LITTLE Dorr Eastman always wore his sword—in the daytime, I mean. He would have liked to wear it at night—indeed, he tried it once; but as the belt was indispensable, and that was exceedingly rasping and uncomfortable with a night-gown, and as he often rolled upon the sword itself, and the sword, being hard, hurt his soft, plump side, and his soft, plump limbs, he gave it up, regretfully, since it was Dorr’s belief that “real truly” soldiers always slept with their “arms” on. And Dorr “knew”—for was not his brother Dick a colonel, and his father a general, and his grandfather a general?
But, then, they had been at West Point, and got toughened. After he grew up and had been at West Point, and had undergone discipline, doubtless a belt would not be uncomfortable in bed, and a sword could be worn with a night-gown!
The fancy-store in the village where Dorr’s papa owned a summer mansion, drove a flourishing trade during the season in gilt papers, and mill-boards, and tinsels; for, once a week, at least, the young soldier fashioned new stripes and epaulets; one day being a sergeant, on the next a major; and then, for days together, commander-in-chief U. S. A., during which space mamma, and Trudie, and Soph addressed him as His Excellency. Every stick which he could hew into the shape of a horse’s head, became a gallant charger, until mamma’s hall was one long, vast stable; mamma blew a whistle for reveillé; and the embryo cadet thought nothing of turning out at five in the morning, and splashing into a cold tub, especially on picnic mornings. But Dorr said he was hardening for West Point and glorious campaigns.
“Hold your Hand, now.”
His greatest anxiety was concerning these campaigns. “Mamma,” he said to her one day, “I fears there’s no use in me growing up!”
“Why, Your Excellency? It grieves me to hear that,” said mamma.
“’Cause everybody will be fighted out before that, mamma. Colonel Dick says they settle things now, and not fight.”
“Well, my little son, there will always be men who must wear swords, to make people afraid, so that they will think it is the safer way to settle without a war. My little Dorr shall be one of those men, and a great share of the time he will be home on furlough and stay with mamma. Won’t he like that?”
“No, he wouldn’t!” cried Dorr, stoutly, swelling up after the manner of colonels and generals. After a turn or two across the room, he came back to his mamma’s knee. “It’s likely, though, there’ll be Injuns. There always was Injuns in this land, Trudie says, and if they’s lasted s’long, it’s likely they’ll last s’long as I live; and Dick says there’ll be always war s’long as there’s Injuns!”