Horace had a cannon about a foot long, which went on wheels, with a box behind it, and a rammer lashed on at the side--not to mention an American flag which floated over the whole. With a stout string he drew his cannon up to the large oilnut tree, and then with a real bayonet fixed to a wooden gun, he would lie at full length under the shade, calling himself a sharpshooter guarding the cannon. At these times woe to the "calico kitty," or Grace, or anybody else who happened to go near him! for he gave the order to "charge," and the charge was made most vigorously. Upon the whole, it was decided that everybody would feel easier and happier if Horace should go to school. This plan did not please him at all, and he went with sulky looks and a very bad grace. His mother sighed; for though her little boy kept the letter of the law, which says, "Children, obey your parents," he did not do it in the _spirit_ of the commandment, "_Honor_ thy father and thy mother." In a thousand ways Mrs. Clifford was made unhappy by Horace, who should have been a comfort to her. It was sad, indeed; for never did a kind mother try harder to "train up a child" in the right way. It did not take Horace a great while to renew his acquaintance with the schoolboys, who all seemed to look upon him as a sort of curiosity. "I never knew before," laughed little Dan Rideout, "that my name was Dan-yell!" "He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper a _tin-kup_," said Gilbert Brown. "Yes," chimed in Willy Snow, "and he asks, 'Is school _took up_?' just as if it was knitting-work that was on needles." "How he rolls his r's!" said Peter Grant. "You can't say hor-r-se the way he does! I'll bet _the ain't_ a boy can do it, unless it's a Cahoojack." Peter meant _Hoosier_. "Well, I wouldn't be seen saying _hoss_," returned Horace, with some spirit; "that's _Yankee_." "I guess the Yankees are as good as the Cahoojacks: wasn't your mother a Yankee?" "Yes," faltered Horace; "she was born up north here, in the Frigid Zone; but she isn't so much relation to me as my father is, for her name wasn't Clifford. She wouldn't have been _any_ relation to me if she hadn't married my father!" One or two of the larger boys laughed at this speech, and Horace, who could never endure ridicule, stole quietly away. "Now, boys, you behave," said Edward Snow, Willy's older brother; "he's a smart little fellow, and it's mean to go to hurting his feelings. Come back here, Spunky Clifford; let's have a game of _hi spy_!" Horace was "as silent as a stone." "He don't like to be called Spunky Clifford," said Johnny Bell; "do you, Horace?" "The reason I don't like it," replied the boy, "is because it's not my name." "Well, then," said Edward Snow, winking to the other boys, "won't you play with us, _Master Horace_?" "I'll not go back to be laughed at," replied he, stoutly: "when I'm home I play with Hoosier boys, and they're politer than Yankees."