At a sound he starts, opening wide those watchful gray eyes an instant, then closing them quickly. It is a footstep approaching.

Stealthily it comes, and pa.s.ses by his side. Then silence--broken only by the crackle and roar of the flames. At length one eye of the sleeper opens a little, and peeps; and as it peeps, it sees, sitting on the pine roots, in the broad fire-light, with his cap before his eyes shading them, and his eyes fixed wistfully on him, Frank, the drummer boy.

The eye that opened a little and peeped, closes again. The old fellow begins to snore.

"Poor old man!" says the boy to himself; "how tired he looks. And to think I have done so much to hurt his feelings! I wish I could tell him how sorry I am; but I must not wake him."

Again the ambushed eye opens, and the little corner of the sleeper's soul that happens to be _not_ asleep, reconnoitres. Frank is sitting there still, faithfully watching. A stream of electric fire tingles in that misanthropic breast, at the sight. But still the old man snores.

"I may as well lie down and go to sleep too," says Frank. And, very softly, so as not to awaken Mr. Sinjin, he lays himself down by his side, puts his cheek on the pillow of boughs, and keeps perfectly still.

The heart of the veteran burns within him, but he makes no sign. And now--hark! Patter, patter, patter. It is beginning to rain.

This, then, is what the dark canopy meant, hanging so luridly over the fire-lit forest. Patter, patter; faster, faster; dripping through the trees, hissing in the fire, capering like fairies on the ground, comes the midnight rain.

Sinjin thinks it about time to wake. But Frank is stirring; so he concludes to sleep a little longer, and see what he will do.

Frank takes some pine boughs, and lays them carefully over the old man, to shelter him from the rain. Hotter and hotter glows the old heart beneath; melt it must soon.

"There!" says Frank in a whisper; "don't tell him I did it!"

He is going. Old Sinjin can sleep--or pretend to sleep--no more.

"h.e.l.lo! Who's there?"--awaking with amazing suddenness.--"That you, Frank? What are you here for at this time of night?"

"O, I'm a privileged character. They let me go around the camp about as I like, you know."

"How long has it been raining? And how came all this rubbish heaped over me?"

The pattering becomes a rushing in the tree-tops, a wild sibilation as of serpents in the fire, and a steady rattling and whizzing in the swamps.

"Well, well! this won't do, boy! Come with me!"

They run to the shelter of a huge leaning trunk and crouch beneath it.

"You're not so used to these things as I am," says the old man, shielding the boy with his arms.

"Let me bring some boughs to throw over you!" cries Frank.

"No--sit still! You have heaped boughs enough on me for one night!"

"Were you--awake?"

"One eye was a little awake."

"And you saw!"

"I saw all you did, my boy!"

Frank knows not whether to be happy or ashamed. Neither speaks. The storm is roaring in the trees. The water drips and the spray sifts upon them, At length Frank says,--

"I wanted to tell you I have the watch again, and I know who gave it to me, and I think he is one of the best old men in the world. And I wanted to say that I am very sorry for every thing I have said and done that was wrong."

The bosom of the lonely old man heaves as he answers, "Don't, my boy!

don't say you are sorry--I can't stand that!" And he hugs the boy close.

"But why didn't you want me to know you gave the watch?"

"Because I am such a foolish old fellow, and have forgotten how to treat a friend. For twenty years and more I have not known what it was to have a living soul care for me."

"O, it must be so hard for you to be alone so! Have you no sisters?"

"Sisters! I would tell you of one so proud, and rich, and in fashion, that her great house has no room in it for a rusty old brother like me!"

Frank thought of his own sisters--of Hattie, who was gone, and of Helen, who, though she should wed a prince, would never, he was sure, shut her doors against him; and he was filled with pity for the poor old man.

"But you must have had friends?"

"I had one, who was a fast friend enough when he was poor and I had a little property. But I became responsible for his debts, which he left me to pay; then I was poor, whilst he grew rich and hated me!"

"Hated you?"

"Of course! We may forgive those who wrong us, but not those we have wronged. He never forgave me for having been robbed by him!" And the old man's voice grew hard and ironical at the recollection.

"Why didn't you ever get married?" asked Frank. "You have one of the best, biggest hearts in the world, and you ought to have loved somebody with it. Didn't you ever?"

The spirit of the old man shrank sensitively within him for a moment.

Then he said to himself, "He will know of it some day, and I may as well tell him." For the heart that had been frozen for years this youth had had power to thaw.

"I never loved--any woman--well enough to marry her. But there was once a little girl that I had known from her cradle--for I was many years older than she. I used to pet her, and tell her stories, and sing and play to her, until I became more bound up in her than was very wise for one who was not her father or her brother. Well, she got to be of your age, and still ran to kiss me when I came, and never guessed what was growing up in my heart and taking possession of me, for it was stronger than I, and stronger than all the world. I saw her fast becoming a woman, and forgot that I was at the same time fast becoming an old man. And one day I asked her to marry me. I did not mean then, but in a few years. But she did not stop to hear my explanations. She sprang from me with a scream. And that ended it. She could never be to me again the innocent pet she had been, and as for being what I wished--I saw at once how absurd the proposal was! I saw that from that time she could regard me only with astonishment and laughter. I was always extremely sensitive, and this affair, with the other I have told you of, proved too much for me. I fled from society. I enlisted as a drummer, and I suppose I shall never be any thing but a drummer now. And this, my boy, is the reason I was never married."

Drearily sounded the old man's voice as he closed.

"It is all so sad!" said Frank. "But ought a man to do so, because he has been once or twice deceived? I have heard my mother say that as we are to others, so they will be to us. If we are generous, that excites them to be generous; and love calls out love."

"Your mother says that?" replied Mr. Sinjin in a low voice. "Ah, and she says true! If one is proud and reserved, he will find the world proud and reserved: that I know! Because two or three failed me, I distrusted every body, and was repaid with distrust. O my boy, do not do so! Never let your soul be chilled by any disappointment, if you would not become a solitary and neglected old man. Better trust a thousand times, and be deceived as often, better love a thousand times in vain, than shut up your heart in suspicion and scorn. Your mother is right, Frank,--in that, as in every thing else, she is perfectly right!"

"It isn't too late yet--is it?--to have friends such as you like. I am sure you can if you will," said Frank.

"You have almost made me think so," answered the old drummer. "You have brought back to my heart more of its youth and freshness than I had felt for years. I want you to know that, my boy."

Frank did not understand how it could be, and the old man did not inform him. It was now very late. The rain poured dismally. Frank lay nestled in the old man's bosom, like a child. For a long time he did not speak. Then the veteran bent forward so that he could look in his face. The boy was fast asleep.

"How much he looks like his mother! Her brow, her mouth! G.o.d bless the lad, G.o.d bless him!"

And the old man sat and watched whilst the drummer boy slept.