by Sophie May
CHAPTER III.
TAKING A JOURNEY.
It was a great effort for Mrs. Clifford to take a journey to Maine withthree children; but she needed the bracing air of New England, and sodid Grace and the baby.
To be sure they had the company of a gentleman who was going to Boston;but he was a very young man indeed, who thought a great deal more of hisnew mustache than he did of trunks, and checks, and tickets.
Twenty times a day Mrs. Clifford wished her husband could have gone withher before he enlisted, for she hardly knew what to do with restlesslittle Horace. As for sitting still, it was more than the boy could do.He would keep jerking his inquisitive little head out of the window, forhe never remembered a caution five minutes. He delighted to run up anddown the narrow aisle, and, putting his hands on the arms of the seats,swing backward and forward with all his might. He became acquainted withevery lozenge-boy and every newspaper-boy on the route, and seemed to bein a high state of merriment from morning till night.
Grace, who was always proper and well-behaved, was not a littlemortified by Horace's rough manners.
"He means no harm," Mrs. Clifford would say, with a smile and a sigh;"but, Mr. Lazelle, if you will be so kind as to watch him a little, Iwill be greatly obliged."
Mr. Lazelle would reply, "O, certainly, madam; be quite easy about thechild; he is not out of my sight for a moment!"
So saying, perhaps he would go in search of him, and find him under aseat playing with Pincher, his clothes covered with dust, and his caplying between somebody's feet.
At such times Mr. Lazelle always said,--"Upon my word, you're a prettylittle fellow!" and looked as if he would like to shake him, if it werenot for soiling his gloves.
Horace laughed when Mr. Lazelle called him "a pretty little fellow," andthought it a fine joke. He laughed, too, when the young man told him to"come out," for there was something in the pettish tone of his voicewhich Horace considered very amusing.
"I'll wait till he gets through scolding, and goes to coaxing," thoughtthe boy: "he's a smart man! can't make such a little fellow mind!"
Mr. Lazelle was very much vexed with Horace, and firmly resolved that hewould never again take charge of a lady travelling with children. At onetime he flew into a passion, and boxed the boy's ears. Horace felt verymuch like a wounded wasp. He knew Mr. Lazelle would not have daredstrike him before his mother, and from that moment he despised him as a"sneak."
Whenever Mr. Lazelle was looking for him in great haste, he was verylikely to be missing; and when that sorely tried young gentleman wasalmost in despair, a saucy little head would appear at the car-window,and a small voice would shout,--
"Ho, Mr. Lazelle! why don't you come ahead? I beat you _in_!"
"Horace," said Mrs. Clifford, wearily, "you don't know how you tire me!Here is this dear baby that I have to hold in my arms; isn't it enoughthat I should have the care of him, without being all the while anxiousabout you?"
"Yes," chimed in Grace, pushing back her beautiful curls, "you don'tknow how ma and I fret about you. You'll kill poor ma before ever we canget you east!"
Horace hung his head for shame, and decided that it didn't "pay" topunish Mr. Lazelle, if his mother must suffer too. He meant, for hersake, to "turn over a new leaf," though he did not say so.
On the afternoon of their second day's ride, they reached the beautifulcity of Cleveland. Here they were to rest for a few hours. Their clotheswere sadly tumbled, their collars dust-color, and their faces and hairrough with cinders. A thorough washing and brushing, and some freshruffles and laces, gave a much tidier appearance to the whole party.
After Grace and Horace were ready, Mrs. Clifford thought they might aswell go down stairs while she tried to rock little Katie to sleep.
"Be sure not to go away from the house," said she. "Grace, I depend uponyou to take care of Horace, for he may forget."
The children had been standing on the piazza for some time, watching thepeople passing, while Mr. Lazelle lounged near by, talking politics withsome gentlemen. In a little while Mrs. Clifford sent for Grace to go upstairs and amuse the poor baby, who could not be rocked to sleep.
For a few moments after she had gone Horace stood near the door, stillgazing into the street, when, suddenly, he heard a faint sound ofmartial music: a brass band was turning the corner. Soon they were insight, men in handsome uniform, drawing music from various instruments,picking, blowing, or beating it out, as the case might be.
It was glorious, Horace thought. He could not keep still. He ran out,and threw up his cap before he knew it almost, shouting with delight,--
"Ho, Mr. Lazelle! ain't that jolly? Ho, Mr. Lazelle! where _are_ you,anyhow?"
Probably, if the boy had stopped to think, he might have remembered thatMr. Lazelle was in the parlor; but no, Horace was sure he must havecrossed the street to look at the band.
"I'm going, too," said he to himself. "Of course, where Mr. Lazellegoes, I can go, for he has the care of me!"
With that he dashed headlong into the crowd, looking here, there, andeverywhere for Mr. Lazelle.
But, O, that music! Did a little boy's boots ever stand still when adrum was playing, "March, march away"? No doubt his father was keepingstep to just such sounds, on his path to martial glory! The fife andbugle whistled with magical voices, and seemed to say,--
"Follow, follow, follow on!"
And Horace followed; sometimes thinking he was in search of Mr. Lazelle,sometimes forgetting it altogether. He knew he was doing very wrong, butit seemed as if the music almost drowned the voice of his conscience.
In this way they turned street after street, till, suddenly, the bandand the crowd entered a large public building. Then the music died out,and with it the fire of eagerness in the little boy's soul.
Where _was_ Mr. Lazelle? If he could see him now, he would forgive theboxed ears. How could he ever find his way back to the hotel? It had notas yet entered his head to ask any one.
He darted off at great speed, but, as it happened, in precisely thewrong direction. The houses grew smaller and farther apart, andpresently he came to a high, sandy cliff overlooking the lake. Now theshades of night began to fall, and his stout heart almost failed him.The longing grew so strong to see mother, and Grace, and baby, that thetears would start, in spite of himself.
At last, just as he was wondering which way to turn next, somebodytouched his shoulder, and a rough voice said,--
"Hullo, my little man! What you doin' in this ward? Come; don't you pullaway from me: I'm a city officer. Got lost, hey?"
Horace shook with fright. O dear, was it a crime, then, to get lost? Heremembered all the stories he had ever heard of lock-ups, andstate-prisons, and handcuffs.
"O, I didn't mean any harm, sir," cried he, trying to steady his voice:"I reckon I ain't lost, sir; or, if I am, I ain't lost _much_!"
"So, so," laughed the policeman, good-naturedly; "and what was yourname, my little man, before you got lost, and didn't get lost _much_?"
"My name is Horace Clifford, sir," replied the boy, wondering why acruel policeman should want to laugh.
"Well, well," said the man, not unkindly, "I'm glad I've come across ye,for your mother's in a terrible taking. What set ye out to run off?Come, now; don't be sulky. Give us your hand, and I guess, seein' it'syou, we won't put you in the lock-up this time."
Horace was very grateful to the officer for not handcuffing him on thespot; still he felt as if it was a great disgrace to be marched throughthe city by a policeman.
Mrs. Clifford, Grace, and Mr. Lazelle met them on the way.
"O, my dear, dear son," cried Mrs. Clifford, as soon as she could speak;"do you know how you've frightened us all?"
"I followed the band," stammered Horace. "I was looking for Mr.Lazelle."
"You're a naughty, mean little boy," cried Grace, when she had made surehe was not hurt anywhere. "It would have been good enough for you ifyou'd drowned in the lake, and the bears had ate you up!"
St
ill she kissed her naughty brother, and it was to be noticed that hereyelids were very red from crying.
"I'll never let go your hand again, Horace," said she, "till we get tograndma's. You're just as _slippery_!"
Mr. Lazelle looked as if it would be an immense relief to him if MissGrace would keep her word; he thought he was undergoing a great trialwith Horace.
"It's a shame," said he to himself, "that a perfect lady, like Mrs.Clifford, should have such a son! I'd enjoy whipping him--for her sake!Why in the world don't she _train_ him?"
Mr. Lazelle did not know of the faithful talk Mrs. Clifford had withHorace that night, nor how the boy's heart swelled with grief, andlove, and new resolutions.
This adventure caused a day's delay, for it made the party too late forthe boat. Horace was so sorry for his foolish conduct, that he spent thenext day in the most subdued manner, and walked about the chamber ontiptoe, while Grace tried to soothe little Katie.
But, in crossing the lake, he "forgot" again. His mother allowed him togo up on the hurricane deck with Mr. Lazelle, just for ten minutes; andthere he became acquainted with the pilot, who was struck with hisintelligence, and freely answered all the questions he asked about theengine, "the whistle," and the steering.
"O, pshaw!" said Horace; "I'll make a steamboat myself, and give it toGrace for a present!"
Full of this new plan, he left the pilot without so much as a "thankyou," running down the steps, two at a time, unobserved by Mr. Lazelle,who was playing the flute. He wanted to see how the "rigging" was made,and stopped to ask leave of nobody.
Down another flight of stairs, out across trunks, and bales, and ropes,he pushed his way to get a good sight of the deck. He paid no heed topeople or things, and nearly ran over an Irish boy, who was drawing upwater in buckets for washing. Somebody shouted, "He's trying to killhisself, I do believe!"
Somebody rushed forward to seize the daring child by the collar of hisjacket, but too late; he had fallen headlong into the lake!
A scream went up from the deck that pierced the air,--"Boy overboard!Help! help! help!"
Mrs. Clifford heard, and knew, by instinct, that it was Horace. She hadjust sent Grace to call him, not feeling safe to trust him longer withMr. Lazelle. She rushed through the door of the state-room, and followedthe crowd to the other side of the boat, crying,--
"O, can't somebody save him!"
There was no mistaking the mother's voice; the crowd made way for her.
"Safe! safe and sound!" was the shout now. "All right!"
The Irish lad, at Horace's first plunge, had thrown him his bucket--itwas a life-preserver; that is, it would not sink--and the drowning boyhad been drawn up by means of a rope attached to the bail.
"Ma," said Grace, when they were all safely in the cars at Buffalo, andHorace as well as ever, though a little pale, "I do believe there neverwas anybody had such an awful journey! _Do_ you suppose we'll ever getHorace home to grandma's?"
