Finding how readily Pomp learned his lessons, Frank judiciously lengthened them, so that, in two or three months, Pomp could read words of one syllable with considerable ease, and promised very soon to read as well as most boys of his age.

Frank also took considerable pains to cure Pomp of his mischievous propensities, but this he found a more difficult task than teaching him to read.  Pomp had an innate love of fun which seemed almost irrepressible, and his convictions of duty sat too lightly upon him to interfere very seriously with its gratification.  One adventure into which he was led came near having serious consequences.

Pomp, in common with other village boys of his age, had watched with considerable interest the boys ’company, as they drilled publicly or paraded through the main street, and he had conceived a strong desire to get hold of a musket, to see if he, too, could not go through with the manual.

Frank generally put his musket carefully away, only bringing it out when it was needful.  One morning, however, he had been out on a hunting-expedition, and on his return left the musket in the corner of the shed.

Pomp espied it when he entered the house, and resolved, if possible, to take temporary possession of it after his lesson was over.  Having this in view, he worked with an uncommon degree of industry, and in less time than usual had learned and said his lesson.

“Very well, Pomp,” said his teacher approvingly.  “You have worked unusually well to-day.  If you keep on you will make quite a scholar some day.”

‘I’s improvin’, isn’t I?” inquired Pomp, with an appearance of interest.

“Yes, Pomp, you have improved rapidly.  By and by you can teach your mother how to read.”

“She couldn’t learn, Mass’ Frank.  She’s poor ignorant nigger.”

“You shouldn’t speak so of your mother, Pomp.  She’s a good mother to you, and works hard to earn money to support you.”

“Yes, Mass’ Frank,” said Pomp, who was getting impatient to go.  “I guess I’ll go home and help her.”

Frank thought that what he had said was producing a good effect.  He did not know the secret of Pomp’s haste.

Pomp left the room, and, proceeding to the wood-shed, hastily possessed himself of the musket.  In a stealthy manner he crept with it through a field behind the house, until he got into the neighboring woods.

He found it a hard tug to carry the gun, which was heavier than those made at the present day.  At length he reached an open space in the woods, only a few rods from the road which led from the farmhouse, past the shanty occupied by old Chloe.  As this road was not much traveled, Pomp felt pretty safe from discovery, and accordingly here it was that he halted, and made preparations to go through the manual.

“It begins dis yer way,” said Pomp, after a little reflection.

Grasping the musket with one hand he called out in an important tone: