"I'll mail you Harper's Weekly regularly, shall I, father?" asked Frank.

"Yes, I shall be glad enough to see it. Then, there is one good thing about papers--after enjoying them myself, I can pa.s.s them round to others. There are many privations that I must make up my mind to, but I shall endeavor to make camp-life as pleasant as possible to myself and others."

"I wish you were going out as an officer," said Mrs. Frost. "You would have more indulgences."

"Very probably I should. But I don't feel inclined to wish myself better off than others. I am: willing to serve my country in any capacity in which I can be of use. Thank Heaven, I am pretty strong and healthy, and better fitted than many to encounter the fatigues and exposures which are the lot of the private."

"How early must you start to-morrow, father?" inquired Frank.

"By daylight. I must be in Boston by nine o'clock, and you know it is a five-mile ride to the depot. I shall want you to carry me over."

"Will there be room for me?" asked Mrs. Frost. "I want to see the last of you."

"I hope you won't do that for a long time to come," said Mr. Frost, smiling.

"You know what I mean, Henry."

"Oh, yes, there will be room. At any rate, we will make room for you.

And now it seems to me it is time for these little folks to go to bed.

Charlie finds it hard work to keep his eyes open."

"Oh, papa, papa, not yet, not yet," pleaded the children; and with the thought that it might be many a long day before he saw their sweet young faces again, the father suffered them to have their way.

After the children had gone to bed Frank and his father and mother sat up for a long time. Each felt that there was much to be said, but no one of them felt like saying much then. Thoughts of the approaching separation swallowed up all others. The thought kept recurring that to-morrow would see them many miles apart, and that many a long to-morrow must pa.s.s before they would again be gathered around the fire.

"Frank," said his father, at length, "I have deposited in the Brandon Bank four hundred dollars, about half of which I have realized from crops sold this season. This you will draw upon as you have need, for grocery bills, to pay Jacob, etc. For present purposes I will hand you fifty dollars, which I advise you to put under your mother's care."

As he finished speaking, Mr. Frost drew from his pocketbook a roll of bills and handed them to Frank.

Frank opened his portemonnaie and deposited the money therein.

He had never before so large a sum of money in his possession, and although he knew it was not to be spent for his own benefit--at least, no considerable part of it--he felt a sense of importance and even wealth in being the custodian of so much money. He felt that his father had confidence in him, and that he was in truth going to be his representative.

"A part of the money which I have in the bank," continued his father, "has been saved up toward the payment of the mortgage on the farm."

"When does it come due, father?"

"On the first of July of next year."

"But you won't be prepared to meet it at that time?"

"No, but undoubtedly Squire Haynes will be willing to renew it. I always pay the interest promptly, and he knows it is secured by the farm, and therefore a safe investment. By the way, I had nearly forgotten to say that there will be some interest due on the first of January. Of course, you are authorized to pay it just as if you were myself."

"How much will it be?"

"Twenty-four dollars--that is, six months' interest at six per cent. on eight hundred dollars."

"I wish the farm were free from enc.u.mbrance," said Frank.

"So do I; and if Providence favors me it shall be before many years are past. But in farming one can't expect to lay by money quite as fast as in some other employments."

The old clock in the corner here struck eleven.

"We mustn't keep you up too late the last night, Henry," said Mrs.

Frost. "You will need a good night's sleep to carry you through to-morrow."

Neither of the three closed their eyes early that night. Thoughts of the morrow were naturally in their minds. At last all was still.

Sleep--G.o.d's beneficent messenger--wrapped their senses in oblivion, and the cares and anxieties of the morrow were for a time forgotten.

CHAPTER X. LITTLE POMP

There was a hurried good-by at the depot.

"Kiss the children for me, Mary," said her husband.

"You will write very soon?" pleaded Mrs. Frost.

"At the very first opportunity."

"All aboard!" shouted the conductor.

With a shrill scream the locomotive started.

Frank and his mother stood on the platform watching the receding train till it was quite out of sight, and then in silence our young hero a.s.sisted his mother into the carryall and turned the horse's head homeward.

It was one of those quiet October mornings, when the air is soft and balmy as if a June day had found its way by mistake into the heart of autumn. The road wound partly through the woods. The leaves were still green and abundant. Only one or two showed signs of the coming change, which in the course of a few weeks must leave them bare and leafless.

"What a beautiful day!" said Frank, speaking the words almost unconsciously.

"Beautiful indeed!" responded his mother. "On such a day as this the world seems too lovely for war and warlike pa.s.sions to be permitted to enter it. When men might be so happy, why need they stain their hands with each other's blood?"

Frank was unprepared for an answer. He knew that it was his father's departure which led his mother to speak thus. He wished to divert her mind, if possible.

Circ.u.mstances favored his design.

They had accomplished perhaps three-quarters of the distance home when, as they were pa.s.sing a small one-story building by the roadside, a shriek of pain was heard, and a little black boy came running out of the house, screaming in affright: "Mammy's done killed herself. She's mos'

dead!"

He ran out to the road and looked up at Mrs. Frost, as if to implore a.s.sistance.

"That's Chloe's child," said Mrs. Frost. "Stop the horse, Frank; I'll get out and see what has happened."

Chloe, as Frank very well knew, was a colored woman, who until a few months since had been a slave in Virginia. Finally she had seized a favorable opportunity, and taking the only child which the cruel slave system had left her, for the rest had been sold South, succeeded in making her way into Pennsylvania. Chance had directed her to Rossville, where she had been permitted to occupy, rent free, an old shanty which for some years previous had been uninhabited. Here she had supported herself by taking in washing and ironing. This had been her special work on the plantation where she had been born and brought up, and she was therefore quite proficient in it. She found no difficulty in obtaining work enough to satisfy the moderate wants of herself and little Pomp.

The latter was a bright little fellow, as black as the ace of spades, and possessing to the full the mercurial temperament of the Southern negro. Full of fun and drollery, he attracted plenty of attention when he came into the village, and earned many a penny from the boys by his plantation songs and dances.