CHAPTER XII.
MISSED FROM HOME.
How lonesome it was in New Hope through all these days! Everybody missedPaul. He was missed by the school-children, for the teacher whosucceeded him was cross and harsh, while Paul was always kind andpleasant. He was missed by the congregation on Sunday, for although Hansdid his best as leader of the choir, he could not fill Paul's place. Hewas missed by his mother, who, through the long, wearisome days andlonely nights, thought only of him, her pride, her joy, her hope. Howgood Azalia was to visit the Post-office every morning to get theletters which Paul wrote to his mother, often finding one for herself!How pleasant to read what he wrote of life in camp! How thrilling thenarrative of his adventures, his visit to the forts, his narrow escapes!As she read it, her heart stood still while the letter was wet withtears. What if the rebels had hung him! It was terrible to think of.What could she do to comfort him? How help him,--how relieve hissufferings and hardships? She would knit him a pair of gloves andstockings. But his comrades needed them as well as he. Why not askDaphne to help? Why not ask all the girls to do something? So shethought the matter over through the long winter nights, planning asoldiers' sewing and knitting society.
Pleasant gatherings they had in the vestry of the church on Wednesdayafternoons working for the soldiers. Azalia's cheeks were flushed withrare beauty when she read Paul's letters to them with trembling voice.There were many moist eyes, for all felt that, if he and his comradeswere undergoing such hardships and dangers for them, that they mighthave a home and a united country, they ought to do all they could inreturn; and so, while knitting stockings for the soldiers, their heartswere knit in deeper love and devotion to their country.
But they had something besides Paul's adventures to talk about; for oneMonday morning when Mr. Bond, the town treasurer, opened his office, hefound that it had been entered by robbers, who had stolen all themoney,--several thousand dollars. It was soon discovered that PhilipFunk was missing. The sheriffs and constables set themselves to hunthim up. They got upon his track, followed him to the Ohio River, andacross into Kentucky; but he was too swift for them, and succeeded ingetting into the Rebel lines with the stolen money. Notwithstanding hewas a robber, his sister Fanny held her head as high as ever. She didnot attend the soldiers' aid society. She hoped that the South wouldsucceed in establishing its independence, and was glad that Philip hadgone to help the Southern soldiers. "I hope he will come across Paul,"said Fanny to Daphne Dare one day.
"So do I, and I hope that Paul will shoot him," said Daphne, withflashing eyes. She had the spirit of her father, and added, "He is atraitor and a robber, and I hope somebody will shoot him."
Fanny spit at the flag which hung over the street every time she passedit, to show her hatred of it. Daphne was very indignant, and proposed toher associates that they should compel Fanny to wave the stars andstripes; but Azalia said it would be a severer punishment to take nonotice of her. "We might make her wave the flag, but that would not makeher love it, and such forced loyalty would be of no value."
So, acting upon Azalia's advice, all of the girls passed her by, takingno notice of her on the street, at the Post-office, or in church, notrecognizing her by word or look. Fanny bore it awhile with a brazenface, but soon found it hard to have no one to speak to. The great wantof the human heart in time of trouble is sympathy. Our wills may bear usup awhile, but sooner or later we must unburden our feelings, or feelthe burning of a slow consuming fire, destroying all our peace andhappiness. The days were cheerless to Fanny. If she walked out upon thestreet, she saw only the averted faces of her former friends. They wouldnot speak to her, and if she addressed them they turned away withoutanswering,--avoiding her as if she was infected with the plague. Whenthe cold northeast storms came, when the clouds hung low upon the hills,when the wind howled in the woods, when the rain pattered upon thewithered leaves, how lonesome the hours! She was haughty andself-willed, friendless and alone; but instead of becoming loyal andbehaving like a good, sensible girl, she nursed her pride; and comfortedherself by thinking that her great-grandfather Funk was a fine oldVirginian gentleman. If a still, small voice whispered that it was meanand wicked in Philip to take money which did not belong to him, shequieted her conscience by the reflection that it was right for theRebels to do all the damage they could to their enemies in securingtheir independence. When the storm was loudest, she rejoiced in the hopethat some of the Yankee ships would be wrecked, or that the MississippiRiver would overflow its bank and drown the Yankee regiments in theircamps.
Not so did Azalia listen to the storm. When the great drops rattled uponthe roof and dashed against the windows, she thought of Paul and hiscomrades as rushing into battle amid volleys of musketry; the mournfulsighing of the wind was like the wailing of the wounded. She thought ofhim as marching wearily and alone through the dismal forest to performdeeds of daring; she thought of him as keeping watch through the stormynights, cold, wet, hungry, and weary; not for glory, or fame, or hope ofreward, but because it was his duty. And these were not sad hours toher.
Winning His Way Page 12