WINNING HIS WAY.
by
CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN,
Author "Story of Liberty," "Boys of '76,""My Days and Nights on the Battlefield,""Our New Way Round the World," "Following the Flag," Etc.
Boston, Mass.:Perry Mason & Co.1888.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, byCharles Carleton Coffin,In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District ofMassachusetts
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FIRST YEARS 1
II. HARD TIMES 27
III. MERRY TIMES 42
IV. MUSIC AND PAINTING 63
V. THE NIGHT-HAWKS 82
VI. PAUL'S FRIENDS 91
VII. IN A TRAP 103
VIII. KEEPING SCHOOL 116
IX. RALLYING ROUND THE FLAG 126
X. A SOLDIER 144
XI. SCOUTING 156
XII. MISSED FROM HOME 170
XIII. THE MARCH 175
XIV. THE BATTLE 180
XV. SHOWING WHAT HE WAS MADE OF 190
XVI. HONOR TO THE BRAVE 200
XVII. CHICKAMAUGA 207
XVIII. HOW HE LIVED IN THE MEMORY OF HIS FRIENDS 211
XIX. WHAT BECAME OF A TRAITOR 217
XX. DARK DAYS 224
XXI. CONSECRATION 233
XXII. UNDER THE OLD FLAG 241
XXIII. THE JAWS OF DEATH 248
XXIV. HOME 253
WINNING HIS WAY.
CHAPTER I.
FIRST YEARS.
Many years ago, before railroads were thought of, a company ofConnecticut farmers, who had heard marvellous stories of the richness ofthe land in the West, sold their farms, packed up their goods, badeadieu to their friends, and with their families started for Ohio.
After weeks of travel over dusty roads, they came to a beautiful valley,watered by a winding river. The hills around were fair and sunny. Therewere groves of oaks, and maples, and lindens. The air was fragrant withhoneysuckle and jasmine. There was plenty of game. The swift-footed deerbrowsed the tender grass upon the hills. Squirrels chattered in thetrees and the ringdoves cooed in the depths of the forest. The place wasso fertile and fair, so pleasant and peaceful, that the emigrants madeit their home, and called it New Hope.
They built a mill upon the river. They laid out a wide, level street,and a public square, erected a school-house, and then a church. One oftheir number opened a store. Other settlers came, and, as the yearspassed by, the village rang with the shouts of children pouring from theschool-house for a frolic upon the square. Glorious times they hadbeneath the oaks and maples.
One of the jolliest of the boys was Paul Parker, only son of WidowParker, who lived in a little old house, shaded by a great maple, on theoutskirts of the village. Her husband died when Paul was in his cradle.Paul's grandfather was still living. The people called him "OldPensioner Parker," for he fought at Bunker Hill, and received a pensionfrom government. He was hale and hearty, though more than eighty yearsof age.
The pension was the main support of the family. They kept a cow, a pig,turkeys, and chickens, and, by selling milk and eggs, which Paul carriedto their customers, they brought the years round without running indebt. Paul's pantaloons had a patch on each knee, but he laughed justas loud and whistled just as cheerily for all that.
In summer he went barefoot. He did not have to turn out at everymud-puddle, and he could plash into the mill-pond and give the frogs acrack over the head without stopping to take off stockings and shoes.Paul did not often have a dinner of roast beef, but he had an abundanceof bean porridge, brown bread, and milk.
"Bean porridge is wholesome food, Paul," said his grandfather. "When Iwas a boy we used to say,--
'Bean porridge hot, Bean porridge cold,-- Bean porridge best Nine days old.'
The wood-choppers in winter used to freeze it into cakes and carry itinto the woods. Many a time I have made a good dinner on a chunk offrozen porridge."
The Pensioner remembered what took place in his early years, but he losthis reckoning many times a day upon what was going on in the town. Heloved to tell stories, and Paul was a willing listener. Pleasantwinter-evenings they had in the old kitchen, the hickory logs blazingon the hearth, the tea-kettle singing through its nose, the clockticking soberly, the old Pensioner smoking his pipe in the arm-chair,Paul's mother knitting,--Bruno by Paul's side, wagging his tail andwatching Muff in the opposite corner rolling her great round yelloweyes. Bruno was always ready to give Muff battle whenever Paul tippedhim the wink to pitch in.
The Pensioner's stories were of his boyhood,--how he joined the army,and fought the battles of the Revolution. Thus his story ran.
"I was only a little bigger than you are, Paul," he said, "when thered-coats began the war at Lexington. I lived in old Connecticut then;that was a long time before we came out here. The meeting-house bellrung, and the people blew their dinner-horns, till the whole town wasalarmed. I ran up to the meeting-house and found the militia forming.The men had their guns and powder-horns. The women were at work meltingtheir pewter porringers into bullets. I wasn't o'd enough to train, butI could fire a gun and bring down a squirrel from the top of a tree. Iwanted to go and help drive the red-coats into the ocean. I askedmother if I might. I was afraid that she didn't want me to go. 'Why,Paul,' says she, 'you haven't any clothes.' 'Mother,' says I, 'I canshoot a red-coat just as well as any of the men can.' Says she, 'Do youwant to go, Paul?' 'Yes, mother.' 'Then you shall go; I'll fix you out,'she said. As I hadn't any coat she took a meal-bag, cut a hole for myhead in the bottom, and made holes for my arms in the sides, cut off apair of her own stocking-legs, and sewed them on for sleeves, and I wasrigged. I took the old gun which father carried at Ticonderoga, and thepowder-horn, and started. There is the gun and the horn, Paul, hangingup over the fireplace.
"The red-coats had got back to Boston, but we cooped them up. Ourcompany was in Colonel Knowlton's regiment. I carried the flag, whichsaid, _Qui transtulit sustinet_. I don't know anything about Latin, butthose who do say it means that God who hath transported us hither willsustain us; and that is true, Paul. He sustained us at Bunker Hill, andwe should have held it if our powder had not given out. Our regiment wasby a rail-fence on the northeast side of the hill. Stark, with his NewHampshire boys, was by the river. Prescott was in the redoubt on the topof the hill. Old Put kept walking up and down the lines. This is the wayit was, Paul."
The Pensioner laid aside his pipe, bent forward, and traced upon thehearth the positions of the troops.
"There is the redoubt; here is the rail-fence; there is where thered-coats formed their lines. They came up in front of us here. Wedidn't fire a gun till they got close to us. I'll show you how the fireran down the line."
He took down the horn, pulled out the stopper, held his finger over thetip, and made a trail of powder.
"There, Paul, that is by the fence. As the red-coats came up, some of usbegan to be uneasy and wanted to fire; but Old Put kept saying, 'Don'tfire yet! Wait till you can
see the white of their eyes! Aim at theirbelts!'"
While the Pensioner was saying this, he took the tongs and picked a livecoal from the fire.
"They came up beautifully, Paul,--the tall grenadiers and light-infantryin their scarlet coats, and the sun shining on their gun-barrels andbayonets. They wer'n't more than ten rods off when a soldier on top ofthe hill couldn't stand it any longer. Pop! went his gun, and the fireran down the hill quicker than scat! just like this!"
He touched the coal to the powder. There was a flash, a puff of smokerising to the ceiling, and filling the room.
"Hooray!" shouted Paul, springing to his feet. Muff went with a jumpupon the bureau in the corner of the room, her tail as big as Paul'sarm, and her back up. Bruno was after her in a twinkling, bouncingabout, barking, and looking round to Paul to see if it was all right.
"There, grandpa, you have made a great smut on the hearth," said Mrs.Parker, who kept her house neat and tidy, though it was a crazy oldaffair.
"Well, mother, I thought it would please Paul."
"S-s-s-s-si'c!" Paul made a hiss which Bruno understood, for he went atMuff more fiercely. It was glorious to see Muff spit fire, and hear hergrowl low and deep like distant thunder. Paul would not have Muff hurtfor anything, but he loved to see Bruno show his teeth at her, for shewas gritty when waked up.
"Be still, Paul, and let Muff alone," said Paul's mother.
"Come, Bruno, she ain't worth minding," said Paul.
"They have got good courage, both of 'em," said the Pensioner; "andcourage is one half of the battle, and truth and honor is the otherhalf. Paul, I want you to remember that. It will be worth more than afortune to you. I don't mean that cats and dogs know much about truthand honor, and I have seen some men who didn't know much more aboutthose qualities of character than Muff and Bruno; but what I have said,Paul, is true for all that. They who win success in life are those wholove truth, and who follow what is noble and good. No matter how brave aman may be, if he hasn't these qualities he won't succeed. He may getrich, but that won't amount to much. Success, Paul, is to have anunblemished character,--to be true to ourselves, to our country, and toGod."
He went on with his story, telling how the British troops ran before thefire of the Yankees,--how they re-formed and came on a second time, andwere repulsed again,--how General Clinton went over from Boston withreinforcements,--how Charlestown was set on fire,--how the flames leapedfrom house to house, and curled round the spire of the church,--how thered-coats advanced a third time beneath the great black clouds ofsmoke,--how the ammunition of the Yankees gave out, and they wereobliged to retreat,--how General Putnam tried to rally them,--how theyescaped across Charlestown Neck, where the cannon-balls from the Britishfloating batteries raked the ranks! He made it all so plain, that Paulwished he had been there.
The story completed, Paul climbed the creaking stairway to his narrowchamber, repeated his evening prayer, and scrambled into bed.
"He is a jolly boy," said the Pensioner to Paul's mother, as Paul leftthe room.
"I don't know what will become of him," she replied, "he is so wild andthoughtless. He leaves the door open, throws his cap into the corner,sets Bruno and Muff to growling, stops to play on his way home fromschool, sings, whistles, shouts, hurrahs, and tears round like allpossessed."
If she could have looked into Paul's desk at school, she would havefound whirligigs, tops, pin-boxes, nails, and no end of strings anddancing dandy-jims.
"Paul is a rogue," said the Pensioner. "You remember how he got on topof the house awhile ago and frightened us out of our wits by shouting'Fire! fire!' down the chimney; how we ran out to see about it; how Iasked him 'Where?' and says he, 'Down there in the fireplace, grandpa.'He is a chip of the old block. I used to do just so. But there is onegood thing about him, he don't do mean tricks. He don't bend up pins andput them in the boys' seats, or tuck chestnut-burs into the girls'hoods. I never knew him to tell a lie. He will come out all right."
"I hope so," said Mrs. Parker.
Paul could look through the crevices between the shingles, and thecracks in the walls, and behold the stars gleaming from the unfathomablespaces. He wondered how far they were away. He listened to the windchanting a solemn dirge, filling his soul with longings for he knew notwhat. He thought over his grandfather's stories, and the words he hadspoken about courage, truth, and honor, till a shingle clattering in thewind took up the refrain, and seemed to say, Truth and honor,--truthand honor,--truth and honor,--so steadily and pleasantly, that while helistened the stars faded from his sight, and he sailed away intodream-land.
Paul was twelve years old, stout, hearty, and healthy,--full of life,and brimming over with fun. Once he set the village in a roar. Thepeople permitted their pigs to run at large. The great maple in front ofthe Pensioner's house was cool and shady,--a delightful place for thepigs through the hot summer days.
Mr. Chrome, the carriage-painter, lived across the road. He painted agreat many wagons for the farmers,--the wheels yellow, the bodies blue,green, or red, with scrolls and flowers on the sides. Paul watched himby the hour, and sometimes made up his mind to be a carriage-painterwhen he became a man.
"Mr. Chrome," said Paul, "don't you think that those pigs would lookbetter if they were painted?"
"Perhaps so."
"I should like to see how they would look painted as you paint yourwagons."
Mr. Chrome laughed at the ludicrous fancy. He loved fun, and was readyto help carry out the freak.
"Well, just try your hand on improving nature," he said.
Paul went to work. Knowing that pigs like to have their backs scratched,he had no difficulty in keeping them quiet. To one he gave green legs,blue ears, red rings round its eyes, and a red tail. Another had one redleg, one blue, one yellow, one green, with red and blue stripes andyellow stars on its body. "I will make him a star-spangled pig," Paulshouted to Mr. Chrome. Another had a green head, yellow ears, and a redbody. Bruno watched the proceedings, wagging his tail, looking now atPaul and then at the pigs, ready to help on the fun.
"Si'c!--si'c!--si'c!" said Paul. Bruno was upon them with a bound. Awaythey capered, with him at their heels. As soon as they came into thesunshine the spirits of turpentine in the paint was like fire to theirflesh. Faster they ran up the street squealing, with Bruno barkingbehind. Mr. Chrome laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. All thedogs, great and small, joined Bruno in chase of the strange game. Peoplecame out from the stores, windows were thrown up, and all hands--men,women, and children--ran to see what was the matter, laughing andshouting, while the pigs and dogs ran round the square.
"Paul Parker did that, I'll bet," said Mr. Leatherby, the shoemaker,peeping out from his shop. "It is just like him."
An old white horse, belonging to Mr. Smith, also sought the shade of themaple before the Pensioner's house. Bruno barked at him by the hour, butthe old horse would not move for anything short of a club or stone.
"I'll see if I can't get rid of him," said Paul to himself.
He went into the barn, found a piece of rope, tied up a little bundle ofhay, got a stick five or six feet long, and some old harness-straps. Inthe evening, when it was so dark that people could not see what he wasup to, he caught the old horse, laid the stick between his ears andstrapped it to his neck, and tied the hay to the end of the stick, insuch a way that it hung a few inches beyond old Whitey's nose. The oldhorse took a step ahead to nibble the hay,--another,--another,--another!"Don't you wish you may get it?" said Paul. Tramp,--tramp,--tramp. OldWhitey went down the road. Paul heard him go across the bridge by themill, and up the hill the other side of the brook.
"Go it, old fellow!" he shouted, then listened again. It was a calmnight, and he could just hear old Whitey's feet,--tramp,--tramp,--tramp.
The next morning the good people of Fairview, ten miles from New Hope,laughed to see an old white horse, with a bundle of hay a few inchesbeyond his nose, passing through the place.
Mr. Smith, after breakfast, starte
d out to hunt up old Whitey. He oftenfound him under the maple in front of the Pensioner's house. Paul wasswinging on the gate. "Have you seen my horse?" Mr. Smith asked.
"Yes, sir, I saw him going down towards the bridge last evening," Paulreplied, chuckling to himself.
Mr. Smith went down to the mill and inquired. The miller heard a horsego over the bridge. The farmer on the other side heard a horse go up thehill. Mr. Smith looked at the tracks. They were old Whitey's, who had abroken shoe on his left hind foot. He followed on. "I never knew him togo away before," he said to himself, as he walked hour after hour,seeing the tracks all the way to Fairview.
"Have you seen a white horse about here?" he asked of one of thevillagers.
"Yes, sir; there was one here this morning trying to overtake a bundleof hay," the man replied, laughing. "There he is now!" he added.
Mr. Smith looked up and saw old Whitey, who had turned about, and wasreaching forward to get a nibble of the hay. Mr. Smith felt like beingangry, but the old horse was walking so soberly and earnestly that hecouldn't help laughing.
"That is some of Paul's doings, I know. I'll give him a blessing when Iget back."
It was noon before Mr. Smith reached New Hope. Paul and Bruno weresitting beneath the maple.
"Where did you find old Whitey?" Paul asked.
"You was the one who did it, you little rascal!"
"Did what?"
"You know what. You have made me walk clear to Fairview. I have a mindto horsewhip you."
Paul laughed to think that the old horse had tramped so far, though hewas sorry that Mr. Smith had been obliged to walk that distance.
"I didn't mean any harm, Mr. Smith; but old Whitey has made our dooryardhis stamping-place all summer, and I thought I would see if I could getrid of him."
"Well, sir, if you do it again I'll trounce you!" said Mr. Smith as herode away, his anger coming up.
"Wouldn't it be better for you to put him in a pasture, Mr. Smith? Thenhe wouldn't trouble us," said Paul, who knew that Mr. Smith had no rightto let old Whitey run at large. Paul was not easily frightened when hehad right on his side. The people in the stores and at the tavern had ahearty laugh when they heard how old Whitey went to Fairview.
Mr. Cipher taught the village school. He was tall, slim, thin-faced,with black eyes deeply set in his head, and a long, hooked nose like aneagle's bill. He wore a loose swallow-tailed coat with bright brassbuttons, and pants which were several inches too short. The Committeeemployed him, not because he was a superior teacher, but they could gethim for twelve dollars a month, while Mr. Rudiment, who had been throughcollege, and who was known to be an excellent instructor, askedsixteen.
There was a crowd of roistering boys and rosy-cheeked girls, who madethe old school-house hum like a beehive. Very pleasant to the passers-bywas the music of their voices. At recess and at noon they had leap-frogand tag. Paul was in a class with Philip Funk, Hans Middlekauf, andMichael Murphy. There were other boys and girls of all nationalities.Paul's ancestors were from Connecticut, while Philip's father was aVirginian. Hans was born in Germany, and Michael in Ireland. Philip'sfather kept a grocery, and sold sugar, molasses, tobacco, and whiskey.He was rich, and Philip wore good clothes and calf-skin boots. Paulcould get his lessons very quick whenever he set about them in earnest,but he spent half his time in inventing fly-traps, making whirligigs, ordrawing pictures on his slate. He had an accurate eye, and could drawadmirably. Philip could get his lessons also if he chose to applyhimself, but it was a great deal easier to have some one work out theproblems in arithmetic than to do them himself.
"Here, Paul, just help me; that is a good fellow," he said, coaxingly.
It was at recess.
"No; Cipher has forbid it. Each one must do his own work," said Paul.
"If you will do it, I will give you a handful of raisins," said Philip,who usually had his pockets full of raisins, candy, or nuts.
"It wouldn't be right."
"Come, just do this one; Cipher never will know it."
"No!" Paul said it resolutely.
"You are a mean, sneaking fellow," said Philip.
Philip was a year older than Paul. He had sandy hair, white eyelashes,and a freckled face. He carried a watch, and always had money in hispocket. Paul, on the other hand, hardly ever had a cent which he couldcall his own. His clothes were worn till they were almost past mending.
"Rag-tag has got a hole in his trousers," said Philip to the other boys.
Paul's face flushed. He wanted to knock Phillip's teeth down his throat.He knew that his mother had hard work to clothe him, and felt the insultkeenly. He went into the school-house, choked his anger down, and triedto forget all about it by drawing a picture of the master. It was anexcellent likeness,--his spindle legs, great feet, short pants, loosecoat, sunken eyes, hooked nose, thin face, and long bony fingers.
Philip sat behind Paul. Instead of studying his lesson, he was planninghow to get Paul into trouble. He saw the picture. Now was his time. Hegiggled aloud. Mr. Cipher looked up in astonishment.
"What are you laughing at, Master Funk?"
"At what Paul is doing."
Paul hustled his slate into his desk.
"Let me see what you have here," said Cipher, walking up to Paul, whospat on his fingers, and ran his hand into the desk, to rub out thedrawing; but he felt that it would be better to meet his punishmentboldly than to have the school think he was a sneak. He laid the slatebefore the master without a line effaced.
"Giving your attention to drawing, are you, Master Paul?" said Cipher.His eyes flashed. He knit his brows. The blood rushed to his cheeks.There was a popping up of heads all over the school-room to get a sightof the picture.
The boys laughed aloud, and there was a tittering among the girls, whichmade Cipher very angry. "Silence!" he roared, and stamped upon thefloor so savagely that the windows rattled. "Come out here, sir. I'llgive you a drawing-lesson of another sort." He seized Paul by thecollar, and threw him into the space in front of his own desk. "Hold outyour hand."
Paul felt that he was about to receive a tremendous thrashing; but hedetermined that he would not flinch. He held out his right hand, andreceived the blow from a heavy ferule. His hand felt as if he had beenstruck by a piece of hot iron.
"The other, sir."
Whack! it fell, a blow which made the flesh purple. There was an Oh!upon his tongue; but he set his teeth together, and bit his lips tillthey bled, and so smothered it. Another blow,--another,--another. Theywere hard to bear; but his teeth were set like a vice. There was atwitching of the muscles round his lips; he was pale. When the blowsfell, he held his breath, but did not snivel.
"I'll see if I can't bring you to your feeling, you good-for-nothingscapegrace," said the master, mad with passion, and surprised that Paulmade no outcry. He gave another round, bringing the ferule down withgreat force. Blood began to ooze from the pores. The last blow spatteredthe drops around the room. Cipher came to his senses. He stopped.
"Are you sorry, sir?"
"I don't know whether I am or not. I didn't mean any harm. I suppose Iought not to have drawn it in school; but I didn't do it to make fun. Idrew you just as you are," said Paul,--his voice trembling a little inspite of his efforts to control it.
The master could not deny that it was a perfect likeness. He wassurprised at Paul's cleverness at drawing, and for the first time in hislife saw that he cut a ridiculous figure wearing that long, loose,swallow-tailed coat, with great, flaming brass buttons, and resolvedupon the spot that his next coat should be a frock, and that he wouldget a longer pair of pants.
"You may take your seat, sir!" he said, puzzled to know whether topunish Paul still more, and compel him to say that he was sorry, orwhether to accept the explanations, and apologize for whipping him soseverely.
Paul sat down. His hands ached terribly; but what troubled him most wasthe thought that he had been whipped before the whole school. All thegirls had witnessed his humiliation. There was one amon
g them,--AzaliaAdams,--who stood at the head of Paul's class, the best reader andspeller in school. She had ruby lips, and cheeks like roses; the goldensunlight falling upon her chestnut hair crowned her with glory; deep,thoughtful, and earnest was the liquid light of her hazel eyes; she wasas lovely and beautiful as the flower whose name she bore. Paul haddrawn her picture many times,--sometimes bending over her task,sometimes as she sat, unmindful of the hum of voices around her, lookingfar away into a dim and distant dream-land. He never wearied of tracingthe features of one so fair and good as she. Her laugh was as musical asa mountain-brook; and in the church on Sunday, when he heard her voicesweetly and melodiously mingling with the choir, he thought of theangels,--of her as in heaven and he on earth.
"Run home, sonny, and tell your marm that you got a licking," saidPhilip when school was out.
Paul's face became livid. He would have doubled his fist and givenPhilip a blow in the face, but his palms were like puff-balls. There wasan ugly feeling inside, but just then a pair of bright hazel eyes,almost swimming with tears, looked into his own. "Don't mind it, Paul!"said Azalia.
The pain was not half so hard to bear after that. He wanted to say, "Ithank you," but did not know how. Till then his lips had hardlyquivered, and he had not shed a tear; now his eyes became moist; onegreat drop rolled down his cheek, but he wiped it off with hiscoat-sleeve, and turned away, for fear that Azalia would think him ababy.
On his way home the thought uppermost in his mind was, "What will mothersay?" Why tell her? Would it not be better to keep the matter tohimself? But then he remembered that she had said, "Paul, I shall expectyou to tell me truthfully all that happens to you at school." He lovedhis mother. She was one of the best mothers that ever lived, working forhim day and night. How could he abuse such confidence as she had givenhim? He would not violate it. He would not be a sneak.
His mother and the Pensioner were sitting before the fire as he enteredthe house. She welcomed him with a smile,--a beautiful smile it was, forshe was a noble woman, and Paul was her darling, her pride, the light,joy, and comfort of her life.
"Well, Paul, how do you get on at school?" his grandfather asked.
"I got a whipping to-day." It was spoken boldly and manfully.
"What! My son got a whipping!" his mother exclaimed.
"Yes, mother."
"I am astonished. Come here, and tell me all about it."
Paul stood by her side and told the story,--how Philip Funk tried tobribe him, how he called him names,--how, having got his lessons, hemade a picture of the master. "Here it is, mother." He took his slatefrom his little green bag. The picture had not been effaced. His motherlooked at it and laughed, notwithstanding her efforts to keep sober, forit was such a perfect likeness. She had an exquisite sense of theludicrous, and Paul was like her. She was surprised to find that hecould draw so well.
"We will talk about the matter after supper," she said. She had toldPaul many times, that, if he was justly punished at school, he mustexpect a second punishment at home; but she wanted to think awhilebefore deciding what to do. She was pleased to know that her boy couldnot be bribed to do what his conscience told him he ought not to do, andthat he was manly and truthful. She would rather follow him to thechurch-yard and lay him in his grave beneath the bending elms, than tohave him untruthful or wicked.
The evening passed away. Paul sat before the fire, looking steadily intothe coals. He was sober and thoughtful, wondering what his mother wouldsay at last. The clock struck nine. It was his bedtime. He went andstood by her side once more. "You are not angry with me, mother, areyou?"
"No, my son. I do not think that you deserved so severe a punishment. Iam rejoiced to know that you are truthful, and that you despise a meanact. Be always as you have been to-night in telling the truth, and Inever shall be angry with you."
He threw his arms around her neck, and gave way to tears, such as Ciphercould not extort by his pounding. She gave him a good-night kiss,--sosweet that it seemed to lie upon his lips all through the night.
"God bless you, Paul," said the Pensioner.
Paul climbed the creaking stairs, and knelt with an overflowing heartto say his evening prayer. He spoke the words earnestly when he askedGod to take care of his mother and grandfather. He was very happy. Helooked out through the crevices in the walls, and saw the stars and themoon flooding the landscape with silver light. There was sweet music inthe air,--the merry melody of the water murmuring by the mill, thecheerful chirping of the crickets, and the lullaby of the winds, near athand and far away, putting him in mind of the choirs on earth and thechoirs in heaven. "Don't mind it, Paul!" were the words they sung, sosweetly and tenderly that for many days they rang in his ears.