“It’s awful unhandy for me to leave home now, cos I hain’t nobody to take care of nothing. Bill Spence’s wife, she agreed to milk the cow, but I had a beautiful pig, and I had to turn that out to root for itself, and I’m awful feared that it will get lost while I’m gone. But I told Mis’ Spence that I’d ruther risk the pig than to risk my boy, for he’s an awful good boy, Gineral.”
“This pass will take you down and bring you back,” said General Grant, handing her the precious document.
“How much do you s’pose it’ll cost me to go down?”
“It will cost you nothing, madam; the pass will take you free.”
“Don’t they charge nuthen on them roads?”
“They will not charge you. A mother who has given her son to the government, the government can afford to carry free.”
Just then I got her attention and beckoned her away.
“I’m very much obliged to you, Gineral,” she said, and made an old-fashioned courtesy.
Years afterward, while he was an occupant of the White House, and I was there on a friendly visit, I reminded him of the circumstance, which he had almost forgotten, and expressed the hope that the boy had recovered, and that she had found her pig on her return. He smiled, and said,—
“I always let the mothers pass if their boys were sick, and they seemed to be good loyal women.”