The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1884-01-02
A Son OF His FOrefathers.

Tom Brewster was as patriotic a little
boy as New England has ever produced.
His father was remotely descended from
the famous Elder Brewster of the May
flower, fact in which Tom took great
satisfaction and pride. Their home was
near Plymouth, place which is, or
should be, the fountain.head of American
patriotism, and Tom had grown up on
intimate terms, as it were, with the
famous Rock and all the traditions of
the town. He was only twelve, but he
had read so many stories about the
Pilgrims and their struggles and their
fights with the Indians, about the stirring
days of the revolution and the Boys of
'76," that he seemed more at home with
those old times than with his own. He
knew all the battles of independence by
heart, and had fought them all through
from beginning to end with an army of
paper soldiers, which he had constructed
nominally for the amusement of his little
sisters, but really for his own.
Tom was clever with his fingers, and
this pasteboard army was triumph of
art in its way. There were not less than
nine hundred of these soldiers, all divided
into regiments and companies. Each tiny
figure was neatly cut out and painted in
uniform, scarlet or blue as the case might
be, and each had small cardboard sup
port under his feet which held him firmly
in an upright position. The Highland
regiment wore their plaids and claymores,
the Fusileers their distinctive uniform
and the Hessians theirs. Tom had studied
them all carefully out of books. The cap.
tains and lieutensnts had swords and
epaulettes. The generals were mounted
on horses-such pretty horses, with wav-
ing names and tails, painted roam or gray
or black There were army wagons and
cannons and caissons and forts, all made
of pasteboard oh, it was very complete
army indeed, and it would have given the
children unmi1ed satisfaction except for
one unhappy circumstance, which was
that none of the little Brewsters were will
ling to be the British
Isabel, who was next in age to Tom,
used to run away and hide, sometimes, in
order to escape the odious necessity.
at is such shame" she told her
mother, Tom will always make me be the
English. 1t isn't fair, is it, mamma love
my own country just as much as he does,
and he ought to take turns; but he never
will So have to wear uniform which
dislike and disapprove of, and don't
take any pleasure in beating, for of course
I'd rather have my own countrymen vic.
torious. l hate to play at armies, and
Tom keeps on making more soldiers all
the time, and he says he always shall.
And when won't play he calls me un-pa-
tri-ot-icl' With this last long word,
Isabeps eyes overlooked. The charge
seemed too heavy to be borne.
Mamma couldn't help smiling, but she
comforted Isabel as we'll as she could, and
she told Tom in private that he absolutely
must let her be the American army some
times. This, however, Tom could not do.
He did not mean to be selfish, but his love
of liberty was 80 strong that even in fun
he was not willing to take the side of the
tyrannical "Mother Country" He lost
interest in the soldiers after his mother
said that, and before long he gave them
all away to some baby cousins.
Tom, with all his good qualities, had
the faults of his age. He was lazy some
times, and sometimes selfish. He was in
clined to be dainty as to what he ate and
had sad habit of carelessness and dis
order. Only week after Forefathers' day
his mother noticed him at supper looking
rather discontentedly at the dishes on the
table. Bridget, pass the corn.bread to
Master Tom," she said.
"No, thank you," quoth Tom, " l don't
like corn-hread. Why didn't we have
mullins tonight, mammal"
Show about some apple sauce ;" asked
the father.
al don'tslike that either, papa. Couldn't
l have little orange marmalade, man.
ma"
"No, Tom, think not. You know
what | have told you, that l can't have
you children sending away for different
sorts OF jam at tea, to please your separate
fancies. There are too many of you for
that, but 1 shouldn't approve of it even if
there were but one. Eat what is on the
table, dear, or 60 without"
Tom said no more. He ate slice of
bread and butter rather lsnguidly, and
then asked to be excused. Mamma found
him in the library after tea, absorbed in
Pioneers and Founders, a book of which
he was very fond. He had already forgot
ten his little grievance about the jam, and
looked up brightly as she bent over his
shoulder.
weren't the Pilgrims grand, mamma ?
Aren't you glad we're descended from
them 2"
Yes, very glad, provided the things
that made them so grand descend to US
ALSO"
ooh, yes-bravery and all that"
"Some smaller things, too, Tom. Think
how patiently they bore hardships in the
outset. That first year they hardly ever
had enough to eat, you know. All the
stores they had brought in the ships were
used up, and the grain they planted was
not ripe"
al remember. And how they had the
first Thanksgiving because the ships came
back with more supplies"
eyes, and because they had reaped