reach the back door, whose key she carried.

"What's this?" she said, running against the sleeper. "If it isn't that
boy! And here the rain has been working round into the porch and it is
coming on him! If you don't take cold, Charles Pitt Macomber, then I am
mistaken! Wake up, wake up!"




CHAPTER VI.

A SICK PATRIOT.


The next morning, Aunt Stanshy was stirring at the usual hour, and her
usual hour in summer was five. She did not generally expect to see Charlie
down stairs until half past six. This morning, Aunt Stanshy; looked up at
the clock on the high mantel-piece and saw that it was seven, then half
after seven, then eight, and half after eight; but all this time there was
neither sound nor sight of Charlie.

"Massy, where is that boy? I thought I would let him sleep, he was so
tired, but he ought to be around now," reflected Aunt Stanshy.

She opened the door that led up to his chamber and slowly mounted the
steep, narrow, yellow stairs, turning to the right into Charlie's sanctum.
A turn to the left would have taken her to her own room. Peeping into
Charlie's room, she saw the boy fast asleep on the bed. Stealing softly
across the bare floor and reaching the red and yellow home-braided rug