surprised
enough. But nobody jeered. What was the reason, I wonder?

And this was what Frank read. Written on a blank leaf, with a pencil, in
his own hand, were these words:--

_"I do now solemnly promise my mother and sisters that, when I am
in the army, I will never be guilty of swearing, or gambling, or
drinking, or any other mean thing I know they would not approve of.
And I do solemnly pledge my word that they shall sooner hear of my
death than of my being guilty of any of those things._ Frank Manly."

And beneath those words were written these also, in his mother's hand:--

_"O heavenly Father! I beseech Thee, help my dear son to keep his
promises. Give him strength to resist temptation. Save him, I pray
Thee, from those who kill the body, but above all from those who kill
the soul. If it be Thy gracious will, let him pass safely through
whatever evils may beset him, and return to us uncontaminated and
unhurt. But if this may not be, then, O, our Saviour! take him, take
my precious child, I implore Thee, pure unto Thyself. And help us all
so to live, that we shall meet again in joy and peace, if not here,
hereafter. Amen._"

Frank did not turn that page, but sat looking at it long. And he saw
something besides the words there written. He saw himself once more a boy
at home, the evening before his enlistment; pencil in hand, writing that
solemn promise; his mother watching near; the bright face of his sister
Helen yonder, shadowed by the thought of his going; the little invalid
Hattie on the lounge, her sad face smiling very much as he saw it smiling
out just now from the flowers in the coffin.

He saw his mother also, pencil in hand, writing that prayer,--her
countenance full of anxious love and tears, her gentle lips tremulous
with blessings. He saw her come to his bed in the moonlight night, when
last he slept there with little Willie at his side, as maybe he will
never sleep again. And he heard her counsels and entreaties, as she knelt
there beside him; and felt her kisses; and lived over once more the
thoughts of that night after she was gone, and when he lay sleepless with
the moonlight on his bed.

But here he was now--not away there in the room at home, but here, among
soldiers, on shipboard. And the pure, innocent Frank of that night lived
no more. And all those promises had been broken, one by one. And he knew
not what to do, he was so miserab