"Why, my father's captain in the army! He's down South!"
"But have you never thought, dear, that he might be shot?"
"No, I never," cried Horace, running to the window and back again in great excitement. "Mr. Evans said they'd put him in colonel. He was coming home in six months. He couldn't be shot!"
"My dear little boy!"
"But O, grandma, is he killed? Say quick!"
His grandmother took out of her pocket a Boston Journal, and having put on her spectacles, pointed with a trembling finger to the list of "killed." One of the first names was "Captain Henry S. Clifford."
"O, Horace!" said Grace, opening the door softly, "I just thought I heard you. Ma wants you to come to her."
Without speaking, Horace gave his hand to his sister, and went with her while their grandmother followed, carrying the bowl of gruel.
At the door of Mrs. Clifford's room they met aunt Louise coming out. The sight of Horace and Grace walking tearfully, hand in hand, was very touching to her.
"You dear little fatherless children," she whispered, throwing her arms around them both, and dropping tears and kisses on their faces.