" for he was
dreaming of a battle. "Hallo!" he said, rubbing his eyes open. "That you,
Helen?"

"A wide-awake drummer boy you are," she replied, with her usual
good-natured irony. "You'll have to rouse up earlier than this, I tell
you, if you ever beat the reveille for the soldiers."

"So much the more reason why I should have a good nap in the morning,
when I can," said Frank.

"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! bra