It
was not a hope swept away, there had been no hope. But now he gave up.

"Don't be a fool nor a coward," exclaimed his father gruffly. "Here, get
your hat and go straight over to the Deans'. Tell them your _father_
says you can go to singing-school next Saturday afternoon, that he will
be very glad to have you go. And next time you want anything ask me."

If the boy had only dared clasp his father's hand and thank him, but he
had been repressed and snipped off and kept in leading-strings too long
to dare a spontaneous impulse. So he walked over as if he had been
following some imaginary chalk line. The Deans were all up in the back
parlor. He did his errand and came back at once, before Josie and Tudie
had recovered from their surprise.

Nothing else happened. Mrs. Reed went out presently to do the
Saturday-night marketing. She preferred to go alone. She could make
better bargains. When she returned Mr. Reed lighted his cigar and took a
stroll around the block. There was no smoking in the house, hardly in
the back yard.

Saturday noon Mrs. Reed said to her son:

"You are to go to singing-school this afternoon. If I hear of your
loitering with any bad boys, or misbehaving in any way, that will end
it."

The poor lad had not felt sure for a moment. Oh, how delightful it was!
though a boy nudged him and said, "Sissy, does your mother know you're
out," and two or three others called him "Anna Maria Jemima Reed."

However, as Mr. Bradbury was trying voices by each row, the sweetness of
Charles' struck him, and he asked him to remain when the others were
dismissed. One other boy and several girls were in this favored class,
and next week they had the seats of honor.

The next great thing for all the children was the May walk. All the
Sunday-schools joined in a grand procession and marched down Broadway to
Castle Garden. There was a standard-bearer with a large banner, and
several smaller ones in every school. The teachers were with the
classes, the parents and friends were to be at the Garden. Most of the
little girls had their new white dresses, the boys their summer suits
and caps. For May was May then, all but Quaker week, when it was sure
to rain.

A pretty sight it was indeed. The bright, happy faces, the white-robed
throng, and almost every girl had her hair curled for the occasion.
There was a feeling among some of the older people that curls were vain
and sinful, but they forgave them this day.

The au