Aunt Louise still scolded about him; but even she could not help seeing that on the whole he was improving. He "cared" more and "forgot" less. He could always learn easily, and now he really tried to learn. His lessons, instead of going through his head "threading my grandmother's needle," went in and staid there. The blue book got a few marks, it is true, but not so many as at first. You may be sure there was not a good thing said or done by Horace which did not give pleasure to his mother. She felt now as if she lived only for her children; if God would bless her by making them good, she had nothing more to desire. Grace had always been a womanly, thoughtful little girl, but at this time she was a greater comfort than ever; and Horace had grown so tender and affectionate, that it gratified her very much. He was not content now with "canary kisses;" but threw his arms around her neck very often, saying, with his lips close to her cheek,-- "Don't feel bad, ma: I'm going to take care of you." For his mother's grief called forth his manliness. She meant to be cheerful; but Horace knew she did not look or seem like herself: he thought he ought to try to make her happy. Whenever he asked for money, as he too often did, she told him that now his father was gone, there was no one to earn anything, and it was best to be rather prudent. He wanted a drum; but she thought he must wait a while for that. They were far from being poor, and Mrs. Clifford had no idea of deceiving her little son. Yet he _was_ deceived, for he supposed that his mother's pretty little porte-monnaie held all the bank-bills and all the silver she had in the world. "O, Grace!" said Horace, coming down stairs with a very grave face, "I wish I was grown a man: then I'd earn money like sixty." Grace stopped her singing long enough to ask what he meant to do, and then continued in a high key,-- "Where, O where are the Hebrew children?" "O, I'm going as a soldier," replied Horace: "I thought everybody knew that! The colonels make a heap of money!" "But, Horace, you might get shot--just think!" "Then I'd dodge when they fired, for I don't know what you and ma would do if _I_ was killed." "Well, please step out of the way, Horace; don't you see I'm sweeping the piazza?" "I can't tell," pursued he, taking a seat on one of the stairs in the hall: "I can't tell certain sure; but I may be a minister." This was such a funny idea, that Grace made a dash with her broom, and sent the dirt flying the wrong way. "Why, Horace, you'll never be good enough for a minister!" "What'll you bet?" replied he, looking a little mortified. "You're getting to be a dear good little boy, Horace," said Grace, soothingly; "but I don't _think_ you'll ever be a minister." "Perhaps I'd as soon be a shoemaker," continued Horace, thoughtfully; "they get a great deal for tappin' boots." His sister made no reply.