"Ain't it very hard to make?" asked the boys in tones of respectful astonishment.
"I reckon you'd think 'twas hard, it's so full of little quirls, but I can write it as easy as English."
This was quite true, for Horace made very hard work of any kind of writing.
It was not two days before he was at the head of that part of the school known as "the small boys," both in study and play; yet everybody liked him, for, as I have said before, the little fellow had such a strong sense of justice, and such kindness of heart, that he was always a favorite, in spite of his faults.
The boys all said there was nothing "mean" about Horace. He would neither abuse a smaller child, nor see one abused. If he thought a boy was doing wrong, he was not afraid to tell him so, and you may be sure he was all the more respected for his moral courage.
Horace talked to his schoolmates a great deal about his father, Captain Clifford, who was going to be a general some day.
"When I was home," said he, "I studied pa's book of tictacs, and I used to drill the boys."
There was a loud cry of "Why can't you drill us? Come, let's us have a company, and you be cap'n!"
Horace gladly consented, and the next Saturday afternoon a meeting was appointed at the "Glen." When the time came, the boys were all as joyful as so many squirrels suddenly let out of a cage.
"Now look here, boys," said Horace, brushing back his "shingled hair," and walking about the grove with the air of a lord. "First place, if I'm going to be captain, you must mind; will you? say."