THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY THE WILMER COLLECTION OF CIML WAR NOVELS PRESENTED BY RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. i^!*«UtCCU£ CiJ9i O^^V^. V)V^x^. r^Ou.\< FRONTISPIECE— The Soldiers Mail. P. 216. ANDY 11 ALL, THE iissiott Sdjolar in i\t %xmi BY CAROLINE E. KELLY, AUTHOE OF "bEEXICE," "GRACE HALE," ETC. BOSTON: No. 9 CornhiU. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, hj HENRY HOTT, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. CONTENTS I. ROXY'S HOME 3 n. STEAL OH STARVE— WHICH? 14 m. MRS. PROCTOR'S VISIT 23 rV. ANDY 35 V. A CHRISTIAN HOME 45 VI. MR WALLACE'S MISSION SCHOOL 56 VTL LILY KENT 70 Vm. ROXY 81 IX. ANDY AGAIN 92 X. ROXY'S CHRISTMAS 104 XI. THE BEGINNING OF A NEW LIFE FOR LILY 117 Xn. ANDY'S PROmSE 127 Xm. ALMOST HOPELESS 140 XIV. ANDY'S CONVERSION 150 XV. AUNT BECKY 161 XVI. MRS. HALL'S NEW HOME , 173 X\TI. ENLISTED! 183 XYIU. CHRIST'S SOLDIER 194 XIX. FIRST PRAYER MEETING IN CAMP 206 XX. SOLDIERS' LETTERS 216 XXL WOUNDED 227 XXn. IN HOSPITAL 238 XXm, AT HOME.. 249 602985 ANDY HALL, THE MISSION SCHOLAR IN THE ARMY. CHAPTER I. ^^^ ATHER'S coming I " ^i c^ not iov in the shrill '^ There was fear, joy in the shrill little voice that '^t-^ uttered these words, and Roxy Hall, a deformed and helpless cripple, cast a terrified glance towards the door. " Father's coming ! " How sad, that the sound of his step on the stair should bring a deeper shadow to Roxy's clouded brow, and almost stop the beating of her feeble heart ! How sad that in her miser- able home, "father's coming" was the event ANDY K.VLL, most dreaded, not by the little hunchback alone, but by her rough l^rother Andrew, and her slipshod, discouraged mother ! Do you ask, why was it, you to whom fiither's coming crowns the happy day with delight? you who cling around his neck, or sit upon his knee, or stand by his side, and cover him with your kisses and caresses ? I will tell you. It was because Roxy's fath- er, or, as he was faniiliai4y known in the wretched neighborhood, " Tipsy Bill," was a drunkard, and instead of smiles and loving words, brought with him to his home, only curses and blows. " Father's coming ! " and at the words the sickly, misshapen child crept away from the dying embers upon the hearth, and hid her- self under the ras^s that served as a coverinof for her bed of straw, in the darkest corner of the wi-etched garret. Meanwhile Mrs. Hall, with her bony fingers, turned over the con- tents of an old basket, to see if perchance there remained a bit of bread or meat for the il THE MISSION SCHOLAR IN THE AR3IY. 5 supper which lier husbaud was sure to de- mand. Ill vain was the search, and as the door opened to admit his loathsome figure, she pushed it from her, and crouched despair- ingly closer to the hearth. Somewhat less intoxicated than usual, and consequently more quarrelsome, Tipsey Bill threw himself down upon the floor, and after a brief pause, called out in a grufi:' angry voice, "Hullo, there, Judy ! you 'sleep or dead — which?" His wife replied by raising her head and casting a quick glance upon his soiled and bloody face. " Where's your supper, old woman ? " " I ha'n't seen any," was the laconic reply. " Perhaps you ha'n't," and Bill raised him- self on his elbow, and glared upon her with the look of a wild beast. "Perhaps you ha'n't ; but the best thing for you to do, if you want a whole bone left in your body, is to pick up something for me to eat, and that right spiy." 6 ANDY HALL, " I have Iniiitcd the victuals basket all over, and there's nothing in it l)ut potato peelings, and a lobster shell, and two rotten apples. You can beat me if you want to, but I can't make something out of nothing, and I a'n't going to try." " Beat ye ! Beating's too good for ye ! HI do something more'n that, if you don't get up and 2:0 to work. See here ! " and the ruffian drew from his rags a long knife, and smiled savagely as he noted the scared look that passed over his wife's attenuated features at the sight. "Xow up with ye, Judy; and if there's nothing in the basket, go out into the street. There's enough to eat in the world, and I've as good a right to it as anybody : but if ye come back empty handed, you know what to expect ! " and he placed the sharp point of the knife with terrible significance against his breast. "xVndy'll be in 'fore long," ventured the woman, casting a quick glance towards the corner were poor little Koxy lay shaking THE MISSION SCHOLAR IX THE ARMY. with fear. " It's stinging cold, and I ha'n't so much as a rag to cover my head. I giiess he'll bring something for us all. There's more hungry than you, Bill ; I'm most starv- ed myself." *' Then start yourself out," cried BiU, with a terrible oath. " What are you waiting for?" Poor Judy slowly arose from her seat on the hearth, and drew her ragged gown up over her bosom, holding it there with purple fingers, and under pretence of searching for something to cover her head and shoulders, drew near little Roxy's bed, and stooping over it, whispered, " Keep still, or he'll kill ye ! " The child needed no such injunction, but she cowered closer to the wall, and hid her face in the straw, scarcely daring to breathe, as the door closed upon her mother, and she felt that she was alone with a father who hated her. How long she lay thus she could not telL 8 ANDY JIALL, It scomrcl many hours — in reality it Avas not a great many minutes, ^vben tlic sound of An- dre^v''s step on the stairs fell like the sweetest music upon her ear. He came rusliing in, whistiing a street song, stumbled over his fiither in the darkness, answered the angiy oath that greeted him with another, and going to the window, set his basket down upon the floor. Roxy ventured to raise her head, and saw by the faint light, her brother picking over the cold bits that he had brought with him. He was a stout-built, broad-shouldered lad of fourteen, with quick, bright eyes, a large mouth, and dark hiir that hung like coarse shag uver his cheeks, his ragged cap was set far back on his head, and drawn down over his left ear, and his jacket and trowsers were BO tattered and soiled it would have been a puzzle to discover their original color and texture. lioxy wondered if he would remember her, and save a bit of bread for her supper, but she THE MISSION SCHOLAR IX THE AEjIY. 9 was afraid to whisper his name lest her father should hear ; so she lay back again upon her hard bed, and tried to forget how hungiy and cold she was. Through a crevice in the roof over her head she could see a beautiful light sparkling in the blue sky. Xight after night, she had lain * there and watched it when her poor limbs were aching and her nerves quiv- ering with pain, and sometimes it looked so warm and bright that she wished she could hold it just a moment in her thin cold hands. Andrew wa« not long in examining the contents of his basket. Two or three choice bits of bread and a dough-nut he selected and laid carefully aside iM|pn the window-sill, took a bacon bone for his own supper, and then, at his father's angry demand, tossed the few remaining crusts and bones towards him, and stood by the window alternately whisthng and gnawing, until every particle of meat was devoured. Then he looked longingly at the tempting bits of bread, and the nicely browned dough-nut, for his keen appetite was very far 10 ANDY HALL. from satisfied ; indeed, the salt bacon had seemed rather to sharpen it. But ^\-iis not this small store saved for a jDurpose? Should he, a strong, hearty lad of fom-teen, draw from it so much as a crumb, when his little pale sister was ahuost fainting for food? ]S'o, indeed. A mischievous, rough, and wicked fellow was Andrew Hall, but there was one soft, warm spot in his heart, and that was his affection for poor Roxy, and he would sooner have starved than leave her supperless. Soon after eating Tipsy Bill fell asleep, and Andrew, who had been watching for thii», gathered up the bits of bread, and stole to Roxy's side. "I'm real glad ;^u've come, Andy," said the child, cift'cssing the rough hand that fed her, with her purple fingers. " I was so 'fraid, w^hen mother went, and left me alone with him, but I a'n't 'fraid now." " She'd no business to go away and leave you," said Andrew. "AVhat made her?" '' Father. He told her to go and get some- THE MISSION SCHOLAK IX THE AEMY. 11 thing to eat. Why dou't he bring home bread for us?" " He ! " and Andrew shook his hard fist at the form lying prostrate on the floor. " I wouldn't call him father if I were you, Roxy. Hate him, just as I do." Rox}^ knew her brother too well to continue a subject that irritated him ; so, still clasping his hand, she drew it up under her thin cheek, and whispered, " I a'n't hungry a bit, now. I've had a real good supper, and now I'm going to sleep, — but how cold it is, Andy," and a shiver ran through her feeble frame. Andrew made no answer, but sat a few minutes thinking. Proently, drawing his hand away from hers, he pulled ofi'his ragged jacket, and wrapped it round Roxy's feet, then his old vest, and threw it over her shoulders. " What you doing, Andy ? " " That's nothing to you. Go to sleep." " Are you cold, Andy ? " 12 ANDY HALL, " No ; hold your tongue, and go to sleep, I say." Thus grulfly admonished, Eoxy closed her eyes, but in a moment they flew open, and fixing them upon the light that still shone through the crevice in the roof, she pointed upwards with one bony finger, and said, tim- idly, "I'll goto sleep in a minute, Andy — only tell me what is shining up there ? I've seen it lots of times, and it's real pretty. What is it, Andy?" " A star." "Who put it there?" " How should I know ? There's bushels of 'em in the sky eveu night, and that's all I know about it." Eoxy turned her face to the wall, and again shut her eyes. Andrew sat beside her until he knew by her regular 1)reathing that she was asleep ; then he went to tlie hearth, where the fire had long since gone out, and sitting down on the bricks, pushed his feet and hands into the still warm ashes, leaned his shaggy THE MISSION SCIIOLAPt IX THE AEIMY. 13 head against the chimney, and in a few min- utes he too, slept. Meanwhile where was the poor wife and mother, who had gone forth into the frosty night air to seek for food ! CHAPTER n. P the narrow, dirty lane, and into a broad, well-lighted street, went Judy Hall, cold, hopeless, and wretched. She was not ashamed to beg ; she had done it more than once before ; but it was late now ; men were hurrj^ing towards bright, warm homes, who would not stop on the way to bestow charity or speak a kind word to her. Standing under a lamp-post, with the light shining upon her white, despair- ing face, she stretched out her hand, and as- sumed the whining beggar tone, " Please, sir, give me a penny. I've a sick husband and little children, and we are starving." But none turned to see whence the voice came ; none listened to the pitiful cry. THE MISSIOX SCnOlAR IX THE AEMY. 15 " It's no use," muttered Judy, after shiver- ing tlius a quarter of an. hour, "I might stand here and freeze before anybody would help me." She turned away, therefore, and w;ilking along a few steps further, paused in front of a baker's shop, and gazed wistfully in at the window. Bread, bread in abundance, on the counters, tresh and white; and on the shelves, nice cakes of all descriptions, just what they would so much like, but what she never had. ^\Tay not? Why might not Eoxy enjoy delicate food like other children, instead of the refuse crusts and bones that a gentle- man's dog would not eat? Was not Eoxy sick and feeble ? What had she done to merit such a fate? These and many other ques- tions of a like bitter nature, passed through poor J«dy's brain, as she stood looking hi upon the crowded counters and shelves." A gentleman opened the door and went in. She saw him walk to the farther end of the long shop and stand there, talking with the sales! man. As their conversation became more an- 16 AXDY HALL, imatecl and eager, slie drew closer to the door. It was ajar. Castiug one look at the two men, whose backs Avere turned towards her, and a hasty glance into the street, she softl}' pushed tlio door an inch wider, crept noiselessly in, seiz- ed one small loaf from the hundreds that lay upon the counter, and, swift as thought, sped away. " Xow Roxy should have some supper ; Eoxy should not go to sleep hungry." Judy had just time for this thought, when a fh'in hand grasped her arm, and turning her fright- ened face, she found herself in the keeping of the police. " O, let me go ! " she cried, her limbs shak- ing, and tears rolling down her checks. " I was starving ! Eoxy will die ! Do let me go! " You're going as fast as you can to the lock up," shouted a rude bo}^ who looked on with great interest and apparent amusement. The poor creature begged and prayed to be THE MISSION SCHOLAR IN THE ARBIY. 17 allowed to return to her home, but the police- man must do his duty. In vain were her prayers, and sobs, and tears. What was it to him that she had a suffering child, ^vho would perhaps die while she was away? What was it to him that she was hungry and without a penny in the world? The laws must be exe- cuted; this woman had broken them; she must suffer the consequences. This was only one of hundreds of similar cases, and utterly failed to move him. He hurried her along over the slippery pavement, anxious only to get her off his hands, and return to his duty. Just as they reached 'the station-house, a benevolent looking, plainly dressed gentleman, stopped them a moment. The woman's ao-n- mzed face, raised in mute appeal to his own, went straight to his heart. " ^Yhat has she done ? " he asked. " Took her up for stealing." "What?" "Bread." " We were starving," broke in poor Judy. 18 AKDY IIALL, *' I beijo^ed, and besffifed, but no one would hear me. Roxy '11 die without me to see to her ! O, sir, can't you get me off and let me go home ? " " Not to-night, my friend," replied the gen- tleman, so kindly that it softened the disap- pointment she felt. "I can do nothing for you now, but I will try and help you to-mor- row." He inquired the address of the baker, and bidding her take courage, went on his way. " Yery easy to tell me take courage," mur- mured Judy, as the door was locked behind her, and she found herself in a small, square room, cheerless, cold, and dimly lighted by a single lamp. There were two or three hard- featM£(Bd, coarse women grouped together in one corner, but Judy scared}^ glanced at them. She was thinking of little Roxy and her drunk- en husband ; and their \n.ilgar jests and bursts of hoarse laughter, fell unheeded upon her ear. It was long after midnight before her heavy lids closed over her aching eyes, and THE MISSION SCHOLAR IN THE ARMY. 19 then her slumber Tvas broken by the frequent opening of the door to admit some vagrant woman. In the morning came Judy's trial at the po- lice court, and for the offence committed, she was lined two dollars and costs. " Two dollars and costs ! " repeated the poor woman, with a groan, " I have not a penny in the world. What then ? " " Tvro months in the house of coiTection." " Two months away from Roxy ! " It was a bitter thought, for the mother-instinct was still warm in her heart. She raised her dim «yes appealingly to the face of the judge, but not a ray of hope was to be drawn from it ; he had turned from her, and had probably forgotten her. But at this moment, Kl^hen hope had fled, relief vras at hand. The gen- tleman who had stopped her on the way to the station-house the previous evening, now appeared, and kindly bade her go home to Roxy. " But I have no money," said Judy. 20 ANDY HALL, " I have paid the fine for you," replied her unknown friend, " and you are at liberty. What work can 3'ou do ? " "I can wash and iron, but I don't know who would hire me, and I a'n't very strong; besides, I don't like to leave Eoxy alone ; she is sick, and so afraid of her father ; and there's nobody to see to her but Andrew, and he don't stay at home much." " You could sew on coarse cloth, perhaps?" " I couldn't sit long at a time ; it gives me a pain in my side and shoulders, but I could sew some, if I had it. Onlv what a'ood would it do for me to slave myself to earn money just for him to spend for rum? " " How do you live ? What have you to live upon^^" " Andrew manages to pick up cold victuals in one place and another, and sometimes I go out begging myself." • "It is a poor way to live," said the gentle- man, still kindly, " though better to beg than to steal." THE MISSION SCHOLAR IX THE ARMY. 21 "I never stole in my life, till last night," cried Judy, with more spirit than she had yet shown, "and I wouldn't then, but he threat- ened to kill me if I came home without some- thing to eat; and I was cold and hungry. You was never hungry, sir, and you don't know what it is to feel it gnawing, gnawing away, here," laying her hand upon her heart, and fixing her deep, hollow eyes upon his face. " Oh, I wish I and Eoxy was dead, I do." " My, friend, are you ready to die ? " " Eeady ! " repeated Judy. " A body's ready to die when they are tired and sick of liv- ing." " But there is another life after this ; are you ready for that ? " "It can't be worse than this, if there is an- other. I've seen folks die before now, folks that have been as poor as me, and when the breath left 'em, their faces would look as smooth and pleasant as any rich lady's in the land. That's the way mine and Eoxy's '11 look, after we die, and I a'n't afraid of any- 22 ANDY HALL, thing to come. AVe'll be as well off as the most of folks, I guess." " '^Jy wife will call and see you," said the gentleman, when Judy paused. " You live in ]\Iercer-lane ; what number ? " " I don't know. It is the last building at the corner of Mercer-lane and Green-street, up four flight, in the garret. But she needn't come ; she can't help anything, and it is no place for fine ladies." " Here is a dollar. Buy food for Boxy and yourself, poor woman, and perhaps something may be done to help you yet." Jud}' took the bank note, and her bony fin- gers closed over it, but she uttered no word of thanks. Her benefactor passed up the street, and she stood looking after him, until he was lost among the crowd ; then she turn- ed away and hurried homeward. CHAPTER m. OXY was awake when her mother came home. Her father had gone ■f;^:^ out, and so had Andrew, after prom- JU^^ ising to retm'u with something for her breakfast as soon as possible. She was tired of waiting thus alone, for it was bitterly cold, and the sun never came in at the two dirty little windows. She shivered on her bed of straw, and wondered how it would seem to have a warm, bright fire, and a good breakfast, but as soon as she caught sight of her mother's spiritless face, she smil- ed, and forgot that there was anything griev- ous in her lot. Such a magical charm is there in the mother's face for the little child. " I am so glad you've come," she said, put- ting out her thin hand ; " I thought you were 23 24 AXDY TTALL, going to sta}^ away all the time, and I never would see 3^ou any more. You wont go away again, will you?" "I shan't it' I can help it," and the poor woman sat down on the floor close beside the bed, and brushed her fingers over Roxy's pale locks. " Why didn't Andrew make a fire ? " " He is going to when he comes back ; there wa'n't but a little wood and chips that he brought up last night from the wharf, so he said he wouldn't light 'em till he came back, and then I might get up and wann me ; I wish I could get warm, mother ; my feet and hands are so cold." Judy did not say, " poor chikl ! " or " my darling ! " Her lips were unused to caressing words, but she took Eoxy's numb feet in her hands, and rubbed them until they felt quite comfortable, and then she kindled the fii-e, and put some water in a tin basin to heat. While she was about it, Andrew came in. He looked sour and surl}^ enough when he saw that his mother had returned, and was using up his fire-wood. THE MISSION SCHOLAP. IX THE AE:MY. 25 " What'll you do wlieu that is all gone ? " he asked in an angry voice. " I can't get any more, and sha'n't at any rate." ' " I've got some money for some coal," re- turned his mother, " and I should send you to get it, if I wasn't afraid to trust you with it. I'll have a fire for once, if I never do again." Andrew's face reddened, and an angry re- tort was on his lips, when Roxy's feeble voice interposed. " Did you bring me something to eat, Andy?" " Yes, a whole slice of bread, and a bit of good meat ; but you must make the best of it, for I sha'n't bring you any more to-day, Rox}^ I'm going off with some fellows, and sha'n't come back 'fore to-morrow, so long's mother's come." He laid the food upon her bed, and went away, banging the door, and running down stairs four steps at a time. " Why don't you speak pleasant to Andy, 26 ANDY H-VLL, mother?" asked Roxy, after a pause, ^' the wa}' you do to me." "Because he's a good for nothing rogue, and sarcy to me. If you was sarcy like himf I shouldn't speak pleasant to you." " He was real good to me while you were gone away, mother," persisted Roxy, after a brief pause. *' He covered me over with his jacket and vest, and wouldn't say that he was cold. I don't think Andy's naughty all the time, mother." "Well, you'd better hold your tongue, and eat 3^our breakfast. I've got something to think of besides Andrew, or you either." Thus admonished, Roxy kept still for a few minutes, watching the fire as it crackled and sparkled on the hearth. It was a pleasant and very unusual sight to her, and the warmth was so oi-ateful to her chilled limbs that she smiled as she crept nearer to it, and stretched her hands out towards it. Soon, however, her thoughts began to wander away from her- self to a little girl who lived in the opposite garret, and she said pleadingly, THE MISSION SCHOLAR IN THE AR3IY. 27 '' Mother, why wont you let Sally Green come in and warm her by our fire ? " ♦ Xow Mrs. Hall and Sally's mother were not on good terms. As if they had not enough to sufier of poverty and want, they added to each other's discomfort by constant quarrels and disputes ; therefore Eoxy's proposition was met by an angry refusal, and a sharper injunction to hold her tongue, unless she wanted to be left alone for the rats to carry her off. Xo additional threat was required to insure silence on the part of the timid child. She sat, or rather lay upon the floor, resting her aching back against the chimney, with lier hands clasped over her knees, and her large blue eyes fixed upon the fire. The thoughts of this untaught child we may not know. The eight short years of her life had been passed in the midst of misery and sin. She had witnessed such scenes, and heard such blasphemies as, God grant, none who read this history, may ever witness or 28 AXDY HALL, hear. She had never known the sweetness of caresses ; even the kindness shown by her mother and Andrew, was of that rough, hard nature, that chills the warm heart and admits of no return ; and yet, deep down in Roxy's heart, there was a fountain of tenderness ready to gush up at the iii'st touch of a Joving hand. I do not know how it is with these forlorn ones, who breathe out their little lives in the dark places of the eaith, but I do be- lieve " that in heaven their angels do always behold the face of the Father which is in heaven," and will not He who kept the three men in the furnace, so that the fire had no power upon their bodies — wdll not He keep the souls of these " little outcasts from life's fold," from the flames of sin, and for His sake who blessed little children, save tliem in the heavenly land? The silence was long in the garret after ]Mrs. Hall's threatening words. Eoxy scarcely stir- red, and on the opposite side of the tire sat her mother in her usual apathetic manner. THE MISSION SCHOLAR IN THE ARMY. 29 Literally she had nothing to do — no beds to make, no chairs to dust, no table to set, no broom to sweep with, no cloth to sew, no yarn to knit ; was it surprising that in this state of bodily and mental inactivity, the poor woman grew daily more helpless and despair- ing, and* looked forward to the grave as the peaceful end of her dreary life ? It was somewhat past noon when Eoxy was startled by the unusual sound of a rap on the door. She looked at her mother, who was sleeping heavily, and fearing to awake her, called in her weak, tremulous accent, " come in." In answer to this invitation, the door was pushed open, and a lady entered — such a hidy as Eoxy's wondering ej^es had never be- ]ield. She was young and fair, with sweet lips and smiling eyes that looked lovingly down upon the unsightly child who crouched lower in her rags at the vision of beauty. She wore neither feathers, nor bright flowers, nor jewels, but her dress was soft and rich. 30 AKDY HALL, and her voice Avas so sweet that when she spoke Eoxy held her breath to listen, and in listening forgot to answer, until the question was thrice repeated. " Is your name Roxy — Roxy Hall ? " "Yes." • The lady looked about her for a seat, but there was none in the room, and for a mo- ment, as she saw what poverty was here, the smile faded from her face ; it returned, how- ever, hopeful and bright as before, as she turned again to the child, who watched her every motion. "You are sick, arn't you, Eoxy?" "Xo, I guess not, only my ])ack aches." " Poor little back ! it ought to rest against a softer cushion than that chimney. Does it ache all the time, dear?" "Yes." Tears rushed to the beautiful eyes at this reply. There was a patience and hopeless- ness in the feeble voice that went straight to her heart,* and it was with difficulty that she commanded herself to speak again. THE MISSION SCHOLAR IX THE ARMY. 31 " Is that your mother, Eoxy ? " "Yes." "Is she ill?" "AVhat?" " Is your mother sick ? " " Xo ; she is asleep." " Cau you wake her ? " "I don't like to, 'cause she's cross* when I do." "Then I will," said the lady; but Judy awoke of herself at the unusual sound of voices, and slowly rose from the floor, rub- bing her eyes, and looking rather ashamed. "You are Mrs. Hall, I suppose?" said the lady, holding out her hand. Judy declined taking it — no wonder that she hesitated to take the slender white fingers in her hard and dirt-grimmed palm — but answered civilly, " Yes, that's my name." " And mine is ]Mrs. Proctor," said the lady. " ^ly husband told me about you and your little Rox}% and I thought I would call and see you. I would like to do something to help you, if I may." "32 AXDY HALL, "Itoldliiin you'd better not come," said Judy. " I told him it wasn't the place for fine ladies, and you can see for yourself that it isn't. I haven't so much as a chair for you to sit down on." " Never mind that ; I can stand very well ; ' but it is hard for your little girl to sit upon the floor with her weak back." " O, she's used to it ; she don't mind it, and it's well she don't." "But I may send her a chair with a cushion, may I not? It would be so much easier for her." Judy laughed, a bitter, hollow laugh. " You may send it if you want to," she re- plied, " but in less'n twenty-four hours it'll be sold for rum. I can't keep anything that he can sell. I had some chairs once, and a table, and a bed, but where are they now? He's drunk 'em up, every one, so what's the use of trying ? " " But perhaps he would not sell Eoxy's chair," said Mrs. Proctor, gently, " if he knew it was a comfort to her." THE mSSIOX SCHOLAR IX THE AEMY. 33 " He'd take it first of anytliing, just fur that veiy reason," iutermpted Judy ; " it's just all I can do wlieu lie's at home to keep him from beating her." " Beating that poor child ! " exclaimed Mrs. Proctor, inexpressibly shocked. " Surely he is not so cruel as that ! " "Yes, he is. He can't bear to see her round, and the minute she hears him comincr, she creeps off to bed out of his way." "Where is her bed?" Judy pointed to the dark corner, where the bundle of straw and rags was just visible. " Does she sleep there ? " " Yes ; it's better'n than the floor, where I sleep." " Certaiuly it is," said Mrs. Proctor, "very much better ; but I was thinking there is one thing I can do. I can send a nice soft pillow for her bed, and it is so dark up in that snug corner, that it may escape your husband's no- tice, so she will rest more easily at nio-ht. Should you like that, Eoxy?" 34 ANDY HALL, Eoxy did not answer, though she was sure that an}i;hing the lady sent would be beauti- ful and nice. " She don't know what a pillow is, she never saw one," remarked her mother, by way of apologizing for Eoxy's silence, " but then she'll like it." ^Irs. Proctor did not prolong her visit at this time. There was everj^thing to be done for this wretched family, but how to begin to help them was a puzzling question which she felt that her husband must help her to solve. So she bade Mrs. Hall good afternoon, and stooping, left a soft, sweet kiss on-Roxy's fore- head. Then she went away, and the little garret which had been lighted by her pres- ence, grew dark and dreary again. CHAPTER lY. * ^^ T was on Saturday that Mrs. Proctor ^ called to see ]Mrs. Hall and Roxy, and it will be remembered that it was on fthe same day that Andrew left them, "w^ithsome fellows," to be gone, he said, until "to-morrow." That to-morrow was Sunday — the Lord's day ; but neither An- drew nor his companions had been thought to reverence its sacred hours. To them it was like any other day in the week. True, they heard the sweet chiming of church bells, and saw crowds of well dressed people gathering together in their different places of worship, but they knew not nor cared why it was. Between those rustling garments of silk and velvet and fine cloth, and their own soiled and tattered garments, there was a barrier deep 36 ANDY HALL, and wide, a barrier which they felt to be im- passable. The elegant stone churches were made for the rich — not for them in their squal- or, even had they wished to enter. Andrew's companions, like himself, were idle and profane, seeing mischief and delight- ing in it as all idlers do. They passed Satur- day afternoon and evening on the wharves, begging of the sailors, until about nine o'clock, when Andrew offered "to treat." At the nearest oyster saloon they stojDped. It was a low, dirty place, the air thick with tobacco smoke, and strongly scented with bad Avhis- ke}', but these poor boys were not- fastidious. Andrew led them in, and seating himself at a table, ordered "stews for four." " Whiskey, too," suggested Sam James, the oldest and most wretched of the party. " Don't be mean, Hall. Let's have a drop of whiskey." " I ain't mean," returned Andrew with an oath ; " but if you have anything to drink, you'll have to get it yourself ; I can't raise Ijut a quarter." . THE MISSION SCHOLAR IN THE AP^IT. 37 " I ha'ii't got lj>ut a shilling," rejoined Sam, "but 111 let it go, rather'n not have something lively." Accordingly the whiskey was ordered, and the boys, imitating the example of the rouo'h lookins: men who sat and lounsred about the room, svrallowed the " liquid fire," and di-ained their glasses with bursts of wild laugh- ter, and amid profane and low jests. It was not until a late hour that the voice of the bar- keeper warned his 3'oung .customers to leave their seats by the fire, and go about their busi- ness. Andrew was far from his home, and knew not whither to go for a mght's rest, but more than once he had slept under the logs and lumber of the wharves, and if need be he could do it again. Sam James, and his other companions, went away by themselves, when they reached the end of the street, while An- drew, whose brain was reeling, and whose steps were uneven, was left alone. He stood for some minutes undecided what course to take. It was a bitterly cold night, and sleet and snow were falUng fast, If he turned in 38 AXDY HALL, the direction of the whan^es the storm would beat iu his face ; if he kept on up the street towards home, it was very uncertain when, if at all, he would find shelter for the night. Poor, miserable boy ! The strong drink was working in his brain ; he shook in every limb ; his feet were growing numb with the cold ; if he remained in one position longer, he would be unable to move, so gathering up his resolu- tion, he walked along up the street, keeping in the shadow of the houses as much as possi- ble , in order to save himself from the violence of the storm, which increased rapidly, and also to avoid the notice of the watchman. At the close of about half an hour, he stopj^ed, feel- ing utterly unable to go another step. He was in front of a brick block on avenue. The lights were out ; all was still ; if he could' lie down under the porch and sleep until morn- ing, how happy he would be ! Only to sleep and to rest, though he had but a granite rock for a pillow, would be so sweet ! Weary and aching in every hmb, he crawled up the broad THE MISSION SCHOLAE IX THE ARJIY. 39 steps, and threw himself clown at the thres- hold of the door, determining to awake and be off in the morning before light. But it was after sunrise when his heavy eye-lids un- closed ; he had slept heavily and long, and would have slept longer still, had not a hand been laid upon his shoulder, and a voice said, not unldncLly, close to his face, " What's the matter, my boy ? Sick, eh ? " Andrew sprang up, and rubbing his eyes with his benumbed fingers, ansAvered, " I got caught out in the storm, and hadn't any place to sleep in, so I came up here. I a'u't sick, but my head aches." "You've been drinking — that's what ails you," rejoined the man, sternly. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself — such a bo}^ as you — not more than a dozen years old " " I am fourteen," interrupted Andrew, " be- sides, I havn't been drinking." . "Don't tell a lie, sir. Isn't it bad enough to do a wicked thing without trying to hide it ? I can tell b}' the looks of your eyes and face." 40 ANDY HALL, Andrew looked angrily at his ne^y acquaint- ance. He was a man of nnddle age, with grey hair and rough but kindly countenance. " Take my advice, boy, and never, never touch another drop of spirits while you live. It will ruin you body and soul ; I know what it is to be the slave of a whiskey bottle : I tried it thirt^'-live years of my life,^and should have been a drunkard this day, but for my master," pointing towards the house. " He found me and helped me when everybody else despised rae, and he kept a sharp look out for me till I became a sober man, and now he employs me in his familj", and m}^ home is here. But I tell you, boy," he resumed after a moment's pause, ''I'll tell you it is hard to break off an old habit ; it is like tak- ing the ver}^ life out of you. Just make up your mind now you're young that you'll keep from drink, and 3'ou will never have to suffer what I have. AVout you promise ? " Andrew stood kicking his feet against the stone steps. Certainly he was not so bright THE jSnSSIOX SCHOLAK II^T THE AEMY. 41 or happy after drinking spirits, that he need persist in it, but then — why should he pro- mise? — why give his word to this strange man, and so resign his liberty to 'do as he pleased ? " Wont you promise, boy?" " No, I wont," said Andrew doggedly. " I wont promise any such thing. Men drink, and boys drink, and women drink, and men sell liquor and get rich by it. Til do as other folks do." " Other folks do wrong, and they have to suffer for it in the long run," replied the man. "Are they happy, do you think? You've seen 'em staofirerino^ home, cursins: and swearinsr ; you've seen how the little children run from them, frightened and trembling, haven't you?" Yes, indeed, all this and more, had Andrew seen in his own miserable home. He had seen poor little Roxy creep away to her dark corner, to hide there her white face ; he had seen his mother shrink in horror from the heavy hand that hesitated not to deal blows 42 ANDY HALL, upon her slender form ; he himself had fled more than once out mto the street, to escape the insane wrath of a drunkard ; and this drunkard — this man who brous^ht curses and misery, where he should have brought gentle words and happiness — was Andrew's owti father ! Was there any thing so alluring in the pictures that flashed through his brain as he stood listening to the earnest words of his stranger friend, that he should wish to pro- long them, or make them even more real? The man unable to follow Andi^ew's thoughts, saw that he hesitated, and spoke again still more earnest^ than before. ''Just think of it, my boy," he said. "You'll gain nothing in health, in purse, or in respectability, by drinking. I tell you there's nothing to hinder you from becoming a smart man — I can see it your eye — if you will only make up your mind to let strong drink alone. Have you a mother?" " Yes," replied Andrew, in a surley tone. " Is she a good mother ? '* THE ]\nSSION SCHOLAR IN THE AR^IT. 43 " I don't know whether she is or not." "You know whether you love her, or not?" " Humph ! I never thought anything about it. I don't stay at home much." "Why not?" " 'Cause it a'u't much of a place to stay in ; and it's awful when the old man is there." " Who is that? Your father? What is the trouble with him ? " "He's a drunkard," and Andrew dropped his ej^es as he answered. " Poor boy ! Isn't that enough to keep you sober? I need tell you nothing more, for you know it all yourself; you have it in your own home ; the want, the wretchedness, the woe ; and yet, j'ou refuse to promise to keep your- self sober ? " AndreAV was fast growing vexed ; besides he was cold, and very hungry. He answered sharply," " It's nothing to you, anyway, what I do. If I've a mind to drink, I shall do it. I wish I had some whiskey this minute to warm myself with." 44 AXDY n.\i.L, " Sure enough, you must be in need of something after staying out here in the storm all night," said his friend. " Come right round to the back door, and warm yourself by the kitchen fire, and I'll get Ann to giA'e you a cup of hot coffee, and some bread and butter; then you'll feel better. Oh, come right along," seeing the boy hesitated. " ]My master and mistress would be vexed enough, if I let you go away from their door, cold and hungry ; come along." Thus urged, Andrew followed his guide to the kitchen, where he was shown a comfort- able seat by the fire, and soon Ann, with a pleasant smile, drew a little table close up beside him, and brought bread, meat, and hot coffee for his refreshment. How thoroughly he enjoyed all this comfort, my reader can imagine far better than I am able to describe. CHAPTER Y. UST as Andrew was swallowing the last mouthful of bread, the door lead- mg; from the kitchen to the dininij-room ojDeued slowly, and a little girl appear- ed. She stood looking at the strange boY from under the shadow of her short brown curls, with a half shy, half curious look, and as he pushed back his chair and took his hat to go, she came a step nearer, and said, in a voice that sounded like sweet music, "What is your name, boy?" " Andrew Hall." " Where do you live ? " "In Mercer-lane." " I don't know where Mercer-lane is, but I guess my papa does, for he knows all about the city. Have you any little sisters?" 46 AXDY HALL, "Yes, one." '* What is her name ? " "Eoxy." " Is she as big as I ? " " No ; she is only eight years old." "AVell, I am not eight yet. I am only seven. AVhy isn't she as big as I? Is she pretty?" "Pretty enough, but she's sick and lame, and she can't walk like 3-0 u." "Why, what does she do when she wants to go anywhere ? " " She creeps along on her hands and knees, but she never goes out into the street." " O, dear, how sorry I am for the poor ht- tle girl. I should like to see her." " ]N'o you wouldn't," said Andrew, shortly. " It would make you almost sick. She don't look well and clean like you, and her clothes are all ragged and dirty." " I'll go and ask mamma to let me send her one of my gowns ; you wait till I come back, wont you, Andrew Hall?" THE MSSION SCHOLAR IN THE AE3IY. 47 " It a'n't any use. I a'u't going home this morning, and I don't want to bother about it." At this moment some one called from the dining-room, " Lily ! " and the pretty child answered, "Yes, papa, I'm coming; only please look here one minute, and speak to Andrew Hall." Andrew glanced towards the street-door, very anxious to avoid meeting the gentleman of the house, and to make his escape, but be- fore he could reach it, Lily's father, Mr. Kent, appeared. " Have you had as much breakfast as you wish for, Andrew?" he asked, in the kindest of voices. "Yes," said Andrew, hanging his head, and twisting his cap in his nervous fingers. " And are you warm enough ? " "Yes." "/always say, yes, sir, to papa" interrupt- ed Lily. To this observation Andrew made no reply, but his brown cheek flusJied a little. 48 ANDY ITALL, " What are 3-011 going to do \\itli yourself, to-day?" asked Mr. Kent. "Don't know." " Can \i)\i tell me what day it is ? " " Xo, I don't know." " Why, it is Sunday," again interposed Lily. " Don't you go to church or Sunday School, Andrew?" " No." " Don't you want to go?" " No, I don't." " Why, it is just as nice as can be at Sunday School, isn't it, papa?" and Lily gave her father an appealing look, that said as plainly as words could have done, ^'You tell him how nice it is, and ask him to go." Mr. Kent smiled, and bidding Lily go up stairs and ask mamma if she were ready for prayers, he turned again to Andrew, who was gradually edging near the door, and said, " Suppose you spend the day with me, An- drew. If you are not going home, it will be much better for you than wandering about THE JUSSIOX SCHOLAR IX THE AEJIT. 49 the streets. You shall hare a good dinner and supper, and I think you will enjoy it. V. ill you staj-?" The prospect of a good dinner and suoper was pleasant enough. Andrew was almost inclmed to say yes, but there was something m the appearance and manner of Mr. Kent° kind as he was, that he felt as a restraint, and longed to throw off. "Taylor, the man who found you asleep on my door-step this morning," continued Mr Ivent, "tells me that you have an intemper- ate father. I am very sorry to hear it; it must be worse for your little sister Eoxy than for you, if she is a sickly, lame child, as I heard you telling my daughter she was. Does your father abuse her?" "Xot when she keeps out of his way, but . sometimes," and here his voice choked, and a cnmson iJush dyed cheek and forehead, "some- times he strikes her!" " Poor little thing I " said Mr. Kent, observ- ing Andrew's emotion, and guessing from it 50 ANDY IIALL, his affection for Eoxy. " What do you do to make it pleasant for her at home ? '' The boy looked up in his face with a puzzled countenance. " Vrhat do you do to amuse your Uttle sister ? It must he very sad and lonely for her." " I get her 'most everything she has to eat, but I can't stay in the house ; there's no fun in it." ** Mamma has come down, and sister Hilary is ready; come, papa," and Lily, tripping through the dining-room, caught her fiithers hand ; " and papa," she added in a loud whis- per, " please ma3'n't Andrew Hall come to ? " " Yes, if he will," replied Mr. Kent. " An- drew, I would like to talk a while longer with you, but it is the hour for family worship. Come up stairs to the library with me, and after prayers I shall be at leisure for a short time." Andrew had not the slightest idea what was meant by '' famih^ worship," and he was grow- ing every moment more anxious to get away THE MISSION SCHOLAR IX THE ARMY. 51 from the grave, earnest eyes, that seemed to look straight into liis heart ; he was going to say no, in answer to Mr. Kent's invitation, when Lily added in her sweet, persuasive voice, " Come, Andrew Hall, and you will hear my sister Hilary play a 1)eantiful hymn on the piano." It was not so much what she said, as the svyeet smile that accompanied the words, which led Andrew to follow her light steps up the broad, carpeted stairs, through the hall and into the liln-ary, where Mrs. Kent and Miss Hilary sat waiting. He took the chair nearest the door, at Lily's suggestion, and looked on with gi'eat curiosity as Taylor, Ann, an another young woman entered, and seated themselves near him. lsh\ Kent named a hymn, when all vras quiet, and Miss Hilary plaj'ed a very svN^eet prelude upon the piano- forte, and then all joined in singing : *' S ifely through another -n-eek, God has brought us on our way; Let us now a biesiing seek, Waiting in his courts to-daj': Day of all the w^.c-k the best, Emblem of eteruai rest." 52 AXDY HALL, All but Andrew. He sat with his fiice hnlf hidden in his ragged eap, listening with a beating heart, to the beautiful melod}'. He never thought of the sentiment of the words, but the music awakened all that Avas no])le and good in his nature, and he looked ujion Miss Hilary, whose pure, clear voice, led the others, as one would look upon an angel. The hymn was sung to its close, and then]\Ir. Kent read and explained a passage from St. Mark's gospel. But this, too, was lost upon Andre w% in whose ears the strains of music were still ringing, and who never once re- moved his dark eyes from Miss Hilary's face. After the chapter came the prayer. All knelt devoutly, all ])ut Andrew, who sat still, and watched the others. One petition caught his wanderins: thouirhts, and fixed them for a mo- ment ; it w as a fervent petition that God would bless the poor stranger boy, and teach him to forsake all evil ways, so that the Sav- iour would own him for his disciple and friend. THE MISSION SCIIOLAr. IX THE AEMT. 53 Andrew was very far from compi ehending the import of this prayer ; he had never heard God's holy name, save in profane uses ; he was as ignorant of Jesus, as the children in heathen lands ; but there was a solemnity of manner, an earnestness of voice that touched him, and filled him with confused, and new thoughts, and he felt a desire to learn the meaning and design of a service so strange to him. After prayers were over, and the servants dismissed, Mr. Kent repeated his invitation to Andrew, to spend the remainder of the day with him ; and the invitation was seconded by Mrs. Kent, whose mother's heart went out towards the forlorn, rough-looking boy. The inducement of dinner and supper was also again presented, for Mr. Kent judged rightly, that if he would help the starving soul, he must also sujDply the wants of the body. " I don't care about anything to eat," broke in Andrew, almost sharply, " if she," pointing with his dirty finger to Miss Hilar}^ " will only make some more music on that thing ! " 54 ANDY HALL, "O, I will play tor you with pleasure," said Miss Hilaiy, smiling. " Do yoii like music?" Andrew Avas afraid, rough as he was to aiiswer, but his eyes sparkled, and he drew a step or two nearer the instrument. ^liss Hilary took her seat, and touched the white keys with her finirers. " Please pla}^ ' I have a Father in the prom- ised land,' sister," said Lily. " He will like that, I know." Andrew looked as if he would like any- thing that ]Miss Hilary would play. He stood and listened, until the breakfast bell rang, and she was obliged to stop. " You will come down to the kitchen, now, Andrew," said Mrs. Kent, pleasantly, " and after breakfast I will see if I can find a jacket and cap for you to wear to Sunday School and church. " And I will play some more for you by- and-by," added Miss Hilary. " Those are the hymns we sing at Sunday School," said Lily, as she opened the kitchen Andy listening to the Pianno, -P. 54 THE MISSION SCHOLAR IX THE AEilY. 55 door, " and you vrill learn to sing them all, if you will only go, and I will ask papa to give 3'ou a hymn-book for your own, and then you can sing to your sister Eoxy." Dear little Lily I she could not keep Andrew out of her thoughts, but all through breakfast time was making her simple plans for his in- struction in the Sunday School which she so dearly loved, while her parents suffered her to prattle on, unrebukecl, glad to find her thus early in life, interesting herself for others. The moment she was at liberty, Lily ran to the kitchen to see if Andrew had decided to stay. Her cheeks were glowing, her eyes bright, her lips smiling, she opened the door, gave one quick glance around the room, and burst into tears. Audi'ew was gone ! if ^r^^ CHAPTER YI.