MISSED FROM HOME.
How lonesome it was in New Hope through all these days! Everybody missed
Paul. He was missed by the school-children, for the teacher who
succeeded him was cross and harsh, while Paul was always kind and
pleasant. He was missed by the congregation on Sunday, for although Hans
did his best as leader of the choir, he could not fill Paul's place. He
was missed by his mother, who, through the long, wearisome days and
lonely nights, thought only of him, her pride, her joy, her hope. How
good Azalia was to visit the Post-office every morning to get the
letters which Paul wrote to his mother, often finding one for herself!
How pleasant to read what he wrote of life in camp! How thrilling the
narrative of his adventures, his visit to the forts, his narrow escapes!
As she read it, her heart stood still while the letter was wet with
tears. What if the rebels had hung him! It was terrible to think of.
What could she do to comfort him? How help him,--how relieve his
sufferings and hardships? She would knit him a pair of gloves and
stockings. But his comrades needed them as well as he. Why not ask
Daphne to help? Why not ask all the girls to do something? So she
thought the matter over through the long winter nights, planning a
soldiers' sewing and knitting society.
Pleasant gatherings they had in the vestry of the church on Wednesday
afternoons working for the soldiers. Azalia's cheeks were flushed with
rare beauty when she read Paul's letters to them with trembling voice.
There were many moist eyes, for all felt that, if he and his comrades
were undergoing such hardships and dangers for them, that they might
have a home and a united country, they ought to do all they could in
return; and so, while knitting stockings for the soldiers, their hearts
were knit in deeper love and devotion to their country.
But they had something besides Paul's adventures to talk about; for one
Monday morning when Mr. Bond, the town treasurer, opened his office, he
found that it had been entered by robbers, who had stolen all the
money,--several thousand dollars. It was soon discovered that Philip
Funk was missing. The sheriffs and constables set themselves to hunt
him up. They got upon his track, followed him to the Ohio River, and
across into Kentucky; but he was too swift for them, and succeeded in
getting into the Rebel lines with the stolen money. Notwithstanding he
was a robber, his sister Fanny held her head as high as ever. She did
not attend the soldiers' aid society. She hoped that the South would
succeed in establishing its independence, and was glad that Philip had
gone to help the Southern soldiers. "I hope he will come across Paul,"
said Fanny to Daphne Dare one day.
"So do I, and I hope that Paul will shoot him," said Daphne, with
flashing eyes. She had the spirit of her father, and added, "He is a
traitor and a robber, and I hope somebody will shoot him."
Fanny spit at the flag which hung over the street every time she passed
it, to show her hatred of it. Daphne was very indignant, and proposed to
her associates that they should compel Fanny to wave the stars and
stripes; but Azalia said it would be a severer punishment to take no
notice of her. "We might make her wave the flag, but that would not make
her love it, and such forced loyalty would be of no value."
So, acting upon Azalia's advice, all of the girls passed her by, taking
no notice of her on the street, at the Post-office, or in church, not
recognizing her by word or look. Fanny bore it awhile with a brazen
face, but soon found it hard to have no one to speak to. The great want
of the human heart in time of trouble is sympathy. Our wills may bear us
up awhile, but sooner or later we must unburden our feelings, or feel
the burning of a slow consuming fire, destroying all our peace and
happiness. The days were cheerless to Fanny. If she walked out upon the
street, she saw only the averted faces of her former friends. They would
not speak to her, and if she addressed them they turned away without
answering,--avoiding her as if she was infected with the plague. When
the cold northeast storms came, when the clouds hung low upon the hills,
when the wind howled in the woods, when the rain pattered upon the
withered leaves, how lonesome the hours! She was haughty and
self-willed, friendless and alone; but instead of becoming loyal and
behaving like a good, sensible girl, she nursed her pride; and comforted
herself by thinking that her great-grandfather Funk was a fine old
Virginian gentleman. If a still, small voice whispered that it was mean
and wicked in Philip to take money which did not belong to him, she
quieted her conscience by the reflection that it was right for the
Rebels to do all the damage they could to their enemies in securing
their independence. When the storm was loudest, she rejoiced in the hope
that some of the Yankee ships would be wrecked, or that the Mississippi
River would overflow its bank and drown the Yankee regiments in their
camps.
Not so did Azalia listen to the storm. When the great drops rattled upon
the roof and dashed against the windows, she thought of Paul and his
comrades as rushing into battle amid volleys of musketry; the mournful
sighing of the wind was like the wailing of the wounded. She thought of
him as marching wearily and alone through the dismal forest to perform
deeds of daring; she thought of him as keeping watch through the stormy
nights, cold, wet, hungry, and weary; not for glory, or fame, or hope of
reward, but because it was his duty. And these were not sad hours to
her.