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[Illustration: "COLONEL TAKE YOUR COLORS!"]
THE SOCK STORIES,
BY "AUNT FANNY'S" DAUGHTER.
RED, WHITE, AND BLUE
SOCKS.
Part First.
BEING
THE FIRST BOOK OF THE SERIES.
BY
"AUNT FANNY'S" DAUGHTER,
THE AUTHOR OF "THE LITTLE WHITE ANGEL."
WITH AN INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER,
BY "AUNT FANNY" HERSELF.
NEW YORK:
LEAVITT & ALLEN, 21 & 23 MERCER ST.
1863.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
S. L. BARROW,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New York.
JOHN F. TROW,
Printer, Stereotyper, and Electrotyper,
60 Greene Street, New York.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION--THE STORY OF THE SOCKS, 7
COLONEL FREDDY; OR, THE MARCH AND
ENCAMPMENT OF THE DASHAHED ZOUAVES,
CHAP. I.--RAISING A REGIMENT, 35
II.--"MARCHING ALONG," 55
III.--CAMP LIFE, 76
DEDICATION.
MY DEAR LITTLE COOLEY AND GEORGIE:
WHEN you see that this book is dedicated to you, I hope your bright eyes
will sparkle with pleasure; but I am afraid your pretty curly heads will
hardly retain a recollection of a little personage who once lived close
to your beautiful home on Staten Island. She remembers _you_, however,
and sends you this soldier story with her very best love--the love she
bears in her inmost heart for God and little children. And now she asks
you to hunt in every corner of those same precious little heads for a
kindly remembrance of your affectionate friend,
"AUNT FANNY'S" DAUGHTER.
THE STORY OF THE SOCKS.
BY AUNT FANNY.
"OH dear! what _shall_ I do?" cried George, fretfully, one rainy
afternoon. "Mamma, do tell me what to do."
"And I'm _so_ tired!" echoed Helen, who was lazily playing with a kitten
in her lap. "I don't see why it should rain on a Friday afternoon, when
we have no lessons to learn. We can't go out, and no one can come to see
us. It's too bad, there!"
"Helen, do _you_ know better than _God_?" asked her mother, speaking
very gravely. "You forget that He sends the rain."
"I suppose I was thoughtless, mamma," answered the child; "I did not
mean to be wicked, but, dear me, the time passes _so_ slowly, with
nothing to do."
"Have you and George read all your books?"
"Oh yes! two or three times over," they both answered; "and oh, mamma,"
continued Helen, "if the one who wrote 'Two Little Heaps,' or the
'Rollo' book writer, or the author of 'The Little White Angel,' would
only write some more books, I, for one, would not care how hard it
rained. If I was grown up and rich, I wouldn't mind giving a dollar a
letter for those stories."
"Nor I," shouted George in an animated tone, quite different from the
discontented whine he had favored his mother with a few moments before;
"the best thing is to have them read aloud to you; that makes you
understand all about it so much better. I say, mamma, couldn't you write
a letter to one of those delightful people and beg them to hurry up with
more stories, especially some about bad children;--not exactly wicked,
you know, but full of mischief. _Then I am sure that they are all true._
Only wait till I'm a man! I'll just write the history of some jolly
fellows I know who are always getting into scrapes, but haven't a scrap
of meanness about them. That's the kind of book I like! I'll write
dozens of them, and give them to all the Sunday school libraries."
His mother smiled at this speech, and then said quietly, "I know a
gentleman who likes the story of 'The Little White Angel,' as much as
you do, and he has written a letter to request the author to write six
books for him."
"Six! hurrah!" shouted George, "how glad I am!" and he skipped up to
Helen, caught her by the hands, and the two danced round the room,
upsetting a chair, till Helen, catching her foot in the skirt of her
mother's dress, they both tumbled down on the carpet together.
"If you cut up such violent capers," said the kind mother, laughing,
"at the first part of my information, it may be dangerous to tell you
what the author replied."
"Oh no, do tell us!" cried the children. "We'll be as still as our
shadows;" and while they made violent efforts to look grave and stand
quiet, their mother told them that the author had consented, the six
books were to be written, and she would buy them the very first day they
were published. "Perhaps," she continued, "mind, only perhaps, I may get
them for you _before_ they are ever printed."
"Why, how, mamma?" they both asked.
"Well, suppose you make some very good resolutions--let me see," and
she took a pencil out of her pocket, and drawing a sheet of paper toward
her, began to write:
"1st. To endeavor to say your prayers morning and evening without a
_wandering thought_.
"2d. To try to keep faithfully 'the Golden Rule.'
"3d. To obey your parents immediately, without asking 'why?'
"4th. (A little rule, but very important.) To keep your teeth, nails,
and hair scrupulously clean and neat.
"5th. To bear disappointments cheerfully.
"There, I think that will do. They are all hard rules except the fourth.
I do not keep them well myself, my dear children. No one can, without
constant watchfulness and prayer for help from above; but you can try,
will you?"
"I will, mamma," said Helen, in a low, earnest tone, her blue eyes
filling with tears.
"And you, George, will you?"
"Yes, mamma, I will try. I can't be a very good boy, as you know. I get
so tired of being good sometimes, that I feel like jumping over the
house to get the badness out of me, instead of sitting down quietly and
thinking about my duty, as papa says I must. When papa locked me up in
his dressing room last summer, and I kicked the door as hard as ever I
could, which made him call out that I should stay there two hours
longer, I was mad enough, I tell you! but I did not cut my name with a
knife on his rosewood bureau _because_ I was angry. It was because I was
almost crazy with doing nothing but think what a bad boy I was. That
made me worse, you see. The best way to punish me is to see you crying
about my conduct. I can't stand that," and the boy put his arms round
his mother's neck, and kissed her fondly.
"My dear boy," said his mother, returning the caress, "there is One whom
you grieve more than me. I wish you would think oftener of that. I know
that different children require different sorts of punishment, and as
neither your father nor I approve of beating you like a dog, and you
say that shutting you up with nothing to do only makes you worse, I
shall advise him the next time you are naughty, to send immediately for
a load of wood, and make you saw it all up into small pieces, or take
you where some house is building and order you to run up and down a long
ladder all day with a hod of bricks on your shoulder, or hire you out to
blow the big bellows for a blacksmith. How do you think you would like
that?"
"I had a great deal rather run after the fire engines, to put the fire
out. That's the kind of work I would like. Every body screaming, and
pumping, and playing streams of water--twenty firemen rushing up
ladders, pulling old women and cats out of the windows, and somebody
inside pitching out the looking glasses and crockery to save them! I
wish our house was on fire this very minute, so I could pull you and
Helen out, and save all the furniture. That would be the greatest fun in
the world!"
"Please don't set fire to the house," cried his mother, laughing, "for
the fun of saving our lives. I prefer to keep it just as it is, and
walking quietly out at the door." As she spoke, the sun suddenly burst
forth from the clouds, and his bright rays darting into the room, the
children sprang joyfully up, and, with their mother's consent, were soon
out of the house with jumping-rope and hoop, to join their little
companions in a neighboring park.
George and Helen were two charming, ingenuous children. George was full
of frolic, mischief, and fun, with generous impulses and excellent
intentions, which only required peculiar and careful training and
encouragement to develop him into a steady, high-principled man. Locking
him up with nothing to do, as he truly said, did him more harm than
good; he required active punishment, and his mother wisely intended to
take the hint for his future benefit. Her little Helen, though just as
full of play and fun, was more easily managed. A present of a book so
won upon her love and gratitude, that her mother had only to hold out
the prospect of a new one, and a loving kiss (Helen prized the kiss even
more than the book) as a reward for good behavior, to make her quite a
pattern of a dear, amiable little girl.
The next morning the kind mother called upon her friend Aunt Fanny,
bringing George and Helen with her, as it was Saturday. First she told
all the conversation of the afternoon before, which amused Aunt Fanny
very much, and then she continued, "You told me the other day that your
daughter was very busy writing six books for Mr. Leavitt the publisher.
I know you love my children."
"Yes, indeed!" cried Aunt Fanny. "I love children from my heart,
straight out to the ends of my fingers; and when a pen is in my hands,
the love runs into it, and then out again, as fast as it can scratch all
over ever so many sheets of paper. My thumb aches so sometimes with
writing, that I often wish I had half a dozen extra ones, so I could
take the tired one off and screw another on, and even then I am afraid I
could never exhaust my love for my darlings;" and she looked at the
children and held out her hand with such an affectionate smile, that
Helen came timidly up and gave her a little winning kiss immediately,
while George, blushing all over his face, showed two great dimples in
his cheeks, but had not the courage to leave his chair.
You may be sure that Aunt Fanny, after Helen's kiss, was quite ready to
grant any favor the mother might ask for her children. She was perfectly
willing to catch a comet for them to play with, or jump down a volcano
to find out who lived in the bottom of it, if anybody would only show
her how. Helen's mother knew this, but she hesitated a little before she
made this strange request:
"My dear friend, my two children have made me the promises I have told
you of, in regard to keeping my little rules and resolutions, and now I
think it will be the most wonderful and delightful reward possible, if
they were to be permitted to see and read your daughter's stories in
manuscript."
"Manuscript! what does that mean, mamma?"
"In her own handwriting, dear."
"Oh yes! yes! how very strange and delightful! And then to see the very
same stories printed! that would be so astonishing! We should like that
better than anything, Aunt Fanny!"
"Very well," continued their mamma; "now I have come to beg you to lend
me the stories as fast as they are written. I will take the greatest
care of them, and return them to your daughter quickly and punctually. I
have a plan in my head which will make my children very happy, if you
consent."
"To be sure I will," said Aunt Fanny, "but what is your plan?"
Thereupon commenced a great whispering between the two ladies, while the
children looked pleased, puzzled, and eagerly curious all at once; but
they were not to know. Aunt Fanny and their mother, after a great deal
of nodding of heads together, and laughing and whispering, got this
mysterious affair settled to their satisfaction, and then took leave of
each other. Aunt Fanny kissed Helen, and George, too, in spite of his
blushes, and told them to bottle up their patience so that it would last
for one whole week, observing that she was thankful that curiosity was
not made of gunpowder, and there was no danger of their blowing up
before the great secret came out.
It is very seldom that you hear of such remarkably good children as
George and Helen were for the next few days. They were really something
astonishing! George did not slam the door more than once or twice in a
whole day; and one morning when he was going to ride on the bannisters
as usual, he said "Oh, I forgot!" and immediately walked down stairs as
slowly and gravely as a grandfather.
As for Helen, she was, if possible, still more wonderful, for she
learned "six times" in the multiplication table, and said it straight
on, and skipping, and even backward, in a way that surprised her
teacher. Helen could say "twice one" up to "five times twelve," very
glibly, but "six times" never would stay in her head, she said;
especially "six times nine." She always said it was "seventy-two," or
"sixty-three," or "eighty-one," at a desperate venture, and was always
wrong. Now she knew, and meant to remember; and would pack away the fact
that "six times nine are fifty-four," in a comfortable place in the very
middle of her head, to be ready for any one that wanted to know it.
At last the next Friday came, and just before the children retired for
the night, their mother said:
"Something came for you to-day. Guess what it is?"
Up they both sprang, exclaiming, "Something for us? Oh, that is so very
delightful! What can it be?"
"My instructions are, to put it either in George's sock or in Helen's
stocking, after you are fast asleep. It is for both of you, and I leave
you to decide where it shall be put."
"In my sock!" shouted George.
"In my stocking!" cried Helen.
"Oh certainly, I forgot!" exclaimed George, generously; "in Helen's
stocking."
"No, mamma," said Helen, "in George's sock."
"Stocking!" cried George.
"Sock!" cried Helen.
They kept this up about a dozen times, laughing and jumping about the
room like two crazy monkeys, their mamma and papa laughing too, till
all their faces were in a perfect glow, which made them look like a very
handsome family--for, let me tell you, that good humor and innocent
merriment are very becoming to everybody, while ill-temper makes one
look like a fright.
But how was this difficult matter of sock and stocking to be settled?
Why, by the children's papa, to be sure! for he was a lawyer, and did
nothing all day long but settle difficulties, or make them worse, I
don't know which.
He took two long slips of paper, and wrote "Socks" on one and
"Stockings" on the other. These he put in his hat, which George brought
out of the hall. Then he rang the bell, and told the waiter who answered
it to request Mrs. Custard, the cook, to come up to the parlor for a
moment.
Mrs. Custard, who was very fat, and, besides, had the rheumatism, came
into the room quite breathless, looking very much surprised and a little
frightened. She had dropped her thimble that day, when she was sewing up
the stuffing in the turkey, and had not had time to look for it; and she
was panic struck lest her master had found it roasted in the very middle
of the turkey, and was going to ask her if she thought she was cooking
for an ostrich, which, as everybody knows, prefers a dinner of iron
spikes, pebble stones, and oyster shells to roast beef.
But nothing of the kind happened. The children's papa only said, "Good
evening, Mrs. Custard, you gave us a very nice dinner to-day. I want you
to put your hand in this hat and draw out one piece of paper."
"Laws me, sir!" exclaimed the cook, "I hopes you don't mean to play no
trick on me; will it bite?"
The children fairly screamed with laughter at the idea of a piece of
paper biting; and the cook made them laugh still harder, when she put
her hand in very cautiously, and twitched it out three times, before she
ventured to feel for the paper.
At last one piece was caught, and on it was written "SOCKS," which made
George first jump up and down in an ecstacy of delight, and then run to
Helen and tell her he was really sorry that it had not been the other.
This decided the momentous question, and Mrs. Custard hobbled down
stairs, and the children hopped, skipped, and jumped up stairs, both
wondering what would come of this magical word "socks."
Helen had a pretty little room opening out of her mother's, but George's
was in an upper story. When they were both asleep, the mother took out
of her son's bureau a clean white sock, sewed a tape loop on the edge,
put a small parcel inside, and hung it on a neat brass nail, which was
driven in a door directly opposite his bed, where it would catch his eye
as soon as he awoke.
You may be sure both the children were up bright and early the next
morning. Helen dressed herself quickly and ran down stairs into the
dining-room to wait for her brother.
George opened his eyes upon the sock the very first thing. He sprang out
of bed and made but two steps to the door, raised his hand eagerly, and
then the generous little fellow stopped.
"No!" he cried aloud, "I will not even squeeze the outside to guess what
it is, till I am with Helen."
[Illustration: GEORGE AND HELEN READING "SOCKS"]
He did not stop to count his toes or fingers, though he did manage to
clean his teeth, wash his face, neck, and hands, and brush his hair
in about five minutes, then taking hold of the precious sock by the loop
at the top, he carried it down stairs very much as if he had hold of a
mouse by the tail. He was met by Helen at the door with an "Oh, George,
what is it?"
They both stared with all their eyes, while George told Helen she might
take the wonderful thing out. She gladly obeyed, and drew out a compact
roll of letter paper neatly tied with sky-blue ribbon. Helen untied the
little bow, her fingers trembling with eagerness, and unrolled the
paper. It seemed to be a great many pages covered with writing, and they
were all fastened together at the top with another bit of blue ribbon.
The fair and clear handwriting was delightful to look at.
"Oh, mamma! Oh papa! do come and look!" cried George. "I do believe this
is a story before it is printed. See! on the top of the page is written
'Colonel Freddy; or, the March and Encampment of the Dashahed Zouaves.'"
"Yes; Aunt Fanny sent it to me yesterday; and her daughter hopes her
little story about soldiers will please you."
"Please us! I guess it will! I'd rather hear about soldiers than anybody
else in the world, even giants! because, you know, mamma, Uncle Charley
has gone to fight, and if the Southerners had only put off the war a few
years longer, I would have gone to fight them too; so Hurrah for the
Dashahed Zouaves!"
"Three cheers for the Dashahed Zouaves!" cried Helen, and they were
given with a will.
The children could hardly eat their breakfast in their eagerness to hear
the story which was sent to them before it was printed. This latter fact
gave it an extraordinary interest which they could not explain. It
seemed to be such a remarkable honor to be singled out in this way;
particularly as their mother told them, before she began to read, that
Aunt Fanny had requested them to be sure to let her know if they thought
any part stupid or too long, and her daughter would improve and shorten
it immediately.
How extremely complimentary! to be asked to sit and listen as critics
and judges, and they only children! Really, it was almost too much to
believe!
But it added tremendously to the charm, and George and Helen took their
seats after breakfast, invested with this new and important dignity,
with such an expression of solemn delight on their faces, that their
mother had to run out of the room and have a good laugh by herself in
the hall, after which she returned, and, with as serious a face as she
could call up with those two little figures so stiff and stark before
her, smoothed out the manuscript, and began as follows:
COLONEL FREDDY;
OR,
THE MARCH AND ENCAMPMENT OF THE DASHAHED ZOUAVES.
CHAPTER I.
RAISING A REGIMENT.
ONE bright afternoon last summer, about two weeks after the dreadful
battle of Bull Run, Freddy Jourdain burst open the door of his mother's
room and rushed in, exclaiming: "Jolly, mother! such fun! What _do_ you
think the boys in our school are going to do?"
"Why what?" asked his mother.
"Yes, I should really like to know why you come tearing up stairs
yelling like forty steam engines!" added his sister Bella, who was
rather a particular young lady.
"Well," began Freddy, looking very important, "I'll _try_ to explain,
but I don't believe _you women_ can understand about _us boys_!"
"After that speech I think you had better explain," said Bella, "if
you're not in want of a thimble pie on your knuckles."
"Well, then," cried Freddy, with sparkling eyes, "the boys at our school
are all _square_ against that old Jeff. Davis, and in recess yesterday,
we concluded that we ought to go and help shoot the Southerners. So
we've organized a regiment, and I'm chosen Colonel; and I'm going to
take my regiment to camp on Monday, that is, if you'll let me. Mayn't I,
mother? It's such fun, and Tom Pringle's given me such a jolly popgun!
Hurrah for Jackson and the Stars and Stripes!" So saying, Freddy cut a
caper in the air, that made about forty "chaney alleys," "stony alleys,"
"glass agates," and "middles," pop out of his satchel, which was slung
over one shoulder, and roll into all the corners of the room.
"Where is your encampment to be?" said his mother, as gravely as she
could.
"Oh, down on Mr. Schermerhorn's place at Astoria. Peter Schermerhorn
told us to-day that his father was willing we should have it there, and
has invited us all to come and stay a whole week. We're to live in _real
tents_!" (here Freddy couldn't help cutting another caper,) "and cook
our own dinners, and--oh, mother, mayn't I go? say!"
"I do not think of any objection at present," replied Mrs. Jourdain,
"but you must wait until your father comes home, and hear what he has to
say. It was very kind of Mr. Schermerhorn to invite you all, but I am
afraid he will be driven distracted with such a number of harem-scarem
boys running about his place."
At this moment Joseph, the black waiter, knocked at the door, and
announced, with an air of high-flown elegance, that "Major Schermerhorn
was in the _drawing salon_ (which he considered the purest Parisian
French for front parlor), and desired to see Col. Jourdain;" and our
young friend was off like a shot, Joseph following at a dignified pace.
Joseph, like most other colored servants in New York, was a person of
the highest fashion, according to his own notions. No short words for
_him_, I can tell you. I remember well the first time I called upon his
mistress, I inquired, "Does Mrs. Jourdain live here?" and Joseph,
drawing himself up with an air of superior refinement, replied, "Mrs.
Jourdain _resides_ here, madam." At dinner parties, when he waited upon
table, he was the most dignified person present, and held his head up so
high that he looked as if it would shortly go through the chandelier. He
was always dressed in the finest broadcloth and patent leather, his
black face and white necktie presenting an admirable contrast, while he
used all the five cornered words in the dictionary in replying to any
question, and always handed the dishes to the ladies with a flourish of
the most astonishing character.
Now, if I tell you a secret, you must promise not to let any one know
it. Freddy's parents live in the Fifth avenue above Madison Square, in
the city of New York. His father is a rich man, and Freddy, a bright,
manly lad, between thirteen and fourteen at the time I am writing
about, and the only son, is a good deal indulged. But don't think he
ever abuses the kindness of his loving papa and mamma; no--although he
is full of noise, fun, and innocent mischief, he is a good, obedient
little fellow--and that is why they love to do all they can to make him
happy. But you must not tell that I said where he lives.
When Mr. Jourdain came home that evening, Freddy, of course, began to
tell him the first thing, about the regiment and Mr. Schermerhorn's
delightful invitation. You may be sure he gave a full-length description
of the pleasures of camp life, as retailed by Peter to an enthusiastic
audience at recess; and backed up his request to go by such powerful
pleas of sparkling, eager eyes, flushed, happy face, and irresistible,
dimpling smile, that the hardest-hearted papa in existence would have
said "yes." Mr. Jourdain, being anything but hard-hearted, readily
consented, as he was intimately acquainted with Mr. Schermerhorn and
family, and knew there was no fear on a private place of their meeting
with danger, or getting into trouble.
Then his father went on to ask a great many questions about the
regiment, how many boys belonged to it, what their sizes were, and where
they lived; all of which Freddy delightedly answered, and kept up a
continuous chattering until a quarter past nine, which, being his bed
time, he was reluctantly obliged to trot up stairs.
After he was fairly out of the room, his father and mother had a long
consultation, which resulted next day in Mr. Jourdain's paying a visit
to "Brooks Brothers," the tailors in Broadway, and afterward going to a
certain store in Maiden Lane, which had all manner of toy knapsacks and
guns in the window. What could he have gone there for, I wonder? and
then betaken himself to the police station in B---- street? Really, it
seems very mysterious, but wait a little, and you'll see.
Meanwhile Freddy, with his satchel hanging down his back to look as
much like a knapsack as possible, marched off to school bright and
early; whistling the "Star-spangled Banner" as he went along, and
looking with the utmost pity upon strange boys, who hadn't the honor of
belonging to his glorious regiment, the "Dashahed Zouaves," as his
father had advised him to name it.
He reached Dr. Larned's academy just as Peter, Harry, and half a dozen
others were going in. They greeted him directly with a shout of "Well,
Fred, what does your father say?"
"Oh, I'm to go!" cried Freddy, "I say, fellows, what do you think of the
Dashahed Zouaves for a name?"
"That's splendid! capital!" was the cry of the party. I am afraid I
must add that Peter said "that's _gay_!"
There was no time to talk now, however, for it was full nine o'clock; so
the boys, hanging up their hats in the hall, entered the school room,
and prayers over, the lessons began.
But who could be very attentive to his _ante_-cedents, or
_uncle_-cedents either, when, in three days, the _se_-cedents were to be
utterly routed by the Dashahed Zouaves? The boys were so full of chuckle
and bounce, that, I'm afraid, poor Dr. Larned would have become cracked
and crazy, if he hadn't reflected that the holidays and Fourth of July,
or, as Peter called it, "the Fourth of Ju-New Year's" were coming, and
that probably the state of things was owing to those important facts.
The recitations on that memorable Friday, however, were something
wonderful, sure enough. For instance, the lesson in geography was about
China. The doctor asked a boy, "Where is Shanghai situated?" and he
replied, "On Long Island, about two miles from Astoria landing!--that
is," and there he stopped, looking as awkward and silly as a Shanghai
chicken.
"Won't do, sir," said the doctor, in a grave tone, "you must study the
lesson over again, and go down one;" and down he had to go, feeling
rather flat.
Then the doctor asked Freddy what the principal manufactures were, and
he answered, "Tea, porcelain, silk, and Zouave drill--no, no, the other
kind of drill! dear me, what do I mean?"
"I cannot imagine," returned Doctor Larned, in a severe tone, but with a
little bit of a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. "You appear to
be thinking of anything but your lessons, young gentlemen--but as it is
the last day of school, I excuse you. We will have recess earlier than
usual, and see if we cannot do better afterward."
So saying, he opened the door leading from the school room to his
private study, and went in; while the boys, luncheon in hand, ran to the
playground.
"The playground," as it was called, was the large yard attached to the
house, which had been fitted up with a few simple gymnastic
contrivances, and formed a capital place where the boys might amuse
themselves in fine weather. Down they sat, and for a few moments were so
busy trying who could take the biggest semicircular bite out of a slice
of bread and butter that nobody spoke a word. At last Freddy commenced,
by calling out,
"I say, fellows!"
"Silence in the guard tent! the Colonel's going to speak!" cried Peter,
making a new version of the old school saying.
"Don't you know all the real Zouaves have their hair cut as short as
anything? and just look at mine!" and Freddy tossed back his silky,
golden curls in high disgust.
"Fellows, _it must be done_! We must have that hair off, short order!"
continued the Colonel, solemnly.
"Well," exclaimed George Chadwick, who was the oldest of the party, and
would certainly have been Colonel if Freddy had not been prime favorite
with everybody, "Don't you see how we can manage that?"
"Why, how?" was the general question.
"Just you wait a moment," replied the inventor, and he put for the house
in double quick time, whence he presently returned with an immense pair
of scissors, which he had borrowed of the cook.
"Now, then, who'll be scissorized first?"
"I! I! I!" cried a chorus of voices.
"Can't do every one at once; come, Freddy, you're the
commander-in-chief, suppose you set the example."
"Here goes, then!" exclaimed Freddy; and down he sat on the spring
board.
Snip! went the long scissors, and off came a beautiful curl. Snap! more
demolition on the other side, and in five minutes such a worn-out old
scrubbing brush as his head looked like, never was seen anywhere, even
on a Zouave; George, of course, running out his tongue so far at
every snip of the scissors, that it was a mercy it didn't get cut off,
too.
[Illustration: "FIRE AWAY OLD CHAP!"]
"Jolly! what a fright you look!" shouted Peter. "I say Freddy, I expect
you'll scare General Beauregard into the cholera the first time he sees
you. Now, then, it's my turn; fire away old chap!"
My conscience! what hair cutting that was! Some parts were scratched
nearly bald, while in others, little bunches of hair were left standing
up like stubble in an autumn cornfield. Their heads looked as if they
had been gnawed by the mice or dug up in spots by the roots; and I am
sure their own mammas would scarcely have known them again.
"Come, number three's turn now!" exclaimed George, flourishing his
scissors.
"No, I don't know about that," put in Tom Pringle, who was the most
thoughtful of the party, "I guess I'd rather see what my mother thinks
before I have _my_ hair cut off."
This speech caused the rest of the regiment to think of something which
hadn't struck them before, namely what _their_ mothers would say on the
subject of Zouave hair dressing, and as George began to be a little
frightened by this time, at the fearful and astonishing results of his
patent plan, it was decided to defer the rest of the operation until
another time.
But the amazement of Dr. Larned, when he beheld his pupils in such a
condition, was beyond everything.
"Why, Peter! Freddy! what have you been doing?" he exclaimed, raising
his hands, and pushing his spectacles to the top of his forehead, to
look at them better.
"Oh, only getting our hair cut in the Zouave pattern," said Peter, as
cool as a cucumber. "Don't you know, Doctor, that we've organized a
regiment?"
"Organized a regiment!" repeated the doctor, his spectacles almost
falling off with astonishment.
"Yes, sir, the Dashahed Zouaves; haven't you heard of them?"
"Is there any end to the mischief of boys?" exclaimed the doctor; "If
such things had happened in my young days, our old master, Dr.
Birchemwell, would have verified his name even oftener than he did. I do
not know what your mothers will say when they see such a couple of
scarecrows; but come, we have wasted quite time enough; lessons!
lessons!"
And to the credit of the boys, be it said, they really did set to work
like good fellows, recited the unlucky geography lesson without a single
mistake, ciphered like perfect calculating machines, and had the
pleasure of hearing Dr. Larned say, as they shook hands for good-bye,
"Really, young gentlemen, you have done very well--very well, indeed; so
now good-bye, and pleasant holidays!"