A few evenings after this letter, all the mittens were gathered

together for the last time; for, as spring approached, no more could be

needed, at least this winter; and all prayed, that when another cold

season came round, it would be bright with peace restored all over our

beloved land.

There were just twenty-one pairs. George's birthday would come on

the 8th of March, when he would be of age, and they hoped that a box

containing these mittens and a loving gift from each and every member

of his family, would reach him in time.

"Twenty-one years old!" cried Harry. "Why, George can vote! I think

that is the very best of being a man."

"So do I," said a voice at the door.

"Oh, Aunt Fanny! you little darling; come help us count up our mittens."

Down we sat, with pencils and paper, and did dreadful hard sums, the

smaller ones thought, casting up the long column of mittens which had

been sent to the brave soldiers. Poor Mary O'Reilly had rubbed her red

bags off at last, and was sitting close to Pet, comfortably washing her

face, while the "tremendous dog" winked lazily at us, to let us know

that he was all right, and on our side.

How many do you guess had been made and given, beside those the little

play brought? Just take the six books, turn to the last pages of each,

and then count up for yourselves. It will make a very nice little sum

in arithmetic.

And, my darlings, it will do more, I hope, and believe. It will show

you that children can do a great deal of good, if they only try. If I

have proved this to your satisfaction, and if you should ever form or

join a children's society to work for the soldiers, or help the poor, I

really think you must let me know it, so that I can write you a letter,

or come and give you a good, loving kiss.

And now, as my book is already getting too long, I can only tell you

that George remained in his beloved General Burnside's division during

the spring and summer of this year, 1862; doing his duty well, and

winning the respect and love of all who knew him.

At first the General thought he was only a dandified chap, without

much fighting in him, because his hair was parted so very evenly down

the back of his head, and his gloves and boots were always, the one

so snowy white, and the other so brilliantly black. The General did

not know, as we do, that our little Johnny had given George a comb,

expressly that he _might_ make that very particular parting; and that

his habits of scrupulous neatness in dress were a part of West Point

and home education, which he would never neglect. But it was not long

before the little mother's soldier son was rated as his courage and

merits deserved; in proof of which he was soon writing a letter home,

with the good news that he had been chosen one of the General's aids,

and had had a horse given him, whose merits, in his estimation, were

very little inferior to Mr. Bonner's famous horse Lantern.

* * * * *

Ah! how I grieve to part with you, my dear little readers. As I write,

I always think of the sweet and bright eyes that will read, and the

small hands that will hold my true story book. I wonder to myself if

you have good and pure hearts; and then I pray for you all, though I do

not know you, and hope that you are obedient, lovely children. Above

all, I pray that no written or spoken word of mine will ever do you the

least grain of harm. It would make me most wretched, did I think it

possible.

Before I say good-by, I must tell you what I saw the other day, in one

of the splendid show windows of Ball & Black's magnificent store.

An elegant sword and belt lay on the velvet cover, and above was a

sheet of parchment with an inscription, which I went in and asked

permission to copy, as I knew you would be delighted to read it. Here

it is:

"Presented by the citizens of Lockport to Midshipman Benjamin H.

Porter, as a testimony of their appreciation of his gallant conduct at

Roanoke Island." (_We_ know something about that, _don't we_?)

"Midshipman Porter was but seventeen years old, when, at the battle

of Roanoke Island, his noble daring elicited the admiration of his

superior officer, who exclaimed, 'My brave boy, you have won your

epaulettes!'

"He led his battery, six Dahlgren howitzers, through the swamp, and, in

the face of a galling fire, continued to load and discharge one of his

guns, after every man around him had been shot down; bravely remaining

at his post until the enemy was dislodged and had made an unconditional

surrender."

Oh! how pleased I was to see this testimony, and touch with my hand the

sword that his true and brave hands would clasp.

I had just written the last word, when my little Alice's grandpapa

came into the room, and handed her a package, saying, "Here, Monsieur

Pop, your uncle John has sent you something by a soldier who came home

wounded, and too ill to fight;" and he handed her a little parcel.

This uncle was my dear brother John. He had been in some dreadful

battles, and we, like all left at home, suffered constant anxiety about

him, dreading that each day might bring bad news.

He had been very ill with the terrible fever, which, I believe, has

killed more than the guns of the enemy, and had taken "a cartload or

so" of quinine, which is the very bitterest medicine that ever was

invented. It ought always to cure, it is so very bad to take. It did

cure my brother; and, so far, we were grateful to know, that though

foremost in the fight, no bullet had yet touched him.

So Alice eagerly took the parcel, and undid it--my father and I looking

on with our eyes very wide open. Inside the first paper were three

smaller parcels. She unrolled the smallest first, and out came _a

little doll's china leg_, with the foot broken off.

"Why, how funny!" she exclaimed.

Then the next was quickly opened. Another little china leg, this time

with a foot encased in a black gaiter boot, with a straw-colored sole

to it--all painted on, of course.

The third parcel contained a china head and neck, very pretty, and

quite perfect.

"Oh," cried Alice, "what a pretty doll's head! only she has no seam to

her hair. It must be because she is a secession doll."

"We laughed, and wondered what it meant, till we noticed that one of

the papers had something written on it. They were printed pages, and

seemed to be a report of something; but one of them had a blank side,

and on this was written in faint pencil marks--

"CAMP NEAR HARRISON'S LANDING,}

_August 12, 1862._ }

"MY DEAR FATHER:

"This, with its accompanying parcel, will be handed to you by a

comrade, who has gone home ill. The parcel contains the head and legs

of a porcelain doll. I picked them up last week, when out scouting

with the regiment, on the right bank of the James river. They had been

taken, I suppose, from one of the houses of an F. F. V., and dropped

again. I found them on the estate of the Ruffin family, one of whom

_fired the first gun at Sumter_.

"Give it to Alice, with my love, and let her place it in disgrace

among her numerous family as 'Miss Secesh.' I will write you by mail

to-day or to-morrow.

"Your affectionate son,

"JOHN."

"Oh!" said Alice, "I am sorry for the little girl that lost her doll;

but I'm glad I've got it. What a good uncle John, to send it to

me!"--and she immediately whirled round and made two cheeses, in honor

of the event.

"How many dolls will that make?" inquired Grandpa.

"Let me see," she answered, thinking, with her finger on her lip.

"Forty-one paper dolls. Then there is Willie, my small china doll;

Anna, my large china doll; Baby, my wax doll, that cries, and opens and

shuts its eyes; Genevieve Virginie, my new porcelain doll; and Miss

Secesh.

"Bless me!" said Grandpa, "_what_ a family to look after! You ought to

write down the day you got Miss Secesh--twenty-fourth of August."

"No, Grandpa," said Alice, "it is the _twenty-tooth_--"

"So it is," cried Grandpa--while I had to run and look out of the

window, so that the dear little old monkey should not see me laughing

at her funny mistake. She meant the "twenty-second;" but you see she

spoke in a hurry.

And now I must really say good-by, my darlings, and throw my pen out

of the window.

The door opens. Every one of the Little Mother's children rush in.

"What?!! what is that you say?!"

"Yes, Aunt Fanny! George is made a CAPTAIN! Hurrah!!!"

END OF THE SIXTH AND LAST BOOK.

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The Orphan's Home Mittens, and George's Account of the Battle of Roanoke Island Being the Sixth and Last Book of the Series · 第 4 / 4 段