Red, White, Blue Socks Part 12

At last only Tom and Freddy were left to go home by themselves. As they marched along, keeping faultless step, Freddy exclaimed, "I tell you what, Tom! I mean to ask my father, the minute he comes home, to let me go to West Point as soon as I leave school! I must be a soldier--I can't think of anything else!"

"That's just what I mean to do!" cried Tom, with sparkling eyes; "and, Fred, if you get promoted before me, promise you will have me in your regiment, won't you?"

"Yes I will, certainly!" answered Freddy; "but you're the oldest, Tom, and, you know, the oldest gets promoted first; so mind you don't forget me when you come to your command!"

As he spoke, they reached his own home; and our hero, glad after all to come back to father, mother, and sister, bounded up the steps, and rang the bell good and _hard_, just to let Joseph know that a personage of eminence had arrived. As the door opened, he turned gayly round, cap in hand, saying, "Good-by, Maryland; you've left the regiment, but you'll never leave the Union!" and the last words he heard Tom say were, "No, by George, _never_!"

And now, dear little readers, my boy friends in particular, the history of Freddy Jourdain must close. He still lives in New York, and attends Dr. Larned's school, where he is at the head of all his cla.s.ses.

The Dashahed Zouaves have met very often since the encampment, and had many a good drill in their room--the large attic floor which Mr.

Jourdain allowed them for their special accommodation, and where the beautiful regimental colors are carefully kept, to be proudly displayed in every parade of the Zouaves.

When he is sixteen, the boy Colonel is to enter West Point Academy, and learn to be a real soldier; while Tom--poor Tom, who went down to Baltimore that pleasant July month, promising so faithfully to join Freddy in the cadet corps, may never see the North again.

And in conclusion let me say, that should our country again be in danger in after years, which G.o.d forbid, we may be sure that first in the field, and foremost in the van of the grand army, will be our gallant young friend,

COLONEL FREDDY.

CONCLUSION.

IT took a great many Sat.u.r.day afternoons to finish the story of "Colonel Freddy," and the children returned to it at each reading with renewed and breathless interest. George and Helen couldn't help jumping up off their seats once or twice and clapping their hands with delight when anything specially exciting took place in the pages of the wonderful story that was seen "before it was printed," and a great many "oh's" and "ah's" testified to their appreciation of the gallant "Dashahed Zouaves." They laughed over the captive Tom, and cried over the true story of the old sergeant; and when at length the very last word had been read, and their mother had laid down the ma.n.u.script, George sprang up once more, exclaiming; "Oh, I wish I could be a boy soldier! Mamma, mayn't I recruit a regiment and camp out too?" "And oh! if I could only present a flag!" cried his sister; "I wish I had been Jessie; what a pity it wasn't all true!"

"And what if I should tell you," said their mother, laughing, "that a little bird has whispered in my ear that 'Colonel Freddy' was wonderfully like your little Long Island friend Hilton R----?"

"Oh, mamma! why, what makes you think so?"

"Oh, something funny I heard about him last summer; never mind what!"

The children wisely concluded that it was no use to ask any more questions; at the same moment solemnly resolving that the very next time they paid a visit to their aunt, who lived at Astoria, they would beg her to let them drive over to Mr. R----'s place, and find out all about it.

After this, there were no more readings for several Sat.u.r.days; but at last one morning when the children had almost given up all hopes of more stories, George opened his eyes on the sock hanging against the door, which looked more bulgy than ever. "Hurrah!" he shouted; "Aunt f.a.n.n.y's daughter hasn't forgotten us, after all!" and dressing himself in a double quick, helter-skelter fas.h.i.+on, George dashed out into the entry, forgot his good resolution, and slid down the banisters like a streak of lightning and began pummelling on his sister's door with both fists; shouting, "Come, get up! get up, Nelly! here's another Sock story for us!"

This delightful announcement was quite sufficient to make Helen's stockings, which she was just drawing on in a lazy fas.h.i.+on, fly up to their places in a hurry; then she popped her b.u.t.ton-over boots on the wrong feet, and had to take them off and try again; and, in short, the whole of her dressing was an excellent ill.u.s.tration of that time-honored maxim, "The more _haste_, the worse _speed_;" George, meanwhile, performing a distracted Indian war dance in the entry outside, until his father opened his door and wanted to know what the racket was all about.

"Socks! socks! father!" cried George, joyfully.

At this moment Helen came out, and the two children scampered down stairs, and sitting down side by side on the sofa, they proceeded to examine this second instalment of the Sock stories. They found it was again a whole book; and the t.i.tle, on a little page by itself, read "GERMAN SOCKS."

"Oh, I am so glad!" said Helen. "These must be more stories like that dear 'Little White Angel.'"

And so they proved to be; for, on their mother's commencing to read the first story, it was found to be called, "G.o.d's Pensioners;" and commenced, "It was a cold--" but stop! halt! This book was to be devoted to "Colonel Freddy;" but if you will only go to Mr. Leavitt's, the publishers, you will there discover what was the rest of the second Sock Stories.

THE END.