aunt Stanshy, as she looked down upon the sitting-room table, saw
Charlie's curly head bending over pen, ink, and card-board. He had cut the
card-board into strips three inches long and two inches wide.

"What have you there?"

Charlie was too much occupied to notice this remark.

"What are you doing?"

"Making tickets."

"Tickets?"

"Yes, will you buy one?"

"I want to see first what I am going to buy."

"You may."

Aunt Stanshy then read these lines on a slip of card-board:

     -------------------------------------------
    |     Ticket to the Up-the-Ladder Boys'     |
    |             ENTERTAINMENT.                |
    |    Admission, 2 nails. Seat, 10 nails.    |
    | Elders' admission, 1 cent. Seat, 2 cents. |
     -------------------------------------------

"O, that is it I Could I go in for nails, or a cent?"

"For a cent."

"Then I'm an 'elder.'"

"Yes, aunty."

"Well, I'll engage a seat."

"Goody! That will be two cents. We did think of breaking up the club, but
this will cheer them up. Wouldn't it be too bad to give up? Our new silk
badges that our teacher promised, we have this week."

"The shields?"

"Yes, spick and span new."

"I hope my two cents will encourage them to be good knights."

"O it will. You will be on hand this afternoon, after school?"

"Certainly."

After school, Aunt Stanshy was on hand promptly, and she judged by the
noises issuing from the barn that all the others were on hand also. She
climbed the, stairs and was about stepping into the chamber, when Pip, the
assistant sentinel, came forward. He looked very formidable. A scarlet cap
was on his head, a white belt tied round his body, and red flannel
epaulets decorated his shoulders. He bore a terrible broom, and Aunt
Stanshy recalled the fact that it had served as mast for the _Neponset_.

"Who goeth there?" cried the valorous Pip.

"Aunt Stanshy," said a feeble voice.

"Advanth and give the counterthign?"

"I can't."

Pip leveled his broom at once. Poor Stanshy, how she wished she had made
her will.

"Bang!" he shouted.

Could she survive this?

"Thay pertatoeth!" he whispered.

"Pertatoes," she fortunately shrieked.

"All right," said Pip, and she was spared a second shot.

"I'm thankful to get through safe, and now I have not to pay, after all
that risk?"

"Certainly, madam," politely replied Charlie, the treasurer, who now met
her. "I'll take your ticket and punch it."

Having punched her ticket, he retired. Aunt Stanshy looked about the
chamber. She noticed that an old thin sheet served for curtain, as before,
and another was strung across a corner and separated it from the rest of
the chamber. This second curtain not being long enough to reach the
desired distance, was pieced out by a strip of wire netting in one corner.
Looking over this corner curtain, Aunt Stanshy saw eight pieces of
carpeting on the floor, each member of the club having furnished a piece.
Inside this sanctuary were a barrel and a saw-horse.

"What is this for?" asked Aunt Stanshy.

"O for meetings," said Charlie. "Only the four principals can go in
there."

"Who are they?"

"The president, the governor, the first treasury, and the keeper of the
great seal. We stand on the barrel and saw-horse, and make laws to the
other members of the club, who stand outside."

Aunt Stanshy now turned to inspect the other parts of the chamber.

"This is our whipping-post," said Charlie, calling attention to a post
against which leaned the ladder that sloped up to the cupola.

"Have you whipped any one?"

"Yes; Pip deserted once."

Aunt Stanshy read three notices nailed to the post: "First, no cross
words; no swearing and vulgar words; nobody but the treasurer to climb
this ladder to go up into the cupola, unless the club say so."

This was in Charlie's handwriting.

"Why not go?" asked Aunt Stanshy.

"O we keep our funds up there in a dipper."

"It looks unsafe to me, for somebody climbing up there might reach into
the cup and steal the money."

"O no, I guess not."

Sid Waters now stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "two more
individuals having arrived"--these were nail patrons--"we will begin our
entertainment. First is the dialogue called 'The Spy.'"

The curtain rose and there stood the inheritor of the warlike name of
Jugurtha. He was rather sober and melancholy, and was dressed in a
semi-military style that betrayed not in the least the fact to what flag
he might possibly be attached. Sid was crouching down, hiding behind a
barrel.

"What am I?" Juggie now asked in low tones, "American or British?"

"Of course," Sid was heard to say, "you are an American, or ought to be.
Hush up!"

Juggie now strode over the floor, an exiled broom-handle resting on his
shoulder. Suddenly a step was heard. From the rear of a box crept out the
governor. He wore a farmer's dress, and was half smothered under his
father's tall hat.

"Advance!" shouted Juggie, "and gib de count--count--"

"Countersign!" whispered the prompter behind the barrel.

"Count-de-sign!" shouted Juggie, pompously, at the same time presenting
the broom-handle threateningly.

"George Washington!" answered the farmer.

"All right. Go 'long dar!"

"No, no!" whispered Sid. "Let me see your papers, friend!"

"Let me see your papers, friend!"

The farmer reads his pass.

"Is dat all?"

"All."

"Knock off his hat," whispered Sid.

"What's de matter wid your hat?" and as Juggie shouted this, he fetched
the governor's hat a merciless rap, one that would have been serious had
not the governors head luckily been in the first story of the hat. As the
hat dropped, Juggie seized a paper that fell out, and exclaimed, "A spy, a
spy! A note to de British commander!"

"Seize him! That is the next thing," suggested Sid, in smothered tones.
But the British spy was too much for Juggie, and the defender of the
continental name was obliged to resort to severe measures. Presenting the
broom-handle, he shouted, "Aim! Fire! Bang!" but the spy was not
considerate enough to fall.

"Drop! drop, why don't you?" whispered Juggie. "You've been shot."

The spy, _alias_ the governor, showed his usual firmness, and continued to
stand.

"Drop!" besought Sid, in a suppressed voice. "Shoot him again, Juggie!"

But the spy did not care to be riddled again and he prudently fell.

"Drag him out, Juggie!" was the prompting of an unknown voice. Juggie
seized one of the spy's fat legs, but pulled in vain. It was an impossible
_feet_. Sid and Charlie now appeared as continentals, supposed to be armed
with guns, and were helping Juggie, when the cry was raised, "The British
army is coming!" At the head of the stairs appeared Wort Wentworth, his
head decorated with a red paper helmet, and carrying on his body various
insignia of war. He now made a fierce charge across the floor.

"Into the fort!" shouted Sid, rushing toward the closet, and, as usual,
striving after the first chance to retreat. "Into the fort, my men!"

After him scrambled Charlie and Juggie, the dead "spy" manifesting an
unusual energy and scrambling after them, forgetting that his friends were
in his rear and not in the closet. The next moment all heard an ominous
descent from the second to the first story.

"Massy!" shouted Aunt Stanshy. "Somebody has gone down that fodder-box
agin!"

She rushed down stairs, followed by the "British army," and all the
members of the Up-the Ladder Club that could move one leg before the
other.

"I know those legs! I guess they will stand it," said Aunt Stanshy, as she
reached the lower floor and caught a glimpse of the fodder-box. It was the
British spy, whose stout pedestals were sticking out, and he only needed
to be once more seized and dragged forward by Juggie and the other
"continentals" to give proof of his vigorous, embalmed condition.

"Sakes, boy!" said Aunt Stanshy. "I thought you were shot, but you
manifest an immense amount of vitality for a dead man."

"I came down rather sudden," said the governor.

"Yes, and it's the last time," exclaimed Aunt Stanshy, "that thing is
going to happen. I will go up myself and fix that floor, and do it
thoroughly."

In a few moments her hammer was heard vigorously pounding in the closet
and securing the club against future harm.

"We didn't do all we intended," said Charlie. "We were going to have a
reconciliation, aunty."

"Between whom?"

"The British and Americans. We were going to have the President of the
United States and Queen Victoria walk arm in arm up and down the floor,
and never have war any more."

In the confusion attendant upon the fall of the "spy," the programme was
not carried out as planned, and the shadows of those two eminent rulers
never darkened the floor of the barn chamber.

"May war never happen, just the same!" said Aunt Stanshy.

Amen! so say we all of us.




CHAPTER IX.

THE CUPOLA.


Aunt Stanshy was reading one day the list of prohibitions posted up
against the post in the barn chamber.

"Charlie," she said "I like what is said here, that no cross words and no
bad words must be spoken here; but what does it mean when it says _no one_
but the 'treasury' must climb the ladder and go up into the cupola? Does
that apply to honorary members? and did you think that I might want to go
there?"

Charlie's mouth opened into a crack from ear to ear. "Why--why, the money
is up in the cupola!"

"The money is up there in the cupola? Yes, I knew that; you told me that
before. What holds your money?"

"A tin dipper."

"Well, now, if you don't look out, somebody will steal your money. You may
be assured that honorary members won't trouble it."

"Ho!" shouted Charlie. "There goes a man and a hand organ and a monkey."

The dignity of the club was not sufficient to restrain Charlie and several
others from an almost headlong rush for the out-door attraction, and they
quickly surrounded the organ-grinder. He owned a remarkable monkey, the
boys thought, especially when he mounted by a spout to the window of Aunt
Stanshy's chamber, and, entering it, soon re-appeared shaking in his hand
Aunt Stanshy's spectacles!

"Put 'em on!" cried Sid.

"He can, he can!" said his master. "Me taught him."

The next moment the spectacles appeared on the monkey's nose!

"He look like _her_," said the organ-grinder.

But the monkey did not have time to continue his resemblance to the fair
owner any longer, for the shadow of a broom fell over him, and if he had
not made a very nimble spring for the spout, something besides a shadow
would have fallen upon him, even the broom itself. This was now seen at
the window, and Aunt Stanshy behind it. It was Tony who gallantly ran
forward and rescued Aunt Stanshy's spectacles as their wearer was about
quitting the spout for the ground.

"We think that monkey is very smart, Aunt Stanshy," said Sid.

"I expect you will make him an honorary member the next thing."

"He's bright enough," said Sid.

"I wonder how bright one must be to be an honorary member if--if--a
monkey is the standard?" thought Aunt Stanshy.

This visit from the monkey was not the only unusual thing happening that
day. The club heard with sorrow of the unexpected and total loss of their
money! Charlie, as "treasury," had gone up the ladder, but returning, he
reported that the dipper, the safe of the club, was missing.

"How much money was in it?" inquired Aunt Stanshy.

"Ten cents."

"I said you might lose your money."

This was entirely true, but it was poor consolation. Indeed, it was quite
aggravating.

"Did you have any mark on the dipper?"

"Yes; a shield on the bottom, though--though--'twas not a very good one."

No, to that day it remained uncertain what the device really was, and its
character had been hotly discussed in the club.

Charlie had discovered the theft on his return from school at noon.
Swallowing a potato and a few mouthfuls of steak, he then rushed from the
house to report the loss to the club. In a short time all the white
shields had heard the news, and quickly gathered.

"Well, boys, what is to be done?" asked the president.

Nobody knew.

"Let's climb the ladder and all take a look," suggested the secretary.

Exceedingly nimble were the legs that went wriggling up the ladder, and
very curious eyes were directed toward the depths of the "cupelo," but the
only result was a succession of "My!" and "That's so!" and "Too bad!"

"I've got it!" shouted Sid.

"He'th found it," said Pip.

Every sad face brightened.

"No, I haven't, Pip!" exclaimed Sid.

"But you thaid tho."

"No, I meant that I knew what had become of it."

"O! O!" said Pip. "But what hath become of it?"

Sid here looked about him, to make sure that no one outside of the club
was listening.

"Well, boys, I think Tim Tyler took it"

"What makes-you think so?" inquired the governor.

"It has just come to me that I saw Tim Tyler go down the lane after
school, and a tin dipper stuck out of his pocket."

"You did?" asked several.

All eyes opened wide in wonder and indignation.

"With my eyes I saw him. That's where the dipper has gone."

It did not occur to the club that there were more dippers than one in the
world, and then they did not care to think of it. They had not forgotten
the Fourth, and they wanted to believe something bad of Tim.

Another point for discussion came up at once, and Charlie suggested it.

"How shall we get the dipper away from Tim?" he asked.

"I move the president go," said Wort.

"I thecond the mothion," cried Pip.

"Aint you good," was Sid's scornful notice of the intended honor.
"Presidents don't do that, but the police of the club. I preside."

"The sentinel is the police, and that is Juggie, but he is not here now;
he went home a moment ago. Then, of course, his assistant must do it;" and
he here turned toward Pip.

"Yes, Pip," said boy after boy.

Poor, trembling Pip! Didn't he wish he had been born in the previous
century! No amount of coaxing could prevail upon, him to approach the
dreadful dragon that had carried off the tin dipper, and every body else
declined the same honor.

Finally Wort made this offer:

"I'll go down to-Old Tim's boat, and Tim may be hanging round, and I'll
see what I can see."

This was a relief to the club, and entirely safe for Wort.

"I'll go at once," he said, and away he went.

Charlie went up to a store on "Water Street at the same time, and chanced
to meet Miss Bertha Barry.

"We've met with a loss," said Charlie, with a sober face.

"Any one dead?"

"O no; but the club has lost its tin dipper."

"Tin dipper?"

"Yes, teacher, where we kept our money."

"O!"

"All our money has gone."

"How much!"

"Ten cents."

"Hem, hem; sorry."

"We think we know who did it."

"You know certainly."

"No, but we think we do, and the feller is just bad enough to do it."

"It's pretty hard to have people think you are bad; and then, if you are
thought to have done something you were never guilty of, that is worse
still. I don't think it fair to charge a wrong thing on any body unless we
know pretty certainly. It is not just."

Charlie had not thought of it _that_ way before.

"I guess you are right, teacher."

Bidding her good-bye, he was moving off, when she said: "Stop one moment.
Whoever that boy is, I wish you'd get him out to Sunday-school."

"What an idea!" thought Charlie. "Tim Tyler's going to Sunday-school!"

In the meantime Wort had been prosecuting his bold investigations. He
strolled down the lane, passing several cottages, and then a fish-house,
where several men were splitting and salting fish. All these were on the
left side of the lane. On the right was a long dock, and in it were
several boats.

"There is Tim Tyler," exclaimed Wort, "and there is his boat. There is
young Tim, the thief!"

It was an old boat that Wort looked into as he stood upon the stairs
leading down into the dock. It was a boat badly battered, like its owner.

"If the red paint could be got off Tim's nose and put on his boat, it
would be better for both," thought Wort.

Old Tim was fixing a net in the stem of his boat. Young Tim was in another
part of the dock, hunting amid the muddy flats for relics.

"There she is!" said Wort to himself. He had detected a dipper in the
bottom of the boat. "Now is my chance," thought Wort. He reached down to
the coveted dipper. It was a venerable piece of tinware.

"That's too old to be ours," reflected the daring Wort. "Let me turn it
over and see if there is a mark on the bottom. Bah, an old worm! That is
not our dipper."

"Here, you thief! what are you meddlin' with that property for?" roared a
voice.

It was Old Tim. His face was red as a boiled lobster, and as he crooked
his bare arms and rested them on his hips, they looked like the claws of a
mammoth lobster ready to crawl out and seize any offender.

"Guess I'll go," thought Wort, and off he hurried to tell the club his
ill-success, and that their detective in search of a thief had been called
one.

A few minutes later Juggie exclaimed to the disconsolate circle, "Dar's de
organ-grinder."

It was indeed he hurrying along the lane and turning a troubled face
toward the barn, for no monkey came with him. Had he lost his friend from
the far South?

"He gone!" said the grinder, as he reached the boys. "You sheen him?"

"Seen your monkey?" asked Sid.

"Yes, yes! You sheen my leetle mun-kee?"

"Why, no."

"You--you--you," and the grinder swept the circle to find out if any one
had seen the lost favorite. No one had seen him.

"O, O dear!" lamented the grinder excitedly.

Poor organ-grinder! his face was wrinkled as badly as that of his missing
assistant when attempting to pick a very bad nut.

"You go--find--my--mun-kee?"

"O, yes," said the president, "we will hunt. Come on."

They scattered, tumbling over fences, climbing shed roofs, diving into
corners, shouting, yelling, and stirring up the neighborhood thoroughly.
It did no good. "My munkee" refused to be found.

The boys went to school and returned, meeting in the barn chamber once
more.

"There's some business to be done, Mr. President," said the "securtary,"
in a very formal way. But where was the president? He was no more to be
found than the monkey. A little later, Wort Wentworth was looking out of
the window.

"Here comes Sid," he shouted.

Sid was running through the yard, when, seeing the boys at the window, he
stopped, and shouted excitedly:

"O, fellers, I have made a discovery! It's all out now. Come!"

What was out he did not say, but turned and speedily was out himself in
the lane.

"Come on, boys," called the governor, and down the stairs they went,
rushing, shoving, tumbling, just in time to see the last of Sid's legs
disappearing round the corner of the house. They hurried after him, down
the lane, then up a little passage-way between two buildings on the left.
Then they turned aside to the rear of a barn, and there the panting,
confused group halted.

"There!" said Sid, solemnly, pointing as he spoke. "The mystery is over.
Poor feller!"

Dangling from the roof by a cord that was twisted round his neck, swung
the dead monkey! In the grasp of his rigid paw was the missing dipper.

"I see the shield!" sang out Wort. Yes, there was the mark identifying the
stolen property. Poor little child of the tropics, swinging in his leafy,
native haunts from bough to bough, gripping the branches with paw and
tail, he little anticipated that his last swing would be by the neck, like
that of a murderer from the black, unsightly gallows! He had strayed away,
carrying with him the cord binding him to his master's wrist. In his
peregrinations over various roofs, he had examined the cupola, and
reaching a paw through an opening where a slat chanced to have been
removed, he had abstracted the property of the club. Whatever money was in
the dipper had been spilled hopelessly as marbles in the sea. Attempting
to come down by a spout from the last barn-roof visited, he was entangled
in the cord that had caught about a nail in the roof. Finally, the cord
was twisted about his neck and twisted the life out of him. The thief was
holding out the dipper as if asking for more, and showing that the ruling
passion was strong in death. There were many sighs from the
tender-hearted, sympathetic boys. All were ready to pity and forgive, but
pity and forgiveness could not bring the little creature back to life.

"Let's bury him!" said a tearful voice. It was Tony, who said little
generally, but he was now moved to speak in his secret sympathy for this
wandering child of the sun. The organ-grinder was notified, and then a
grave was dug for his dead property under the leafiest apple-tree. Charlie
furnished a box, and Wort brought fresh straw from his stable. The box
with its occupant was laid in the grave, and the pitiful face of the
monkey was then covered up forever.




CHAPTER X.

AUNT STANSHY'S BOARDER.


Aunt Stanshy had often said she would never have boarders, and she would
"go to the almshouse first," yes, she "would." One day, though, there came
to the house a frank, lively, irrepressible young man of nineteen.

"I am a stranger here," he said, "but my name is Somers, Will Somers, and
I have come here to be a clerk in Tilton's apothecary-store; been in
Boston, you know, with Tompkins & Thomas, Tilton, when he was up the other
day at our store, said that he wanted a clerk and offered me the chance,
which I concluded to accept. I want a boarding-place, marm; but what a
town this is? Do I look like a tramp, and if I don't, what is the matter
that I cant get a boarding-house? Do I look like one?"

Here he looked at Aunt Stanshy, making such an appeal with his frank, blue
eyes, that Aunt Stanshy could not well do otherwise than say, "Why, no!"

"Then wont you take me?"

"O--I--I--said I never would take boarders,--and--and--I am
unprepared,--and--and--"

"O this room will do first-rate. I shouldn't want one any better, really.
I know"--here he gave a very approving glance about the room. "Now come,
do! It would please mother very much."

"Have you a mother living?"

"O yes, and she is one of the best mothers, too, and I think you look like
her. There are four of us brothers. How much your little boy looks like my
little brother Willie at home! Come here," he said to Charlie, who had
opened the door to ask Aunt Stanshy a question, "come here and see what
apothecaries carry in their pockets. Some folks think they only carry
drugs and such things, but you see if it is so?" Here he put into
Charlie's fat hand a long and toothsome piece of checkerberry pipe stem!

"He is not my little boy really," explained Aunt Stanshy, and then she
went on to say who Charlie was, and also told about other things, finally
saying so much concerning the Macomber family that he ceased to be a
stranger and seemed to become a relative, a species of long-absent son,
and consistently what could Aunt Stanshy do but let Will Somers--an
arrival in Seamont only a few hours old--have that sacred apartment--her
front room?

"What a fool I am!" soliloquized Aunt Stanshy. She watched Will Somers go
down the street after the interview, and heard him whistling "The girl I
left behind me." Did he mean Aunt Stanshy? "I'm a nat'ral-born fool, I do
believe," she exclaimed, "letting a perfect stranger have that room; but
there, it will be sort of nice having him round. I s'pose he will want to
stick a lot of things into that room." And didn't he stick up "things" and
make changes? Down came the two yellow crockery crow-biddies that had
roosted on the mantelpiece the last twenty years, never having paid for
the privilege with a single crow. Down came two vases of dried grasses.
Down came a flaming red, yellow, orange, and green print of an American
farm-yard. Up went various things. Over the mantel-piece was suspended a
picture of Abraham Lincoln, garnished with American flags, and along the
mantel-piece was ranged a row of photographs, principally of