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Updated: May 10, 2025
Lazelle was looking for him in great haste, he was very likely to be missing; and when that sorely tried young gentleman was almost 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!
The children had been standing on the piazza for some time, watching the people passing, while Mr. Lazelle lounged near by, talking politics with some gentlemen. In a little while Mrs. Clifford sent for Grace to go up stairs and amuse the poor baby, who could not be rocked to sleep.
Lazelle goes, I can go, for he has the care of me!" With that he dashed headlong into the crowd, looking here, there, and everywhere for Mr. Lazelle. But, O, that music! Did a little boy's boots ever stand still when a drum was playing, "March, march away"? No doubt his father was keeping step to just such sounds, on his path to martial glory!
The fife and bugle 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, but it seemed as if the music almost drowned the voice of his conscience.
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 that Mr. Lazelle was in the parlor; but no, Horace was sure he must have crossed the street to look at the band. "I'm going, too," said he to himself. "Of course, where Mr.
Of course, the regiment would be hurried north forthwith no other regiment could do the work of annihilation so well as the 18th. Oh! no. Of course not! Said my erstwhile friend and bunkie "Hickey" Flynn: "Av coorse, Moiles will be after sendin' a message to Lazelle to bring the Ateenth fut up at once, and thin the smashin' we will be after givin' them rid divils will make a wake look sick."
Full of this new plan, he left the pilot without so much as a "thank you," 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.
"I'll never let go your hand again, Horace," said she, "till we get to grandma's. You're just as slippery!" Mr. Lazelle looked as if it would be an immense relief to him if Miss Grace would keep her word; he thought he was undergoing a great trial with 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!
Lazelle, if his mother must suffer too. He meant, for her sake, to "turn over a new leaf," though he did not say so. On the afternoon of their second day's ride, they reached the beautiful city of Cleveland. Here they were to rest for a few hours. Their clothes were sadly tumbled, their collars dust-color, and their faces and hair rough with cinders.
It was two or three weeks before the child was rested; and whenever she had a chill, which was every third day for a while, she was delirious, and kept crying out, "O, do see to Horace, mamma! Mr. Lazelle will forget! O, Horace, now don't let go my hand! I've got the bundles, mamma, and the milk for the baby." And sometimes Mrs.
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