"Well, lie and sleep, if you want to," she added, with a touch of tenderness. "I thought I'd let you know breakfast was ready."
But Frank was wide awake enough now. He felt there was something great and grand in the day before him, and he was anxious to meet it. He was up and dressed in a minute. He threw open his window, and looked away towards the city, which lay dim and strange in the beautiful mists of the morning, with the crimson clouds of the sunrise lifting like curtains behind it. And the far-off roar of the rumbling streets reached his ear, inspiring him freshly with hope and action.
All the family were at breakfast, except Hattie, the sick one, when Frank came down stairs. Even Willie had crept out of bed before him, wondering what made his brother sleep so long that morning. And now he found the little fellow dividing his attentions between his breakfast and his toy gun, which had acquired a new interest in his eyes since Helen had told him Frank was going to the war.
"I'm going with my bwother Fwank," he declared, shouldering arms over his johnny-cake. "And if any body—any webel"—breathing earnestly—"hurt my bwother Fwank, me shoot 'em me will!"
"Yes," remarked Helen, "you and Frank will put down the rebellion, I've not the least doubt."
This was meant for a sly hit at Frank's youthful patriotism; but Willie took it quite seriously.
"Yes," he lisped; "me and Fwank—we put down the webellion. Take aim!"—pointing his toy at his father's nose. "Fire! bang! See, me kill a webel."
"How little the child realizes what it is to fight the rebels," said his mother, with a sigh.
"I'm afraid," said Helen, "Frank doesn't realize it much more than Willie does. He has just about as correct a notion about putting down the webellion."
"Very likely," said Frank, who had learned that the beat way to treat a joke of this kind is always to humor it, instead of being offended. For a joke is often like a little barking dog—perfectly harmless, if you pass serenely by without noticing it, or if you just say, "Poor fellow! brave dog!" and pat its neck; but which, if you get angry and raise your stick, will worry you all the more for your trouble, and perhaps be provoked to bite.