"If I shouldn't come back, my child," the Colonel continued, "I want you to know that I have made all arrangements for you to be sent up to the Boy and his Mother. They'll look out for you, comrade, for they know that you are my little body-guard, and they will adopt you in their home—for your own sake too, G. W.; there's the making of a man in you, G. W., and you will not ever disappoint anybody, no matter what happens to me. During the coming days here, keep within your limits, my boy. Obey orders, and you will be a hero indeed, for I know how much you want to go along to take care of me. By staying right here you are doing a harder thing."

G. W. was sobbing forlornly. The Colonel got up and paced the tent for a silent moment or two.

"You've been the best kind of a comrade, G. W.," he went on, as he came back, while the listener drew his legs up and down under the coarse gray blanket, in an agony of sorrow. "And you're not going to fail me now, old fellow."

"Yes, sah! No, sah!" The pillow half stifled the words.

Presently poor G. W. sat up in bed again. "Colonel," he said, "you jes' banish me out yo' mind! You do your work, an' be keerful to take keer ob yo'self. I'se goin' ter do what yo want an' keep in dem limits—but if yo' does not come back frum dat front, I doan' think I can face dem two up Norf! I'd jes' feel dat I hadn't done been no body-guard—fo de Lawd, Colonel Austin, doan't ask me ter face de Boy an' his Mother 'thout you! I ain't goin' ebber ter forget what you don teach me, an' I'se nebber goin' ter shame yer while I lib, but I can't go 'thout you to dem—de Lawd knows I can't."

"Under those circumstances I'll be obliged to come back, G. W." Something choked the soldier's voice. Then bending down he kissed the boy's dusky brow, as often he had kissed the white one of his own little son.

"God bless you, comrade!" he whispered. "You've lightened many a burden for us all since you came among us. I trust you and I may be spared to meet again."

Then G. W. saw the tall form of the best friend he had on earth pass out of the tent, and fade away into the confusion and unreality of the moonlit night.


VII.