"Mars' Cary!" he said, as if he were looking on one risen from the dead. He came a little nearer, with his hand stretched out as if to touch him testingly—then suddenly dropped down on his knees before Gary who had risen from his chair. "Bless Gawd, I done fin' you," he sobbed, his face buried in his toaster's coat. "I done fin' you at last."
The General frowned.
"Forbes," he ordered. "Put a stop to that. Bring him back!"
But Uncle Billy paid not a bit of attention as the Adjutant sprang up. All his thought was for his master and his own explanation.
"Dey wouldn' lemme git thru, seh!" he cried, pleading absolution from what had seemed an inexcusable breach of trust. "Dey wouldn' gimme no pass an' I'se des been stuck! Aw, Gawd, Mars' Cary—an' I axed 'em ev'y day!"
"There now, Billy—don't," Cary said with a gesture of pity and unending gratitude.
Uncle Billy rose slowly to his feet.
"Yas, seh. Yas, seh," he answered obediently. "'Skuse me, Mars' Gen'l. I couldn' he'p it, seh. I—I couldn' he'p it. Dey wouldn' eben lemme see him in de guard house—"
"That will do," interrupted the General firmly. "Listen to me. When did you see Mr. Morrison—last?"
"Him?" said Uncle Billy, looking around at the Union officer. "'Twas—'twas in de spring, seh. Yas, seh. De time de Yankees bu'nt us out."