The William Henry Letters. Diaz Abby Morton

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      "O, this is Uncle Jacob chasing the calf," said she; "those things that look like elbows are meant for his legs kicking up. And on this piece he's tried to make the old gobbler flying at Georgiana. You see the turkey is as big as she is. But maybe you don't know which the turkey is! That one is the fat man, and that one is the cat and kittens. And that one is a dandy, making a bow. He saw one over at the hotel that he took it from."

      She was sitting by the bed, and as she named them, spread them out upon it, one by one, along with some others I have not mentioned, all very comical. When I had finished laughing over them I said, —

      "I should like to send these pictures in my barrel. 'T would give the little sick contrabands something to laugh at."

      "Well, I'll tell Billy when he comes," she answered, then gathered them up and smoothed the quilt again.

      The bedstead was a low one, without any posts, except that each leg ended at the top with a little round, flat head or knob. The quilt was made of light and dark patchwork. Grandmother told me, lowering her voice, that Billy's mother made that patchwork when she was a little girl just learning to sew; but 't was kept laid away, and about the last work she ever did was to set it together. And 't was her request that Billy should have it on his bed. She said Billy was a very feeling boy, though he didn't say much. One time, a couple years ago, she hung that quilt out to blow, and forgot to take it in till after the dew began to fall, so, being a little damp, she put on another one. But next morning she looked in, and there 't was, over him, spread on all skewy!

      "Sometimes I think," she added, "that boys have more feeling than we think for!"

      "I know they have!" I answered.

      A picture of William Henry's mother hung opposite the bed. It was not a very handsome face, nor a pretty face. But it had such an earnest, loving, wistful expression, that I could not help exclaiming, "Beautiful!"

      "Yes, she was a beautiful woman. We all loved her. She was just like a daughter to me. Billy doesn't know what he's lost, and 't is well he don't. I try to be a mother to him; but they say," said the tender-hearted old lady, – "they say a grandmother isn't fit to have the bringing up of a child! Billy has his faults."

      "Now if I were a child," I exclaimed, "I should rather you would have the bringing up of me than anybody I know of! And 't is my opinion, from what I hear, that you've done well by Billy. Of course boys are boys, and don't always do us they ought to. Now there's little Silas. He's been a world of trouble first and last. But then boys soon get big enough to be ashamed of all their little bad ways. The biggest part of 'em like good men best, and mean to be good men. And I think Billy's going to grow up a capital fellow! A capital fellow! If a boy's true-hearted he'll come out all right. And your boy is, isn't he?"

      "O very!" she said. "Very!"

      I was so glad to think, after the old lady had gone down, that I'd said something which, if she kept awake, thinking about the boy, would be a comfort to her.

      Next morning grandmother brought out quite an armful of old clothes. A poor old couple, living near, she said, took most of hers and Mr. Carver's; but what few there were of Billy's that were decent to send I might have. A couple of linen jackets, a Scotch cap, two pairs of thin trousers, not much worn, but outgrown, a small overcoat, several pairs of stockings, and some shoes. And the boots also, and some underclothing, that William Henry might have worn longer, she said, if he were only living at home, where she could put a stitch in 'em now and then.

      Grandmother sighed as she emptied the pockets of crumbles, green apples, reins, bullets, and knotted, gray, balled-up pocket-handkerchiefs. Among the clothes she brought out a funny little uniform, which I had seen hanging up in his room, – one that he had when a soldier, or trainer, as she called it, in a military company, formed near the beginning of the war. It consisted of a blue flannel sack, edged with red braid, red flannel Zouave trousers, and a blue flannel cap, bound with red, and having a square visor. That uniform would fit some little contraband, she said.

      "Hadn't you better keep those?" I asked. "Won't he want them?"

      "O no," she said. "He's outgrown them. And 't is no use keeping them for moths to get into."

      She gave me some picture-books, and two primers, a roll of linen, and quite a good blanket, all of which I received thankfully.

      In rolling up the different articles, I saw her eye resting so lovingly on the little uniform, that I said, "Here, grandmother, СКАЧАТЬ