Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (short novels in english .TXT) 📕

Henry Morton rose with the sun. This was not so early as may be supposed, for already November had touched its middle point, and the tardy sun did not make its appearance till nearly seven o'clock. As he passed through the hall he noticed that breakfast was not quite ready.

“A little walk will sharpen my appetite,” he thought. He put on his hat, and, passing through the stable-yard at the rear, climbed over a fence and ascended a hill which he had observed from his chamber window. The sloping sides, which had not yet wholly lost their appearance of verdure, were dotted with trees, mostly apple-trees.

“It must be delightful in summer,” said the young man, as he looked thoughtfully about him.

The hill was by no means high, and five minutes' walk brought him to the summit. From this spot he had a fine view of the village which lay at his feet embowered in trees. A narrow river wound like a silver thread through the landscape. Groups of trees on either bank bent over as if to see themselves reflected in the rapid stream. At one point a dam had been built across from bank to bank, above which the river widened and deepened, affording an excellent skating-ground for the boys in the cold days of December and January. A whirring noise was heard. The grist-mill had just commenced its work for the day. Down below the dam the shallow water eddied and whirled, breaking in fleecy foam over protuberant rocks which lay in the river-bed.

The old village church with its modest proportions occupied a knoll between the hill and the river. It was girdled about with firs intermingled with elms. Near-by was a small triangular common, thickly planted with trees, each facing a separate street. Houses clustered here and there. Comfortable buildings they were, but built evidently rather for use than show. The architect had not yet come to the assistance of the village carpenter.

Seen in the cheering light of the rising sun, Henry Morton could not help feeling that a beautiful picture was spread out before him.

“After all,” he said thoughtfully, “we needn't go abroad for beauty, when we can find so much of it at our own doors. Yet, perhaps the more we see of the beautiful, the better we are fitted to appreciate it in the wonderful variety of its numberless forms.”

He slowly descended the hill, but in a different direction. This brought him to the road that connected the village with North Rossville, two miles distant.

Coming from a different direction, a boy reached the stile about the same time with himself, and both clambered over together.

“It is a beautiful morning,” said the young man courteously.

“Yes, sir,” was the respectful answer. “Have you been up looking at the view?”

“Yes—and to get an appetite for breakfast. And you?”

Frank Frost—for it was he—laughed. “Oh, I am here on quite a different errand,” he said. “I used to come here earlier in the season to drive the cows to pasture. I come this morning to carry some milk to a neighbor who takes it of us. She usually sends for it, but her son is just now sick with the measles.”

“Yet I think you cannot fail to enjoy the pleasant morning, even if you are here for other purposes.”

“I do enjoy it very much,” said Frank. “When I read of beautiful scenery in other countries, I always wish that I could visit them, and see for myself.”

“Perhaps you will some day.”

Frank smiled, and shook his head incredulously. “I am afraid there is not much chance of it,” he said.

“So I thought when I was of your age,” returned Henry Morton.

“Then you have traveled?” said Frank, looking interested.

“Yes. I have visited most of the countries of Europe.”

“Have you been in Rome?” inquired Frank.

“Yes. Are you interested in Rome?”

“Who could help it, sir? I should like to see the Capitol, and the Via Sacra, and the Tarpeian Rock, and the Forum—and, in fact, Rome must be full of objects of interest. Who knows but I might tread where Cicero, and Virgil, and Caesar had trodden before me?”

Henry Morton looked at the boy who stood beside him with increased interest. “I see you are quite a scholar,” he said. “Where did you learn about all these men and places?”

“I