"Yas, seh."
"Why?" asked the General quietly.
Uncle Billy stammered.
"Well—er—well, 'skuse me, Mars' Gen'l, but—but down whar I lives at de—de white gent'men understands a nigger better'n what you-all does. Yas, seh."
General Grant may have smiled internally, but the only symptom of amusement was the dry note in his voice.
"I see. But there has been some difference of opinion on the point."
He paused and then pointed past Uncle Billy directly at Morrison. "Do you know that man?"
"Me?" said Uncle Billy. He turned and saw Morrison and instantly his face lighted up. It made no difference to the old negro that Morrison's uniform was mutilated—he could only see the familiar features of one who had treated his dead mistress with perfect respect under trying circumstances.
"Aw, yas, seh," he broke out, with a broad grin. "How you does, Cun'l. I clar to—"
Uncle Billy stopped. His eyes had gone beyond Morrison to the man sitting beside him and at the sight of that loved figure the old man began to tremble. His voice lowered to a whisper and he began to totter forward.