“Lemme go, Sarah Jane,” protested the little boy, trying to jerk away from her, “I got to stay here and pertec' Billy and Miss Minerva's beau 'cause they's a robber might come back and tie 'em up and make 'em bleed if I ain't here.”
“Did Mr. Algernon Jones make all that blood?” asked an awe-stricken little boy gazing in admiration at the victim of Mr. Jones's energy. “You sho' is a hero to stan' up an' let him knock you down like he done.”
“Yes,” cried Jimmy, as the black woman dragged him kicking and struggling through the hall, “we's all heroes, but I bet I'm the heroest hero they is, and I bet Miss Minerva's going to be mad 'bout you all spilling all that blood on her nice clean floor.”
“Lemme see yo' big toe what was shot off by all them Yankees and Injuns what you killed in the war,” said Billy to Miss Minerva's beau.
The Major smiled at the little boy; a man-to-man smile, full of good comradeship, humor, and understanding. Billy's little heart went out to him at once.
“I can't take off my shoes at present,” said the veteran. “Well, I must be going; I feel all right now.”
Billy looked at him with big, solemn eyes.
“You couldn't never go 'thout yo' pants, could you?” he asked, “'cause Aunt Minerva jest nachelly despises pants.”
The man eyed him quizzically.
“Well, no; I don't think I could,” he replied; “I don't think I'd look any better in a Mother Hubbard or a kimono.”