CHAPTER VIII.

"THE NEVER-GIVE-UPS."

"Now Christmas is come, Let us beat up the drum, And call our neighbors together; And when they appear, Let us make them good cheer, As will keep out the wind and the weather."

This is what the old song says; but it is not the way the people of the new colonies celebrated Christmas. Indeed, they thought it wrong to observe it at all,--because their forefathers had come away from England almost on purpose to get rid of the forms and ceremonies which hindered their worship in the church over there.

The Parlins, however, saw no harm in celebrating the day of our Saviour's birth, and Mrs. Parlin, who was an Episcopalian, always instructed Love and the boys to trim the house with evergreens, and put cedar crosses in the windows.

w.i.l.l.y was glad whenever his grandfather Cheever happened to be visiting them at "Christmas-tide," for then he was sure of a present. Mr. Cheever was an Englishman of the old school, and prayed for King George. He wore what were called "small clothes,"--that is, short breeches, which came only to the knee, and were fastened there with a buckle,--silk stockings, and a fine ruffled shirt. His hair was braided into a long queue behind, which served w.i.l.l.y for a pair of reins, when he went riding on the dear old gentleman's back.

I am not sure that Mr. Parlin was always glad to see grandpa Cheever, for they differed entirely in politics, and that was a worse thing then than it is now, if you can believe it. Mr. Parlin loved George Washington, and grandpa said he was "only an upstart." Grandpa loved King George, and Mr. Parlin said he was "only a crazy man."

But w.i.l.l.y adored his grandfather, especially at holiday times; for besides presents, they were sure to have games in the big dining-room, such as blindfold, or "Wood-man blind," bob-apple, and snap-dragon.

Then they always had a log brought in with great ceremony, called the Yule log, the largest one that could be found in the shed; and when Seth and Stephen came staggering in with it, grandpa Cheever, and Mrs.

Parlin, and Love, and w.i.l.l.y all struck up,--

"Come, bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys, The Christmas log to the firing, While my good dame, she Bids ye all be free, And drink to your hearts' desiring."

The "good dame," I suppose, was Mrs. Parlin; and she gave them to drink, it is true, but nothing stronger than metheglin, or egg nog, or flip. It seems to me I can almost see her standing by the table, pouring it out with a gracious smile. She was a handsome, queenly-looking woman, they say, though rather too large round the waist you might think.

Her father was a famous singer, as well as herself; and for my part I should have enjoyed hearing some of their old songs, while the wind went whistling round the house:--

"Without the door let Sorrow lie, And if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury it in a Christmas pie, And evermore be merry."

Or this one:--

"Rejoice, our Saviour, he was born On Christmas day in the morning."

But these were family affairs, these Christmas meetings. No one else in Perseverance had anything to do with them, not even Caleb or Lydia.

But the little boys in those days did not live without amus.e.m.e.nts, you may be sure. Perhaps their choicest and most bewitching sport was training. There had been one great war,--the war of the Revolution,--and as people were looking for another,--which actually came in 1812,--it was thought safe for men to be drilled in the practice of marching and carrying fire-arms.

In Perseverance, and many other towns, companies were formed, such as the Light Infantry, or "String Bean Company," the Artillery, and the "Troop." These met pretty often, and marched about the streets to the sound of martial music.

Of course the little boys could not see and hear of all this without a swelling of the heart and a prancing of the feet; for they were rather different from boys of these days! Hard indeed, thought they, if they couldn't form a company too! As for music, what was to hinder them from pounding it out of tin pans and pewter porringers? There is music in everything, if you can only get it out. Chickens' wind-pipes, when well dried, are very melodious, and so are whistles made of willow; and if you are fond of variety, there are always bones to be had, and dinner-horns, and jews-harps.

Full of zeal for their country, the little boys on both sides of the river met together and formed quite a large company. They had two trials to begin with; firstly, they could not think of a name fine enough for themselves; and secondly, they could not get any sort of uniform to wear. Their mothers could not see the necessity of their having new suits just to play in; and it seemed for some time as if the little patriots would have to march forever in their old every-day clothes.

"But they'll give us some new ones by and by, boys," said w.i.l.l.y. "My mother laughed last night, when I asked again, and that's a certain sure sign."

"O, I thought we'd given that up," said Fred Chase.

"Look here, boys," exclaimed w.i.l.l.y; "I've thought of a name; it's the 'Never-Give-Ups.' All in favor say 'Ay'!"

"Ay! ay!" piped all the lads; and it was a vote. Perhaps it was a year before the Never-Give-Ups got their uniforms; but at last their mammas saw the subject in a proper light, and stopped their work long enough to dye some homespun suits dark blue, and trim them gorgeously with red.

w.i.l.l.y's regimentals were not home-made; they were cut down from his father's old ones; and he might have been too well pleased with them, only Fred Chase's were better yet, being new, with the first gloss on, just as they had come from a store in the city of Boston.

Fred was captain of the company. The boys had felt obliged in the very beginning to have it so, on account of a beautiful instrument, given him by his father, called a flageolet. True, Fred could not play on it at all, and had to give it up to w.i.l.l.y; but it belonged to him all the same.

"Something's the matter with my lungs," said Fred, coughing; "and that's why those little holes plague me so; it's too hard work to blow 'em."

The boys looked at one another with wise nods and smiles. They did not like Fred very well; but he was always pushing himself forward: and when a boy has a great deal of self-esteem, and a brave suit of clothes right from Boston, how are you going to help yourselves, pray? So Fred was captain, and w.i.l.l.y only a fifer.

There was one boy in the ranks who caused some trouble--Jock Winter. Not that Jock quarrelled, or did anything you could find fault with; but he was simple-minded and a hunchback, and some of the boys made fun of him.

When Fred became captain he fairly hooted him out of the company. "No fair! no fair!" cried w.i.l.l.y, Joshua Potter, the Lyman twins, and two thirds of the other boys; but the captain had his way in spite of the underground muttering.

Sat.u.r.day afternoon was the time for training. The Never-Give-Ups met at the old red store kept by Daddy Wiggins, and paraded down the village street, and across the bridge, as far sometimes as the Dug Way, a beautiful spot three or four miles from home. They were a goodly sight to see,--the bright, healthy boys, straight as the "Quaker guns" they carried, and marching off with a firm and manly tread.

Mothers take a secret pride in their sons, and many loving eyes watched this procession out of town; but the procession didn't know it, for the mothers were very much afraid of flattering the boys. I think myself it would have done the little soldiers no harm to be praised once in a while. Indeed, I wish they might have heard the ladies of the village talking about them, as they met to drink tea at Mrs. Parlin's. She never went out herself, but often invited company to what they called little "tea-junketings."

"Well," said Mrs. Potter, the doctor's wife, "isn't it enough to do your eyes good to see such a n.o.ble set of boys?"

"Yes, it is," said Mrs. Griggs; "and I am not afraid for our country, if they grow up as good men as they now bid fair to be."

Mrs. Chase could not respond to this, for her boy Fred was a great trial; his father indulged him too much, and she had had strong fears that he might take to bad habits. But he was as handsome as any of the boys, and she spoke up quickly:--

"Yes, Mrs. Potter; as you say, they _are_ a n.o.ble-looking set of boys; and don't they march well?"

"They waste a great deal of time; but then they might be doing worse, and I like to see boys enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Lyman, the greatest worker in town.

Her twins, George and Silas, ought to have heard that, for they thought their mother did not care to see them do anything but delve.

"Ah, bless their little hearts, we are all as proud of them as we can be," said ruddy, fleshy Mrs. Parlin, brushing back her purple cap-strings as she poured the tea. "My w.i.l.l.y, now, is the very apple of my eye, and the little rogue knows it too."

Yes, w.i.l.l.y did know it, for his mother was not afraid to tell him so.

The other boys had love doled out to them like wedding cake, as if it were too rich and precious for common use; but Mrs. Parlin's love was free and plenteous, and w.i.l.l.y lived on it like daily bread.

Kissing and petting were sure to spoil boys, so Elder Lovejoy's wife thought; and she longed to say so to Mrs. Parlin; but somehow she couldn't; for her little Isaac was not half as good as w.i.l.l.y, though he hadn't been kissed much since he was big enough to go to school.

"w.i.l.l.y's grandpa Cheever has sent him a splendid present," said Mrs.

Parlin; "it is a drum. His birthday will come next Wednesday; but when I saw him marching off with Freddy's flageolet under his arm, I really longed to give him the drum to-day."

"I dare say you did," said Mrs. Lyman, warmly. "We mothers enjoy our children's presents more than they enjoy them themselves."

Then she and Mrs. Parlin exchanged a pleasant smile, for they two understood each other remarkably well.

w.i.l.l.y received his drum on the fifteenth of September, his tenth birthday, and was prouder than General Washington at the surrender of Lord Cornwallis. No more borrowed flageolets for him. He put so much soul into the drumsticks that the noise was perfectly deafening. He called the family to breakfast, dinner, and supper, to the tune of "Hail Columbia," or "Fy! let us a' to the wedding!" and nearly distracted Quaker Liddy by making her roll out her pie-crust to the exact time of "Yankee Doodle."

"I don't see the sense of such a con-tin-oo-al thumping, you little dear," said she.

"That's 'cause you're a Quaker," cried w.i.l.l.y. "But I tell you while my name's w.i.l.l.y Parlin this drum _shall_ be heard."

Poor Liddy stopped her ears.