cried Grace; "my own dear papa, that I
love best of any one in all the world!"

Horace ran to his mother, and throwing himself on the bed beside her,
buried his face in the pillows.

"O, ma! I reckon 'tisn't true. It's another Captain Clifford."

His mother lay so very white and still that Horace drew away when he had
touched her: there was something awful in the coldness of her face. Her
beautiful brown eyes shone bright and tearless; but there were dark
hollows under them, deep enough to hold many tears, if the time should
ever come when she might shed them.

"O, little Horace," whispered she, "mother's little Horace!"

"Darling mamma!" responded the boy, kissing her pale lips and smoothing
the hair away from her cheeks with his small fingers, which meant to
move gently, but did not know how. And then the young, childish heart,
with its little load of grief, was pressed close to the larger heart,
whose deep, deep sorrow only God could heal.

They are wrong who say that little children cannot receive lasting
impressions. There are some hours of joy or agony which they never
forget. This was such an hour for Horace. He could almost feel again on
his forehead the warm good-by kisses of his father; he could almost hear
again the words,--

"Always obey your mother, my son, and remember that God sees all you
do."

Ah, he had not obeyed, he had not remembered.

And that dear father would never kiss him, never speak to him again! He
had not thought before what a long word Never was.

O, it was dreadful to shut his eyes and fancy him lying so cold and
still on that bloody battle-field! Would all this awful thing be true
to-morrow morning, when he waked up?

"O, mamma," sobbed the desolate child, "I and Grace will take care of
you! Just forgive me, ma, and I'll be the best kind of a boy. I will, I
will!"

Grandma had already led Grace away into the green chamber, where aunt
Madge sat with the baby. The poor little girl would not be comforted.

"O, grandma," she cried, "if we could know who it was that shot pa our
mayor would hang him! I do wish I could die, grandma. I don't want to
keep living and living in this great world, without my father!"

CHAPTER IX.

THE BLUE BOOK.

Days passed, but there was the same hush upon the house. Everybody moved
about softly, and spoke in low tones. Horace was not told that he must
go to school, but he knew aunt Louise thought his shoes made a great
deal of noise,