Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration: "COLONEL TAKE YOUR COLORS!"] THE SOCK STORIES, BY "AUNT FANNY'S" DAUGHTER. RED, WHITE, AND BLUE SOCKS. Part First. BEING THE FIRST BOOK OF THE SERIES. BY "AUNT FANNY'S" DAUGHTER, THE AUTHOR OF "THE LITTLE WHITE ANGEL." WITH AN INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, BY "AUNT FANNY" HERSELF. NEW YORK: LEAVITT & ALLEN, 21 & 23 MERCER ST. 1863. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by S. L. BARROW, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. JOHN F. TROW, Printer, Stereotyper, and Electrotyper, 60 Greene Street, New York. CONTENTS OF VOL. I. PAGE INTRODUCTION--THE STORY OF THE SOCKS, 7 COLONEL FREDDY; OR, THE MARCH AND ENCAMPMENT OF THE DASHAHED ZOUAVES, CHAP. I.--RAISING A REGIMENT, 35 II.--"MARCHING ALONG," 55 III.--CAMP LIFE, 76 DEDICATION. MY DEAR LITTLE COOLEY AND GEORGIE: WHEN you see that this book is dedicated to you, I hope your bright eyes will sparkle with pleasure; but I am afraid your pretty curly heads will hardly retain a recollection of a little personage who once lived close to your beautiful home on Staten Island. She remembers _you_, however, and sends you this soldier story with her very best love--the love she bears in her inmost heart for God and little children. And now she asks you to hunt in every corner of those same precious little heads for a kindly remembrance of your affectionate friend, "AUNT FANNY'S" DAUGHTER. THE STORY OF THE SOCKS. BY AUNT FANNY. "OH dear! what _shall_ I do?" cried George, fretfully, one rainy afternoon. "Mamma, do tell me what to do." "And I'm _so_ tired!" echoed Helen, who was lazily playing with a kitten in her lap. "I don't see why it should rain on a Friday afternoon, when we have no lessons to learn. We can't go out, and no one can come to see us. It's too bad, there!" "Helen, do _you_ know better than _God_?" asked her mother, speaking very gravely. "You forget that He sends the rain." "I suppose I was thoughtless, mamma," answered the child; "I did not mean to be wicked, but, dear me, the time passes _so_ slowly, with nothing to do." "Have you and George read all your books?" "Oh yes! two or three times over," they both answered; "and oh, mamma," continued Helen, "if the one who wrote 'Two Little Heaps,' or the 'Rollo' book writer, or the author of 'The Little White Angel,' would only write some more books, I, for one, would not care how hard it rained. If I was grown up and rich, I wouldn't mind giving a dollar a letter for those stories."