"There were other reasons, sir," said Andy. Washington came nearer.
"I fancied so," he said, "and they are?"
Andy drew the basket of eggs to him, and unwrapped several, handing the papers to Washington. The General took them, crossed to the window, and for a few moments pieced the bits together carefully. Then he read. Andy watched him, remembering that other face in the greenhouse on the never-to-be-forgotten night.
"Where did you get these?" he said suddenly. Andy stood up leaning upon his crutch.
"A messenger, in time of danger, must come as he may, sir," he said, bravely. Then tearing off the bonnet he added:
"Andy McNeal, at your service, sir!" Washington's face never betrayed him, but a glad look came to the overweary eyes. He extended his hand, and grasped Andy's.
"I remember!" he said. "You have been true to your trust. And now for the story."
Sitting in the stately room of the mansion, opposite the great General, Andy McNeal told his story. Try as he might, his voice would break, but he thought no shame of his weakness, for the keen eyes looking into his own were often dim.
"I asked a great thing of Nathan Hale," said the General at last, "but he gave it willingly. Andy McNeal, you have been a faithful friend to as great a hero as the Revolution will ever know. Many offer their lives. He offered his honor. Willing was he to die, and to die dishonored by the many. Some day his country will understand."
"And, sir, do you know the British are bringing their ships up the river?"