“You have done your duty, Frank, at the sacrifice of your inclinations.  I think you ought to be rewarded.  God has bestowed upon me more than I need.  I think he intends that I shall become his almoner.  If you desire to express your gratitude, you can best do it by improving the advantages which will be opened to you.”

Frank hastened to his mother to communicate his brilliant prospects.  Her joy was scarcely less than his.

“Do not forget, Frank,” she said, “who it is that has raised up this friend for you.  Give Him the thanks.”

There was another whose heart was gladdened when this welcome news reached him in his tent beside the Rappahannock.  He felt that while he was doing his duty in the field, God was taking better care of his family than he could have done if he remained at home.

Before closing this chronicle I must satisfy the curiosity of my readers upon a few points in which they may feel interested.

The Rossville Guards are still in existence, “and Frank is still their captain.  They have already done escort duty on several occasions, and once they visited Boston, and marched up State Street with a precision of step which would have done no discredit to veteran soldiers.

Dick Bumstead’s reformation proved to be a permanent one.  He is Frank’s most intimate friend, and with his assistance is laboring to remedy the defects of his early education.  He has plenty of ability, and, now that he has turned over a new leaf, I have no hesitation in predicting for him a useful and honorable career.

Old Mrs. Payson has left Rossville, much to the delight of her grandson Sam, who never could get along with his grandmother.  She still wears for best the “bunnit” presented her by Cynthy Ann, which, notwithstanding its mishap, seems likely to last her to the end of her natural life.  She still has a weakness for hot gingerbread and mince pie, and, though she is turned of seventy, would walk a mile any afternoon with such an inducement.

Should any of my readers at any time visit the small town of Sparta, and encounter in the street a little old lady dressed in a brown cloak and hood, and firmly grasping in her right hand a faded blue cotton umbrella, they may feel quite certain that they are in the presence of Mrs. Mehitabel Payson, relict of Jeremiah Payson, deceased.

Little Pomp has improved very much both in his studies and his behavior.  He now attends school regularly, and is quite as far advanced as most boys of his age.  Though he is not entirely cured of his mischievous propensities, he behaves “pretty well, considering,” and is a great deal of company to old Chloe, to whom he reads stories in books lent him by Frank and others.  Chloe is amazingly proud of Pomp, whom she regards as a perfect prodigy of talent.

“Lor’ bress you, missus,” she remarked to Mrs. Frost one day, “he reads jest as fast as I can talk.  He’s an awful smart boy, dat Pomp.”