At every halt in the march the boys bought something to eat or drink.

There had been a barrel of cider brought from Mr. Chase's for their especial use, and Fred sold it out to the boys for four cents a gla.s.s.

This was a piece of extraordinary meanness in him, for his father had intended the cider as a present to the company. The boys did not know this, however, and paid their money in perfect good faith.

"Hard stuff," said w.i.l.l.y, draining his mug. "I don't like it much."

"Why, it's tip-top," returned Fred. "My father says it's the best he ever saw."

Mr. Chase had never said anything of the sort. He had merely ordered his colored servant, Pompey, to put a barrel of cider on the wheelbarrow, and take it to the muster-ground. Whether Pompey and Fred had selected this one for its age I cannot tell, but the boys all declared it was "as hard as a stone wall."

Dr. Hilton, who seemed to be everywhere at once, heard them say that, and exclaimed,--

"Then I wouldn't drink any more of it, boys. Hard cider does make anybody dreadful cross. Better let it alone."

I fear the boys did not follow this advice, for certain it is that they grew outrageously cross. The trouble began, I believe, with Abram Noonin, who suddenly declared he wouldn't march another step with Jock Winter. As the marching was all done for the day, Abram might as well have kept quiet.

"Yes, you shall march with Jock Winter, too," said Captain w.i.l.l.y, exasperated with the throbbing pain in his head--the first he had ever felt in his life. "Pretty doings, if you are going to set up and say, 'I will' and 'I won't!'"

While the captain and the private were shooting sharp words back and forth, and Fred was busy drawing cider, Isaac Lovejoy, the rogue of the company, was very busy with his own mischief.

"Look here, Fred," said Joshua Potter, going up to the stall with a twinkle in his eye; "they don't ask but three cents a mug, round at the other end of the barrel!"

"What do you mean by that?" cried the young cider merchant, looking up just in time to see Isaac Lovejoy marching off with the pitcher he had been filling from a hole in the barrel made with his jack-knife.

"Stop thief! Stop thief!" cried Fred.

"That's right," said one of the big boys from over the river. "Ike's selling your cider to the men for three cents a gla.s.s."

Perhaps this was one of Isaac's jokes, and he intended to give back the money; we will hope so. But, be that as it may, Fred was terribly angry; as angry, mind you, as if he was an honest boy himself, and had a perfect right to all the coppers jingling in his own pockets!

He ran after Ike, and caught him; and there was a scuffle, in which the pitcher was broken. Mr. Chase came up to inquire into it.

"Tut, tut, Isaac!" said he; "aren't you ashamed? You know that cider was a present to the Never-Give-Ups."

The boys were astonished, and Fred's face crimsoned with shame. As soon as Mr. Chase had gone away, w.i.l.l.y exclaimed, with a sudden burst of wrath,--

"Well, boys, if you are going to stand such a mean lieutenant as that, I won't! If he stays in lieutenant, I won't stay captain--so there!"

"Three cheers for the captain!" cried the boys; and there was another uproar.

And how did Fred feel towards the fearless, out-spoken w.i.l.l.y? Very angry, of course; but, if you will believe me, he respected him more than ever. Pompous boys are often mean-spirited and cowardly; they will browbeat those who are afraid of them; but those who look down on them and despise them, they hold in the highest esteem. w.i.l.l.y had never scrupled to tell Fred just what he thought of his conduct; and for that very reason Fred liked him better than any other boy in town.

But the Never-Give-Ups were growing decidedly noisy. After they learned that the cider was their own, they must drink more of it, whether they wanted it or not. The consequence was, they soon began to act disgracefully.

"Can't you have peace there, you young scamps?" said one of the big boys from over the river.

"Yes, we will have peace if we have to fight for it," replied the captain, who had drawn the little hunchback Jock to his side, and was darting glances at Abe Noonin as sharp as a cut-and-thrust sword.

"Mr. Chase," said Dr. Hilton, struck with a new idea, "those boys act as if they were drunk."

"Why, how can they be?" returned Mr. Chase; "they've had nothing to drink but innocent cider."

"Any way," cried the doctor, "they are getting up a regular mob, and we shall have to _quail_ it!"

Too true: it was necessary to quell the Never-Give-Ups, that orderly artillery company, the pride of the town! Quell it, and order it off the grounds!

Dire disgrace! Their steps were unsteady and slow; their heads were bowed, but not with grief, for, to say the truth, they did not fully comprehend the situation.

"The little captain is the furthest gone of any of them," said Dr.

Hilton. Indeed, before he reached home he was unable to walk, and Stephen carried him into the house in his arms. Not that w.i.l.l.y had drunk so much as some of the others, but it had affected him more.

Poor Mrs. Parlin! She had to know what was the matter with her boy; and the shock was so great that she went to bed sick, and Mr. Parlin sent for the doctor.

When w.i.l.l.y came to his senses next morning, there was a guilty feeling hanging over him, and his head ached badly. He crept down stairs, and fixed his gaze first on the sanded floor of the kitchen, then on the dresser full of dishes; but to look any one in the face he was ashamed.

His mother was not at the table, and they ate almost in silence.

"Now, young man," said Mr. Parlin, after breakfast, "you may walk out to the barn with me." w.i.l.l.y had a dim idea that he had done something wrong; but exactly what it was he could not imagine. He remembered scolding Abe Noonin for hurting little Jock's feelings; was that what he was to be punished for?

w.i.l.l.y did not know he had been intoxicated. He was sure he did not like that cider, yesterday, and had taken only a little of it. He supposed he had eaten too much, and that was what had made him sick.

"Off with your jacket, young man!"

Old d.i.c.k neighed, Towler growled, the sheep bleated; it seemed as if they were all protesting against w.i.l.l.y's being whipped.

"Now, sir," said Mr. Parlin, after a dozen hearty lashes, "shall I ever hear of your getting drunk again?"

"Why, father! I didn't--O, I didn't! I only took some cider--just two mugfuls!" gasped w.i.l.l.y; "that's all; and you know you always _let_ me drink cider."

"Two mugfuls!" groaned Mr. Parlin, distressed at what he considered a wilful lie; and the blows fell heavier and faster, while w.i.l.l.y's face whitened, and his teeth shut together hard. Mr. Parlin had never acted from purer motives; still w.i.l.l.y felt that the punishment was not just, and it only served to call up what the boys termed his "Indian sulks."

Angry and smarting with pain in mind and body, he walked off that afternoon to the old red store. Fred was sitting under a tree, chewing gum.

"Had to take it, I guess, Billy?"

"Yes, an awful whipping," replied w.i.l.l.y; "did you?"

"Me? Of course not. Do you know how I work it? When father takes down the cowhide, I look him right in the eye, and that scares him out of it.

He _darsn't_ flog me!"

This was a downright lie. Fred was as great a coward as ever lived, and screamed at sight of a cowhide. He had been whipped for cheating about the cider, but would not tell w.i.l.l.y so.

w.i.l.l.y looked at him with surprise and something like respect. He could never seem to learn that Freddy's word was not to be trusted.

"Well, I'll do so next time," cried he, his eyes flashing fire.

"Look here," said Fred, crossing his knees, and looking important; "let's run away."

"Why, Fred Chase! 'Twould be wicked!"

"'Twouldn't, either. Things ain't wicked when folks don't catch you at it; and we can go where folks won't catch us, now I promise you."