The Knights of the White Shield by Edward A. Rand

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UP-THE-LADDER CLUB SERIES.

ROUND ONE PLAY.

THE KNIGHTS OF THE WHITE SHIELD.

BY

EDWARD A. RAND

AUTHOR OF "SCHOOL AND CAMP SERIES:" "PUSHING AHEAD; OR, BIG BROTHER DAVE,"
"ROY'S DORY AT THE SEA-SHORE," AND "LITTLE BROWN-TOP;" "BARK CABIN ON
KEARSARGE," "SCHOONER ON THE BEACH," "NELLIE'S NEW YEAR," "CHRISTMAS JACK,"
"KINDLING-WOOD JIMMY," ETC.

1886.

New York.

DEDICATED

TO KEN AND THE OTHER BOYS.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER
I. MAKING A CLUB
II. THE GRAND MARCH
III. FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOL SCHOLARS, AN OFFER
IV. THE "PAMMERRAMMER"
V. THE NATION'S BIRTHDAY
VI. A SICK PATRIOT
VII. THE NAILED DOOR AND WINDOW
VIII. THE ENTERTAINMENT
IX. THE CUPOLA
X. AUNT STANSHY'S BOARDER
XI. THE CLUB IN SPLINTERS
XII. THE CLUB MENDED
XIII. A KNIGHT GOES TO SEA
XIV. SETTING A TRAP
XV. THE FAIR
XVI. THE FIRE
XVII. TWO MUD-TURTLES
XVIII. A NEW DEPARTURE
XIX. THE WRECK
XX. THE ROUND HIGHER UP

UP-THE-LADDER CLUB.

CHAPTER I.

MAKING A CLUB.

There was a clattering of feet on the stairs leading to the chamber of
Aunt Stanshy's barn. First there popped up one head and a pair of curious
eyes. Then there popped up a second head and two more eyes. Then there
popped up a third head and two more eyes.

"Jolly! Don't she beat all?"

It was Sid Waters who said this.

"It's de best barn in de lane," said Juggie Jones, a little colored boy,
his dark eyes lighting up with true interest.

"Well, I think it is a pretty good barn," rejoined Charlie Macomber, with
apparent unconcern. At the same time a secret pride was dwelling in his
bosom, that suddenly made his jacket too tight for him. If Seamont, in
which the barn was located, was one of the best of towns in the opinion of
its inhabitants, this particular barn, in Charlie's estimate, was one of
the best structures of that sort in the place. Below, on the first floor,
there was a chance of a stall for Brindle, now grazing in a little pasture
adjoining the garden. There was, also, a stall for a horse, and an extra
stall, though empty, always gives dignity to a barn, suggesting what has
been, and, while speaking of a glory departed, hints of that which may be
another day.

But the chamber! What palace of gold ever had a room equal to that
chamber? It had a row of barrels, behind which or in which you could
safely hide. It had a ladder that would let you smartly bump your head
against the highest rafter in the roof, a cross-beam, too, from which you
could suspend a swing, and a window in the rear from which you could look
upon the Missigatchee River (supposed to have been christened by the
Indians). This river-view you could have had, if the window had not been
boarded up, but there was a front window, whose big square shutter was
generally open. This gave a boy a view of the lane and, if maliciously
disposed, a chance to safely let drive an apple or a snow-ball at any
"down-townie" that might rashly invade the neighborhood. There was also a
window high up, at one end, well latticed with cobwebs. Then there was a
closet, which was splendid for "Hy-spy," and--notice!--honor upon
honor--there was a "cupelo," as Charlie called it, on top of the barn.
Through the slats of the "cupelo," one could look upon the river shining
gloriously at sunset, as if the sun were a Chinese mandarin that at this
hour spread his yellow silk robe upon the river in a vain attempt to warm
up the cold waters just from the sea. Besides this there were various
attractions, such as oars in the corner, nets hanging from nails, and let
it not be forgotten that a big strip of dried halibut dangled from a spike
in the wall. To a hungry boy what is there better than such a halibut,
unless it be two halibuts? Already there had been sly, toothsome pickings
of this.

It is no wonder, then, that the soul of Sid Waters, to say nothing of his
stomach in view of the halibut, was powerfully affected, and again he
cried out, "Jolly!" Then he clapped his hands, shouting, "Just the place
for a club!"

"A club" said Juggie Jones. "Got nuff dose on my wood-pile."

"He means an or-gorgan-gangor--" Charlie spoke very hesitatingly. It was
a long word and threatened to catch crosswise in his windpipe and choke
him.

"Organization?" inquired Sid. "O I will show you. We had plenty of 'em in
Boston."

As Sid had just moved from the city, and especially a city so full of
knowledge as Boston, Charlie and Juggie received this piece of news with
all possible respect.

"We can make one right here," suggested Charlie.

"Yes, straight off," said the late citizen of Boston.

"But whar's de boys?" asked Juggie.

"O three will do," said Sid Waters, "for you don't want many to start
with. I know the club will be popular after she has been started. And
then, fellers," he said, in a quiet tone, "there's a better chance for
offices in a small club, you know. We can fill 'em all now and get good
berths."

It was a great temptation, but a conviction of the importance of numbers
finally prevailed. The three pioneers in this great club movement saw also
it would look better to defer all elections until others had joined, as it
would give these a chance for position. The magnanimity native to the
three conquered, and it was decided to accumulate more material before
making the club.

"We might adjourn and meet in an hour," suggested Sid. "That would give us
more opportunity to invite other fellers in."

How Charlie did admire Sid for his easy flow of language! The "lane," as
Seamont called the narrow street before the barn, was now searched for
recruits, and the barn-chamber was deserted a whole hour. The big
horse-flies sawed on their bass-viols at their leisure. The warm gold of
the sunshine undisturbed continued to decorate the floor of the chamber.
Hark! There's a noise in the yard! It grows to a harried, breathless
scramble on the stairs. Finally eight boys appeared, the future members of
the club, save one or two later additions. There was Sid or Sidney Waters,
aged eleven. He was the oldest boy present, and the brains really of the
enterprise. He was a bit vain, rather selfish, and liked to have his own
way, a very rare failing among boys. Still, he was a bright boy, and he
had his generous impulses as well as his selfish ones. Rick Grimes, aged
ten, was a stout, Dutchy kind of lad, rather slow and heavy, but
well-meaning and pretty resolute. There was also Billy Grimes, Rick's
cousin, and a year younger. You would have said that these two boys came
from the same ancestral stock when you saw their cheeks. These had a
well-filled look, as if padded for Thanksgiving.

This peculiarity of feature gave the cousins special titles in whose
selection the boy-instinct for nicknames had shown its unerring accuracy
of aim. One was "Choppy," and the other, Billy, was "Cousin Choppy." Their
playmates were generally considerate and did not apply these titles unless
they "got mad." Forgetting themselves, these titles might be sent flying
about freely as snow-balls in a January thaw. There was Worthington
Wentworth. It takes a long breath and a very straight throat to say that,
and we will not repeat it, but will call him Wort Wentworth, as the boys
did. His hair was twisted all over his head, like a brush fence, and his
black eyes were very lively. He was one of the rogues of the club, and at
school took more rattannings, as a mark of his teacher's affection, than
any other boy. Juggie Jones--full name Jugurtha Bonaparte Jones--was a
little colored fellow lately from the South, now living with his granny, a
washer-woman, in a little yellow house at the head of the lane. He was
always laughing and showing his white teeth. He was a great favorite with
the boys. Wort and Juggie were of the same age as Charlie,--nine. Pip or
Piper Peckham, aged eight, was a big-eyed, black-haired, little fellow
with a peaked face. Timid, sensitive to neglect, very fond of notice, he
was sometimes a subject for the tricks of his playmates. Then there was
Tony or Antonio Blanco, a late arrival at Seamont. He was an olive-faced,
black-haired, shy little fellow. When he spoke, he used English, but his
accent was Italian. He was rarely heard from. An air of mystery encircled
him. Whether his father was a count in Italy or a seller of pea-nuts in
New York, no one at Seamont had been able to say for a month, and that was
a long time in circles of gossip. It was finally asserted that his father
lived in Italy. Tony was of the same age as Pip.

Concerning Charlie we shall find out farther along.

"Will the gentlemen please come to order," shouted Sid Waters, pompously,"
and sit--sit--on the floor?"

The meeting obeyed at once.

"Ahem--I 'spose we had better fill the offices first. Who will be
president?"

This magnanimous tender of the office to any one present was received in
silence. The meeting was overawed by the thought of this mighty honor so
nigh at hand. All recovered in a short time, and several, including Pip
Peckham, were about to sacrifice themselves for the common good, when Sid
dexterously presented himself as an offering ahead of them all, and said:
"Well, if nobody wants it, as I don't like to see an office go a-beggin',
I'll--I'll take it!"

"Three cheers for our president!" said Charlie, magnanimously, and the
three were given, though it must be confessed that several disappointed
souls cheered faintly.

"We ought to have a governor," said Charlie.

"What! besides a president?" inquired Sid, a slight sneer noticeable in
his tones.

"Don't they have a governor in Massachusetts?" inquired Charlie,
triumphantly.

"Well, ye--ye--yes."

That settled it, for Massachusetts custom was plainly authority in this
matter.

Rick Grimes was made governor.

"Treasurer now!" called out Sid.

"Charlie, would you like to be that?" he whispered. Charlie was about to
say "Yes," when the fruit hanging before his thirsty lips was suddenly
snatched away.

"I'd like that," piped a voice. It was Pip Peckham.

"Ahem!" said the president, "I think the office ought to be given to
experience," and here he looked in the direction of Charlie.

"Who's he?" inquired Billy. "Who's Sperience?"

"Silence!" ordered the president. "Little boys must speak only when they
are spoken to."

Billy pouted.

"Why couldn't we have two treasuries?" inquired Gov. Grimes, putting the
thing for its keeper. This happy solution of a difficult problem was at
once accepted. Charlie was named as the first official of this grade, and
Pip as the second.

"We ought to have a keeper of the great seal," said the president.

"What is that?" asked the inquisitive Billy. The president was puzzled to
say just what it did mean, "But," he affirmed, "I think we ought to have
it. It is something, I know, and they put it on things."

"I know what it is," said Gov. Grimes, eagerly. "My uncle has two down on
the wharf, in a tank, a great one and a little one, and I guess we could
have the great one up here, and some one be keeper of it."

The contempt of the president was undisguised. "That isn't it! If I could
only think, but there is so much noise! Order, gentlemen!"

Whatever noise had been made, the president was the author of the most of
it, though he did not seem to know it.

"Perhaps we'd better 'journ that," said Gov. Grimes. "That's what they do
to things in meetings, when they want to put them off, my father says."

"Well, we can do that, only I think we'd better have a--"

"I will!" shouted Wort, fearful that he might lose his chance for an
office, and eagerly assenting beforehand to any thing that was coming.

"You be janitor, and take care of the--the--hall?" said Sid, looking round
on the barn-chamber. "That's what I meant."

"Yes, yes!"

"There ought to be a sentinel," said Sid; "one, you know, to look after
the door and not let any down-townies up. Will you, Juggie?"

"Yes," replied that man of war, Jugurtha Bonaparte Jones.

"Billy's got nothing," said Juggie.

"So he hasn't," said Gov. Grimes. "We ought to have a secretary, to put up
notices and soon."

"Billy shall be that," declared the president. As Billy was backward in
his studies and could not write, his office promised to be one of great
honor and no duties. Every body had been pat into office except one, shy,
silent, little olive-face, Tony. He was contented to be an unnoticed
flower in the field. Charlie was the first to detect it, and whispered to
Sid, "Tony hasn't got nothing."

It was felt to be a very small kind of a club that had not an office for
every member, and Tony was made assistant-sentinel. The club was in
raptures, every body in office!

"What shall be the name of the club?" asked the president. This was
followed by a long discussion. Earth and sky were searched for a name.

"Call it Star Club," said Billy.

"No, that aint bright enough," replied the governor. The titles "Sun,"
"Moon," and "Comet" were successively rejected. "Let's ask teacher,"
chirped little Pip. The idea took, and it was resolved to visit "teacher"
as soon as the club had been manufactured.

"I think we ought to pay something," suggested Charlie. The club resolved
that each member should pay a cent a month.

"And what do with the money?" asked the governor.

"Buy swords," replied the martial Jugurtha.

The idea spread like wild-fire, and, not stopping to count how long at the
above rate it would take to accumulate money sufficient to buy a sword for
every one, the club voted Juggie's proposition a wise and patriotic one.

"I think," said the self-forgetful Sid, "that the president ought to have
the first sword."

"And the governor next," said Rick.

"And the treasury next," said Charlie.

"I'm that, Charlie, too, and I want one," clamored Pip.

"A sentinel ought to have one fust, 'cause he's at de door, and might hab
to dribe away down-townies," said Juggie.

"No, me first," said the governor.

"No, me," said the president.

"No, me," said the secretary.

It was "me!" "me!" "me!" all over the barn chamber, and the members of
that swordless club were almost at swords' points.

"Sposin' we 'journ this," said Charlie the peace-maker, remembering the
rule for "doing things" in meetings.

"Yes," exclaimed Sid, "and until we get a real sword each one can chalk a
sword on his pants."

"Hurrah!" sang out Gov. Grimes, and each one, happy in the thought that he
could have a sword as speedily as his neighbor, cheered lustily.

"Now, boys, let's go and see 'teacher' about our name," suggested the
president. The barn was vacated at once, and the members of the club went
down stairs as if a fire were after them, and then rushed along the lane,
all heading for a cozy story-and-a-half house where "teacher" lived. "The
Sunday-school teacher" was Miss Bertha Barry, brown-haired, brown-eyed,
vivacious Bertha Barry. All the boys were in her class, save Tony.

"O, she won't do for a teacher," said old Mrs. Jones, when the pastor
invited Bertha to enter the Sunday-school as a worker. "Too flighty!"

"She wont stick," growled Timothy Scriggins, a venerable male gossip, who
scolded every body and every thing, satisfied only with Timothy Scriggins.

However, she _did do_ and she did _stick_. The boys took a very positive
fancy to this young, sprightly, energetic teacher, and their liking
lasted. She compelled their respect and she won their hearts. They looked
upon her as an older sister, and promptly confided to her their troubles
and solicited her advice. In a troop, running, panting, they came into her
yard and presented themselves at her door.

"Come into the sitting-room, boys. Glad to see you. Well!"

Her air said: "I wonder what brought my class in a body to me," something
was evidently on the minds of all. The president quickly dissipated the
mystery.

"We--we--" said Sid, trying to catch his breath, "have--formed
a--club--and--want--you--to name it."

"Yes! yes! yes!" was the chorus coming from the eager faces turned up to
Miss Bertha.

"Name a club? Dear me! What shall I tell you? Where is your club?"

"Here!" said Sid, looking round in pride.

"No; I mean, where do you hold your meetings?"

"In my barn," said Charlie. "You go in from the street and go up some
stairs. It's up stairs."

"You might go up higher," added the governor. "There's a ladder there, so
you can get up--up in the cupelo, but you wont want to go up there."

"Why, that suggests a name. It's a little odd, but you'll think of it
every time you go up stairs and see the ladder. Call it 'Up-the-Ladder
Club,' and then it will have a meaning that you are boys who mean to do
your best, climbing up always, up, up, up!"

Miss Bertha here reached as high as she could, and her admirers, with
sparkling eyes, stretched upward their small arms, also, shouting,
"Up-the-Ladder Club! Up-the-Ladder Club!"

"I'll put it to vote, teacher," said the president, with dignity. "Those
in favor of it, say 'Aye.'"

A ringing "Aye" was now given, and after it, came a sharp-featured,
wrinkled face at the door.

"Land's sake, Bertha, what's the matter?"

"O it's only my class, grandmother."

"It scat me dreadfully. I thought it was fire," and, saying this, the old
lady, with a sigh of relief, withdrew.

"And now, teacher, we want a badge; something to wear, you know,"
exclaimed Sid.

"What's that you have on?" Miss Bertha asked of Juggie.

"A sword," replied that warrior, displaying his right leg, on which he had
already chalked a sword.

"That's for the down-townies," said the governor, in a martial tone.

"I'm--afraid--the 'down-townies' will laugh at that; are not you?"

The club had only thought of what they might do to the "down-townies," not
at all of what the latter would do to them. They certainly had not given a
thought to any ridicule these old enemies might heap upon them. A sadden
chill now struck the sword-plan and it went down in the boys' estimation
like the mercury in the glass on a cold day.

"Now, I don't want my class to be sword-boys. I can't say I fancy the
idea. I will tell you something that I think will be nice, and I will make
the badge."

Here the mercury began to climb the glass again, and that chilled look in
the boys' faces began to thaw out.

"I will make you--each one of you--a pretty white shield, to be worn on
the left arm, make it of pasteboard, so it will be stiff, and then cover
it nicely with white silk."

The boys began to hurrah. The mercury was away up the glass now.

"A white shield, that will mean something. That means purity, honesty,
every thing good and fair, and that your beautiful white shield will be
your defense against harm. You are my knights of the white shield."

The applause following this was almost tumultuous.

"You are the Up-the-Ladder Club, that is, boys who are always going ahead
in every thing good; climbing up, not lazy or bad, but boys, with an
ambition--a true Up-the-Ladder Club--"

"Or," suggested Sid, impressively, "the Knights of the White Shield."

How Charlie did admire the ready wit of the president! The enthusiasm of
the club increased. As in that reputed story of Maria Theresa, where her
nobles are said to have surrounded her, and, waving their swords
enthusiastically, pledged her their support, so the Up-the-Ladder Club
waved their caps around this their young queen. The excitement became so
intense it was necessary to open the door to give it suitable vent, and
out into the open air went these newly-dubbed knights.

"There go Bertha Barry's boys, I know," growled Timothy Scriggins, who
chanced to meet this band of knights issuing from the yard of their queen.
"I never saw sich a teacher."

Well, the boys loved her. There was now a rush for the barn. When they
had all safely arrived in the chamber, Charlie suddenly and soberly
exclaimed, "There!"

"What's the matter?" inquired Sid. "You look pale. Has any one put his
sword--I mean his shield into--I mean on you?"

Charlie did not feel like joking. A dark thought had overshadowed him and
changed a peaceful to a threatening sky.

"What is it?" asked Gov. Grimes.

"I did not," replied Charlie, "ask Aunt Stanshy if we might have the
barn!"

That was an omission indeed, and the club appreciated it, as "Aunt
Stanshy" was well known by the boys. All the sunshine seemed to disappear
suddenly and a cloud was on every thing.

Aunt Stanshy's name in full was Constantia, but, like the crown-jewels of
England, it was only used on very important occasions. The house and barn
both belonged to Aunt Stanshy, property that had been willed her by her
father, Solomon Macomber, whose body slept under the wings of a blue-stone
cherub in the cemetery. Her nephew, Charles, on the death of his wife,
came to live with Aunt Stanshy, bringing his infant heir. When the father
died, little Charlie was left in Aunt Stanshy's care. She was a tall,
resolute woman, so tall that Simes Badger told Charlie that when he wanted
to put colors on a flag-staff, he needn't go out of the house. That made
Charlie mad. Aunt Stanshy had sharp, black eyes, and spectacles made them
look all the sharper. As Charlie said, "Aunt Stanshy's eyes sometimes look
as if they had snappin' crackers in 'em." Aunt Stanshy was really kind at
heart and really loved Charlie, and he had all the comforts of home; but
she would sometimes speak quick, and she was always sure to "speak her
mind," be the rate of speech slow or quick. Simes Badger was a retired old
salt and kept the light-house; not that scanty funds compelled him, but
mostly because he must do something about the sea to keep him at all
contented. Simes once remarked, "I'll allow that Stanshy is a leetle tart
at times, and I've knowed her since she was a gal. But then if you take a
good sour apple and stew it and sugar it, it makes a first-class
apple-pie. Howsomever, it must be well stewed and well sugared." The boys
now trembled lest this vigorous, resolute soul might not favor their
plans, and denying it a place of meeting might end the days of the infant
club.

"There," said Sid, mournfully, "we've made a club, but we've got no place
to stick it in! How would it do to make Aunt Stanshy an honorary member of
the club?"

The faces of all brightened at this happy thought.

"And not athk her to pay a thent a month, but ektheuth her," suggested
Pip, who had a lisping style of speech.

This was another happy thought and acceptable to the club.

"I'll go and ask her," said Charlie. As he went down stairs, the members
of the club gathered around the open window, anxiously looking out and
awaiting the return of their embassador to her majesty in the kitchen,
Constantia the first. Aunt Stanshy was washing clothes when Charlie
entered. With a drooping head and faltering tongue he told about the club
and asked for the barn, having announced her honorary membership, and also
the remission of the monthly due. Aunt Stanshy had a streak of fun in her
nature and a big one. When she looked out into the yard, and glancing up
saw the seven sober, anxious faces at the barn window, she laughed and
said, "Well, Charlie, have I got to lug a big, heavy white shield around?"

"O it's a beautiful one of pasteboard and silk."

"Well, well, say yes."

When he had gone, Aunt Stanshy took her hands out of the suds, sat down in
a flag-bottomed chair by the store, and laughed till her sides ached. She
was washing again when the granny of the "Sentinel" came in to help her.
Granny took the flag-bottomed chair and asked, "What's de news, Stanshy?"

Aunt Stanshy burst out laughing, and the big ribbon-ends of her cap
fluttered like a pennant at the mast-head.

"Why, I'm an honorary member and sha'n't have to pay a cent; ha, ha, ha!"

"A what?"

But Aunt Stanshy made no explanation. She only pounded her clothes and
roared, so tickled was she. Subsiding, she soon broke out again.

"Why, chile, what's de matter?" asked granny. "You done gone crazy and
sure for't."

"I'm an honorary member, and have got to wear a silk shield, I tell you."

Granny went home, shaking her head and saying, "I do b'lieve she's losin'
her mind sure, and dat am mournfu' in one so young an' lubly."

CHAPTER II.

THE GRAND MARCH.

"Please, aunty, lend me your wash-stick."

As he spoke Charlie was all excitement, running eagerly from the barn into
the house. Obtaining the coveted treasure, he as eagerly ran back. Two
minutes passed.

"May I have the curtain-stick up in your chamber that you don't want?"

"How do you know I don't want it?"

"'Cause it's doing nothing, standing up in the corner."

"O what eyes! Yes, you may have it."

Three minutes went.

"Aunty, couldn't I have the broom-handle out in the entry? Some of the
boys knew you wouldn't let me, but I said you would. I knew you would let
a feller take it," said the ingenious Charlie.

"For pity's sake, Charles Pitt Macomber, what next?"

This was Charlie's real name and used for greater impressiveness.

"That broom-handle is what I fasten the back window with, and if any
bugglars get in tonight, I must blame you."

However, Charlie carried his point. In a few minutes he appeared again,
and pointed at his shoulder.

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