Mabel's mishap

by Amy Ella Blanchard

Mrs. Ford smiled. “No, she has a man and his wife who attend to the farm for her. They live in a little house on the place. Mrs. Knight has changed a good many of her plans in order to accommodate us, and I hope you children will give her no trouble.”

Of course the children protested that they would not; and, indeed, they were quite as reasonably good as one could expect, and if they did, once in a while, get into mischief, Mrs. Knight excused it because of the unfailing respect they showed to Bobby. This important member of the household seemed to enjoy country life after he had once become used to the change of residence, and rested secure from his natural enemies—boys and dogs.

Like the grasshopper, the children played through the summer days. The fact that Marie Lewis had gone to the White Mountains, and Ethel Morris was at Bar Harbor, did not, in the least, matter to Mabel, who would not have exchanged Mrs. Knight’s grove and garden and barn for all the watering places in the world, and who wanted no better companion than Harold.

In the midst of summer came the news of peace, and, later on, all Mrs. Knight’s guests went back to town to see the parades during the week of the Peace Jubilee celebration. But this did not take place before Mabel and Harold had a little jubilee of their own, consequent upon the news that Captain Evans, at Mrs. Ford’s request, would allow Harold to remain with the Fords for a year, at least, and longer if his father were still on active duty.

And, will you believe it? Harold, dressed in uniform, marched with his father’s regiment the day of the military procession. To be sure, he did not go all the way, but Mabel, up on one of the stands, felt her heart swell with pride as the regiment swung around the corner of the Public Buildings, and she saw her little companion bravely trying to keep step with the soldiers. And when the crowd cheered and cheered, she thought it must be all for Harold, and she stood up and waved her handkerchief till her arm was tired.

Harold saw her, and, after the troops had passed in review, his father sent him to join his friends, and there they sat and looked at the brave array of infantry, cavalry, artillery and marines.

“When I am grown, I am going to be a soldier,” Harold declared, all enthusiasm.

Mabel looked sober. That was something a girl couldn’t be, although she thought it would be fine to march by Harold’s side in such a grand procession.

But that evening, when the Captain told stories of suffering and distress, or long marches and weary tramps through rain and sleet, or under a scorching sun, or the horrors of a battle, Mabel concluded that, after all, it was rather comforting to know that such things could not be expected to come into her life, and she felt very sorry for Harold, who, however, grew only more excited as the dangers were made more plain.

“But the only heroes are not the men like Dewey and Hobson, and Schley and Sampson,” Captain Evans said, at last. “I’ve seen the greatest courage, though of another kind, exhibited in quiet homes and by those of whom the world never hears. A small duty, which has no blare of trumpets nor roll of drums to encourage one on to perform, sometimes requires more real heroism than a charge in battle.”