Suddenly a few words startled G. W. They seemed to him to ring out of the confusion of greetings like an alarm:
"Oh, look! there are Colonel Austin and his little hero!"
It was a woman's voice.
The heavy brown eyes of the little fellow in blue on the litter opened.
The procession of sick men was passing between lines of sympathizing people, but to G. W. they faded like visions. He turned his head and fixed his solemn gaze upon the one face in all the world dear to him.
"Colonel!" he gasped, "did yo' hear dem words—dem hero-words? Yo' better tell dem dat it ain't so!"
"Why, my child, they know all about it. You are as big a hero as ever was brought home—didn't you know it?"
"No, sah!" Again the lids closed—the battle with tears was renewed.
The next stage of little G. W.'s journey was made in an army ambulance. Over the hills and down the sandy valleys the big wagon went softly until it stopped before the long hospital tent on the hill overlooking the merry waves. Then G. W. was carried in and placed upon a bed, and a woman with a wonderful face came and bent over him. She wore a blue gown and a snowy cap and apron and kerchief. G. W. had never seen anybody in the world in the least like her. She stood and smiled down at him, and he smiled weakly up at her.
"Well, my little hero," she laughed in the most cheerful manner, as if it were quite a joke to see heroes carried about like babies, "it isn't so very bad! I think I can get you on your feet in—let me see—well, three days at the farthest."