hardly stirred, I aimed so true, and when I seen him quite still, with
no more moanin’ and pain, I was glad, and yet wal, I don’t know as
I need by ashamed on’t I jest put my arms raound his neck and
boo-hooed like a great baby. Sho! I didn’t know I was sech a fool;”
and Silas drew his sleeve across his eyes, as much touched by
Daisy’s sob, as by the memory of faithful Major.
No one spoke for a minute, because the boys were as quick to feel
the pathos of the little story as tender-hearted Daisy, though they
did not show it by crying.
“I’d like a horse like that,” said Dan, half-aloud.
“Did the rebel man die, too?” asked Nan, anxiously.
“Not then. We laid there all day, and at night some of our fellers
came to look after the missing ones. They nat’rally wanted to take
me fust, but I knew I could wait, and the rebel had but one chance,
maybe, so I made them carry him off right away. He had jest
strength enough to hold out his hand to me and say, ‘Thanky,
comrade!’ and them was the last words he spoke, for he died an
hour after he got to the hospital-tent.”
“How glad you must have been that you were kind to him!” said
Demi, who was deeply impressed by this story.
“Wal, I did take comfort thinkin’ of it, as I laid there alone for a
number of hours with my head on Major’s neck, and see the moon
come up. I’d like to have buried the poor beast decent, but it warn’t
possible; so I cut off a bit of his mane, and I’ve kep it ever sence.
Want to see it, sissy?”
“Oh, yes, please,” answered Daisy, wiping away her tears to look.
Silas took out an old “wallet” as he called his pocket-book, and
produced from an inner fold a bit of brown paper, in which was a
rough lock of white horse-hair. The children looked at it silently,
as it lay in the broad palm, and no one found any thing to ridicule
in the love Silas bore his good horse Major.
“That is a sweet story, and I like it, though it did make me cry.
Thank you very much, Si,” and Daisy helped him fold and put
away his little relic; while Nan stuffed a handful of pop-corn into
his pocket, and the boys loudly expressed their flattering opinions
of his story, feeling that there had been two heroes in it.
He departed, quite overcome by his honors, and the little
conspirators talked the tale over, while they waited for their next
victim. It was Mrs. Jo, who came in to measure Nan for some new
pinafores she was making for her. They let her get well in, and
then pounced upon her, telling her the law, and demanding the
story. Mrs. Jo was very much amused at the new trap, and
consented at once, for the sound of happy voices had been coming
across the hall so pleasantly that she quite longed to join them, and
forget her own anxious thoughts of Sister Meg.
“Am I the first mouse you have caught, you sly pussies-in-boots?”
she asked, as she was conducted to the big chair, supplied with
refreshments, and surrounded by a flock of merry-faced listeners.
They told her about Silas and his contribution, and she slapped her
forehead in despair, for she was quite at her wits’ end, being called
upon so unexpectedly for a bran new tale.
“What shall I tell about?” she said.
“Boys,” was the general answer.
“Have a party in it,” said Daisy.
“And something good to eat,” added Stuffy.
“That reminds me of a story, written years ago, by a dear old lady.
I used to be very fond of it, and I fancy you will like it, for it has
both boys, and ‘something good to eat’ in it.”
“What is it called?” asked Demi.
“‘The Suspected Boy.’ ”
Nat looked up from the nuts he was picking, and Mrs. Jo smiled at
him, guessing what was in his mind.
“Miss Crane kept a school for boys in a quiet little town, and a