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"Kalorama stands on a piece of the same ridge," said Paul. "See how sharp the banks of Rock Creek are!"

They stood beside a low tomb built into the bank. Paul threw himself down on the grass, and Patty went up to the tomb, and, in spite of dampness and mould, spelt out, "Decatur," Barron," and the date, "1820."

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"Such a humbug!" said Paul; "that man went to Tripoli to free the slaves; and if he had not been a slave himself, he might have been alive now."

"What!" said Patty, coming up to Paul, and sitting down on the broad lappets of his coat, while she plunged her rosy lips into his great red beard, "what! Decatur a slave! Who

made him one, Paul?"

"I wish I knew," said Paul; "we're all slaves, I believe."

"I am not a slave," said Patty, sitting up.

"No, you little midget," said Paul, "but you

will be ten years hence. Patty, do you know how Decatur died?"

"No," said Patty.

"Well," said Paul, "he was shot by Commo

dore Barron in a duel. Barron commanded an American ship, afterward given to Decatur. Decatur blamed Barron. Barron heard of it, and invited him to walk out and be shot."

"Oh, Paul! "

"Or to shoot him," said Paul. "They were to have an even chance; but, Patty, if Decatur had been truly brave, he would have refused to do any such thing. He who had fought at Algiers was afraid of women's tongues. He was a coward, after all."

"Women's tongues?" said Patty.

"Don't they do all the talking?” said Paul. "He knew it was all wrong, and yet he did it!"

"Paul," said Patty, "are you sure he did know? It must be very hard to know about such things when a man is fighting all the time."

"No matter," said Paul, looking at the child with a tear in his eye. "At any rate, there lies one of the greatest men you Americans ever had; but who cares anything about him? If I went into a Boston school to-morrow, who could tell me where he was buried? If any of you went to London, you would go to see the Nel

son monument. Decatur was as good a man ; but who goes to look at his monument?"

"I do, and mamma does," said Patty, growing very red, and you do, Paul."

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"Oh, yes! but I'm an Irishman."

"I don't believe he was a coward, Paul," said Patty. "I don't believe it, for all but I wish he hadn't fought that duel.”

your talk;

CHAPTER II.

THE TWO LETTERS.

HE next morning Patty came down bright

THE

and happy. She had not forgotten the old portrait in the attic at Spring Vale; indeed, just inside the pocket of her gray dress she had sewed a little bit of red ribbon, which came out every time she used her handkerchief, and was meant to remind her that she was not a good girl. She told nobody why she put it there, but she thought to herself, "It is like the war paint on the Indian faces—just as ugly as it can be " and when her mother said at breakfast,

"Patty, what is that ugly bit of ribbon floating out of your pocket for?" she only answered,

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Mamma, it isn't half as ugly as I am; and that made everybody laugh, and Patty kept her

secret.

She had not forgotten; but mamma had done all she could to comfort her sore heart, and Paul Kane had done all he could to tease her; and, between the two, Patty began to feel like herself again.

As soon as breakfast was over, the bell rang, and a police officer brought a large parcel to Mrs. Gray. Her name was on it, in papa's writing, and down on one side was printed, in large letters, the words "Mount Vernon."

"Why, mamma," said Patty, "is that what you have been waiting for?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Gray; "this and some papers that are with it, about the Quaker schools for colored people. I am going alone to see those this morning. You will stay with the Professor's wife. This afternoon I am going to draw a plan of Mount Vernon, because I cannot find in any of the books one that I like; and to-morrow you and I are going away again, first to Arlington, and then to Mount Vernon."

"Why, mamma," said Patty, looking with wonder at the closely-written papers mamma held in her hand, "did you want all those

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