Fred was captain of the company. The boys had felt obliged in the very beginning to have it so, on account of a beautiful instrument, given him by his father, called a flageolet. True, Fred could not play on it at all, and had to give it up to Willy; but it belonged to him all the same.
"Something's the matter with my lungs," said Fred, coughing; "and that's why those little holes plague me so; it's too hard work to blow 'em."
The boys looked at one another with wise nods and smiles. They did not like Fred very well; but he was always pushing himself forward: and when a boy has a great deal of self-esteem, and a brave suit of clothes right from Boston, how are you going to help yourselves, pray? So Fred was captain, and Willy only a fifer.
There was one boy in the ranks who caused some trouble—Jock Winter. Not that Jock quarrelled, or did anything you could find fault with; but he was simple-minded and a hunchback, and some of the boys made fun of him. When Fred became captain he fairly hooted him out of the company. "No fair! no fair!" cried Willy, Joshua Potter, the Lyman twins, and two thirds of the other boys; but the captain had his way in spite of the underground muttering.
Saturday afternoon was the time for training. The Never-Give-Ups met at the old red store kept by Daddy Wiggins, and paraded down the village street, and across the bridge, as far sometimes as the Dug Way, a beautiful spot three or four miles from home. They were a goodly sight to see,—the bright, healthy boys, straight as the "Quaker guns" they carried, and marching off with a firm and manly tread.
Mothers take a secret pride in their sons, and many loving eyes watched this procession out of town; but the procession didn't know it, for the mothers were very much afraid of flattering the boys. I think myself it would have done the little soldiers no harm to be praised once in a while. Indeed, I wish they might have heard the ladies of the village talking about them, as they met to drink tea at Mrs. Parlin's. She never went out herself, but often invited company to what they called little "tea-junketings."
"Well," said Mrs. Potter, the doctor's wife, "isn't it enough to do your eyes good to see such a noble set of boys?"
"Yes, it is," said Mrs. Griggs; "and I am not afraid for our country, if they grow up as good men as they now bid fair to be."
Mrs. Chase could not respond to this, for her boy Fred was a great trial; his father indulged him too much, and she had had strong fears that he might take to bad habits. But he was as handsome as any of the boys, and she spoke up quickly:—
"Yes, Mrs. Potter; as you say, they are a noble-looking set of boys; and don't they march well?"