CHAPTER XXVI.

Home Again.

To Charlie the summer had been an exceedingly short one—time had flown so pleasantly away. Everything that could be done to make the place agreeable Mrs. Bird had effected. Amongst the number of her acquaintances who had conceived a regard for her young protege was a promising artist to whom she had been a friend and patroness. Charlie paid him frequent visits, and would sit hour after hour in his studio, watching the progress of his work. Having nothing else at the time to amuse him, he one day asked the artist's permission to try his hand at a sketch. Being supplied with the necessary materials, he commenced a copy of a small drawing, and was working assiduously, when the artist came and looked over his shoulder.

"Did you ever draw before?" he asked, with a start of surprise.

"Never," replied Charlie, "except on my slate at school. I sometimes used to sketch the boys' faces."

"And you have never received any instructions?"

"Never—not even a hint," was the answer.

"And this is the first time you have attempted a sketch upon paper?"

"Yes; the very first."

"Then you are a little prodigy," said the artist, slapping him upon the shoulder. "I must take you in hand. You have nothing else to do; come here regularly every day, and I'll teach you. Will you come?"

"Certainly, if you wish it. But now, tell me, do you really think that drawing good?" "Well, Charlie, if I had done it, it would be pronounced very bad for me; but, coming from your hands, it's something astonishing."

"Really, now—you're not joking me?"

"No, Charlie, I'm in earnest—I assure you I am; it is drawn with great spirit, and the boy that you have put in by the pump is exceedingly well done."

This praise served as a great incentive to our little friend, who, day after day thenceforth, was found at the studio busily engaged with his crayons, and making rapid progress in his new art.

He had been thus occupied some weeks, and one morning was hurrying to the breakfast-table, to get through his meal, that he might be early at the studio, when he found Mrs. Bird in her accustomed seat looking very sad.

"Why, what is the matter?" he asked, on observing the unusually grave face of his friend.

"Oh, Charlie, my dear! I've received very distressing intelligence from
Philadelphia. Your father is quite ill."

"My father ill!" cried he, with a look of alarm.

"Yes, my dear! quite sick—so says my letter. Here are two for you."

Charlie hastily broke the seal of one, and read as follows:—

"MY DEAR LITTLE BROTHER,—We are all in deep distress in consequence of the misfortunes brought upon us by the mob. Our home has been destroyed; and, worse than all, our poor father was caught, and so severely beaten by the rioters that for some days his life was entirely despaired of. Thank God! he is now improving, and we have every reasonable hope of his ultimate recovery. Mother, Caddy, and I, as you may well suppose, are almost prostrated by this accumulation of misfortunes, and but for the kindness of Mr. Walters, with whom we are living, I do not know what would have become of us. Dear Mr. and Mrs. Garie—[Here followed a passage that was so scored and crossed as to be illegible. After a short endeavour to decipher it, he continued:] We would like to see you very much, and mother grows every day more anxious for your return. I forgot to add, in connection with the mob, that Mr. Walters's house was also attacked, but unsuccessfully, the rioters having met a signal repulse. Mother and Caddy send a world of love to you. So does Kinch, who comes every day to see us and is, often extremely useful. Give our united kind regards to Mrs. Bird, and thank her in our behalf for her great kindness to you.—Ever yours,

"ESTHER.

"P.S.—Do try and manage to come home soon."

The tears trickled down Charlie's cheek as he perused the letter, which, when he had finished reading, he handed to Mrs. Bird, and then commenced the other. This proved to be from Kinch, who had spent all the spare time at his disposal since the occurrence of the mob in preparing it.

"To MR. CHARLES ELLIS, ESQ., at MRS. BIRD'S.

"Philadelphia.

"DEAR SIR AND HONNORED FRIEND.—I take This chance To Write To you To tell You that I am Well, And that we are all well Except Your father, who Is sick; and I hope you are Enjoying the same Blessin. We had An Awful fight, And I was There, and I was One of The Captings. I had a sord on; and the next Mornin we had a grate Brekfast. But nobody Eat anything but me, And I was obliged to eat, Or the Wittles would have spoiled. The Mob had Guns as Big as Cannun; And they Shot them Off, and the holes Are in The Shutter yet; And when You come Back, I will show them to You. Your Father is very bad; And I Have gone back to school, And I am Licked every day because I don't Know my Lesson. A great big boy, with white woolly hair and Pinkish Grey eyes, has got Your seat. I Put a Pin under him one Day, And he told On me; and We Are to Have a fight tomorrow. The boys Call Him 'Short and Dirty,' because he ain't tall, and never washes His Face. We Have got a new Teacher for the 5th Division. He's a Scorcher, And believes in Rat Tan. I am to Wear My new Cloths Next Sunday. Excuse This long letter. Your Friend till death,

"KINCH SANDERS DE YOUNGE.

[Illustration: skull and cross bones]

"P.S. This it the best Skull and Cross-bones That
I can make. Come home soon, Yours &c.,

"K. S. DE YOUNGE, ESQ."

Charlie could not but smile through his tears, as he read this curious epistle, which was not more remarkable for its graceful composition than its wonderful chirography. Some of the lines were written in blue ink, some in red, and others in that pale muddy black which is the peculiar colour of ink after passing through the various experiments of school-boys, who generally entertain the belief that all foreign substances, from molasses-candy to bread-crumbs, necessarily improve the colour and quality of that important liquid.

"Why every other word almost is commenced with a capital; and I declare he's even made some in German text," cried Charlie, running his finger mirthfully along the lines, until he came to "Your father is very bad." Here the tears came welling up again—the shower had returned almost before the sun had departed; and, hiding his face in his hands, he leant sobbing on the table.

"Cheer up, Charlie!—cheer up, my little man! all may go well yet."

"Mrs. Bird," he sobbed, "you've been very kind to me; yet I want to go home. I must see mother and father. You see what Esther writes,—they want me to come home; do let me go."

"Of course you shall go, if you wish. Yet I should like you to remain with me, if you will."

"No, no, Mrs. Bird, I mustn't stay; it wouldn't be right for me to remain here, idle and enjoying myself, and they so poor and unhappy at home. I couldn't stay," said he, rising from the table,—"I must go."

"Well, my dear, you can't go now. Sit down and finish your breakfast, or you will have a head-ache."

"I'm not hungry—I can't eat," he replied; "my appetite has all gone." And stealing away from the room, he went up into his chamber, threw himself on the bed, and wept bitterly.

Mrs. Bird was greatly distressed at the idea of losing her little favourite. He had been so much with her that she had become strongly attached to him, and therefore looked forward to his departure with unfeigned regret. But Charlie could not be persuaded to stay; and reluctantly Mrs. Bird made arrangements for his journey home. Even the servants looked a little sorry when they heard of his intended departure; and Reuben the coachman actually presented him with a jack-knife as a token of his regard.

Mrs. Bird accompanied him to the steamer, and placed him under the special care of the captain; so that he was most comfortably provided for until his arrival in New York, where he took the cars direct for home.

Not having written to inform them on what day he might be expected, he anticipated giving them a joyful surprise, and, with this end in view, hastened in the direction of Mr. Walters's. As he passed along, his eye was attracted by a figure before him which he thought he recognized, and on closer inspection it proved to be his sister Caddy.

Full of boyish fun, he crept up behind her, and clasped his hands over her eyes, exclaiming, in an assumed voice, "Now, who am I?"

"Go away, you impudent, nasty thing!" cried Caddy, plunging violently.
Charlie loosed his hold; she turned, and beheld her brother.

"Oh! Charlie, Charlie! is it you? Why, bless you, you naughty fellow, how you frightened me!" said she, throwing her arms round his neck, and kissing him again and again. "When did you come? Oh, how delighted mother and Ess will be!" "I only arrived about half an hour ago. How are mother and father and Esther?"

"Mother and Ess are well, and father better. But I'm so glad to see you," she cried, with a fresh burst of tears and additional embraces.

"Why, Cad," said he, endeavouring to suppress some watery sensations of his own, "I'm afraid you're not a bit pleased at my return—you're actually crying about it."

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you that I can't help it," she replied, as she fell to crying and kissing him more furiously than before.

Charlie became much confused at these repeated demonstrations of joyful affection in the crowded street, and, gently disengaging her, remarked, "See, Caddy, everybody is looking at us; let us walk on."

"I had almost forgot I was sent on an errand—however, it's not of much consequence—I'll go home again with you;" and taking his hand, they trudged on together.

"How did you say father was?" he asked again.

"Oh, he's better bodily; that is, he has some appetite, sits up every day, and is gradually getting stronger; but he's all wrong here," said she, tapping her forehead. "Sometimes he don't know any of us—and it makes us all feel so bad." Here the tears came trickling down again, as she continued: "Oh, Charlie! what those white devils will have to answer for! When I think of how much injury they have done us, I hate them! I know it's wrong to hate anybody—but I can't help it; and I believe God hates them as much as I do!"

Charlie looked gloomy; and, as he made no rejoinder, she continued, "We didn't save a thing, not even a change of clothes; they broke and burnt up everything; and then the way they beat poor father was horrible—horrible! Just think—they chopped his fingers nearly all off, so that he has only the stumps left. Charlie, Charlie!" she cried, wringing her hands, "it's heart-rending to see him—he can't even feed himself, and he'll never be able to work again!"

"Don't grieve, Cad," said Charlie, with an effort to suppress his own tears; "I'm almost a man now," continued he, drawing himself up—"don't be afraid, I'll take care of you all!"

Thus conversing, they reached Mr. Walters's. Caddy wanted Charlie to stop and look at the damage effected by the mob upon the outside of the house, but he was anxious to go in, and ran up the steps and gave the bell a very sharp pull. The servant who opened the door was about to make some exclamation of surprise, and was only restrained by a warning look from Charlie. Hurrying past them, Caddy led the way to the room where her mother and Esther were sitting. With a cry of joy Mrs. Ellis caught him in her arms, and, before he was aware of their presence, he found himself half smothered by her and Esther.

They had never been separated before his trip to Warmouth; and their reunion, under such circumstances, was particularly affecting. None of them could speak for a few moments, and Charlie clung round his mother's neck as though he would never loose his hold. "Mother, mother!" was all he could utter; yet in that word was comprised a world of joy and affection.

Esther soon came in for her share of caresses; then Charlie inquired,
"Where's father?"

"In here," said Mrs. Ellis, leading the way to an adjoining room. "I don't think he will know you—perhaps he may."

In one corner of the apartment, propped up in a large easy chair by a number of pillows, sat poor Mr. Ellis, gazing vacantly about the room and muttering to himself. His hair had grown quite white, and his form was emaciated in the extreme; there was a broad scar across his forehead, and his dull, lustreless eyes were deeply sunken in his head. He took no notice of them as they approached, but continued muttering and looking at his hands.

Charlie was almost petrified at the change wrought in his father. A few months before he had left him in the prime of healthful manhood; now he was bent and spectrelike, and old in appearance as if the frosts of eighty winters had suddenly fallen on him. Mrs. Ellis laid her hand gently upon his shoulder, and said, "Husband, here's Charlie." He made no reply, but continued muttering and examining his mutilated hands. "It's Charlie," she repeated.

"Oh, ay! nice little boy!" he replied, vacantly; "whose son is he?"

Mrs. Ellis's voice quivered as she reiterated, "It's Charlie—our
Charlie!—don't you know him?"

"Oh, yes! nice little boy—nice little boy. Oh!" he continued, in a suppressed and hurried tone, as a look of alarm crossed his face; "run home quick, little boy! and tell your mother they're coming, thousands of them; they've guns, and swords, and clubs. Hush! There they come—there they come!" And he buried his face in the shawl, and trembled in an agony of fright.

"Oh, mother, this is dreadful!" exclaimed Charlie. "Don't he know any of you?"

"Yes; sometimes his mind comes back—very seldom, though—only for a very little while. Come away: talking to him sometimes makes him worse." And slowly and sorrowfully the two left the apartment.

That evening, after Mr. Ellis had been safely bestowed in bed, the family gathered round the fire in the room of Mrs. Ellis, where Charlie entertained them with a description of Warmouth and of the manner in which he had passed the time whilst there. He was enthusiastic respecting Mrs. Bird and her kindness. "Mother, she is such a dear old lady: if I'd been as white as snow, and her own son, she couldn't have been kinder to me. She didn't want me to come away, and cried ever so much. Let me show you what she gave me!" Charlie thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out a small wallet, from which he counted out four ten-dollar bills, two fives, and a two dollar and a half gold piece, "Ain't I rich!" said he, as, with the air of a millionaire, he tossed the money upon a table. "Now," he continued, "do you know what I'm about to do?" Not receiving any answer from his wondering sisters or mother, he added, "Why, just this!—here, mother, this is yours," said he, placing the four ten-dollar bills before her; "and here are five apiece for Esther and Cad; the balance is for your humble servant. Now, then," he concluded, "what do you think of that?"

Mrs. Ellis looked fondly at him, and, stroking his head, told him that he was a good son; and Esther and Caddy declared him to be the best brother in town.

"Now, girls," said he, with the air of a patriarch, "what do you intend to do with your money?"

"Mine will go towards buying me a dress, and Esther will save hers for a particular purpose," said Caddy. "I'll tell you something about her and Mr. Walters," continued she, with a mischievous look at her sister.

"Oh, Caddy—don't! Ain't you ashamed to plague me so?" asked Esther, blushing to the roots of her hair. "Mother, pray stop her," cried she, pleadingly.

"Hush, Caddy!" interposed her mother, authoritatively; "you shall do no such thing."

"Well," resumed Caddy, "mother says I mustn't tell; but I can say this much——"

Esther here put her hand over her sister's mouth and effectually prevented any communication she was disposed to make.

"Never mind her, Ess!" cried Charlie; "you'll tell me all in good time, especially if it's anything worth knowing."

Esther made no reply, but, releasing her sister, hurried out of the room, and went upstairs to Charlie's chamber, where he found her on retiring for the night.

"I'm glad you're here, Ess," said he, "you'll indulge me. Here is the key—open my trunk and get me out a nightcap; I'm too tired, or too lazy, to get it for myself." Esther stooped down, opened the trunk, and commenced searching for the article of head-gear in question. "Come, Ess," said Charles, coaxingly, "tell me what this is about you and Mr. Walters."

She made no reply at first, but fumbled about in the bottom of the trunk, professedly in search of the nightcap which she at that moment held in her hand. "Can't you tell me?" he again asked.

"Oh, there's nothing to tell, Charlie!" she answered.

"There must be something, Ess, or you wouldn't have blushed up so when Cad was about to speak of it. Do," said he, approaching her, and putting his arm round her neck—"do tell me all about it—I am sure there is some secret!"

"Oh, no, Charlie—there is no secret; it's only this——" Here she stopped, and, blushing, turned her head away.

"Ess, this is nonsense," said Charlie, impatiently: "if it's anything worth knowing, why can't you tell a fellow? Come," said he, kissing her, "tell me, now, like a dear old Ess as you are."

"Well, Charlie," said she, jerking the words out with an effort, "Mr.—Mr.
Walters has asked me to marry him!"

"Phew—gemini! that is news!" exclaimed Charlie. "And are you going to accept him Ess?"

"I don't know," she answered.

"Don't know!" repeated Charlie, in a tone of surprise. "Why, Ess, I'm astonished at you—such a capital fellow as he is! Half the girls of our acquaintance would give an eye for the chance."

"But he is so rich!" responded Esther.

"Well, now, that's a great objection, ain't it! I should say, all the better on that account," rejoined Charlie.

"The money is the great stumbling-block," continued she; "everybody would say I married him for that."

"Then everybody would lie, as everybody very often does! If I was you, Ess, and loved him, I shouldn't let his fortune stand in the way. I wish," continued he, pulling up his shirt-collar, "that some amiable young girl with a fortune of a hundred thousand dollars, would make me an offer—I'd like to catch myself refusing her!"

The idea of a youth of his tender years marrying any one, seemed so ludicrous to Esther, that she burst into a hearty fit of laughter, to the great chagrin of our hero, who seemed decidedly of the opinion that his sister had not a proper appreciation of his years and inches.

"Don't laugh, Ess; but tell me—do you really intend to refuse him?"

"I can't decide yet, Charlie," answered she seriously; "if we were situated as we were before—were not such absolute paupers—I wouldn't hesitate to accept him; but to bring a family of comparative beggars upon him—I can't make up my mind to do that."

Charlie looked grave as Esther made this last objection; boy as he was, he felt its weight and justice. "Well, Ess," rejoined he, "I don't know what to say about it—of course I can't advise. What does mother say?"

"She leaves it entirely to me," she answered. "She says I must act just as
I feel is right."

"I certainly wouldn't have him at all, Ess, if I didn't love him; and if I did, I shouldn't let the money stand in the way—so, good night!"

Charlie slept very late the next morning, and was scarcely dressed when Esther knocked at his door, with the cheerful tidings that her father had a lucid interval and was waiting to see him.

Dressing himself hastily, he followed her into their father's room. When he entered, the feeble sufferer stretched out his mutilated arms towards him and clasped him round the neck, "They tell me," said he, "that you came yesterday, and that I didn't recognize you. I thought, when I awoke this morning, that I had a dim recollection of having seen some dear face; but my head aches so, that I often forget—yes, often forget. My boy," he continued, "you are all your mother and sisters have to depend upon now; I'm—I'm——" here his voice faltered, as he elevated his stumps of hands—"I'm helpless; but you must take care of them. I'm an old man now," said he despondingly.

"I will, father; I'll try so hard" replied Charlie.

"It was cruel in them, wasn't it, son," he resumed. "See, they've made me helpless for ever!" Charlie restrained the tears that were forcing themselves up, and rejoined, "Never fear, father! I'll do my best; I trust I shall soon be able to take care of you."

His father did not understand him—his mind was gone again, and he was staring vacantly about him. Charlie endeavoured to recall his attention, but failed, for he began muttering about the mob and his hands; they were compelled to quit the room, and leave him to himself, as he always became quiet sooner by being left alone.