“Why, auntie,” he said, “you have a boy to be proud of. He crept over the high trestle and warned the train, and maybe saved all our lives. He is a hero.”
Aunt Polly was dazed.
“A hearo,” she said; “dat’s a big t’ing for a little black nigger. George Washin’ton, whar’s dat basket?”
“In de bushes, mammy; I’se gwine for to get it.”
The train was nearly ready to be off. The president called Aunt Polly aside, and she came back with a beaming face, and five ten-dollar bills clutched in her hands.
Aunt Polly caught George in her arms.
“Dey sed you was a hearo, George Washin’ton, but you is yore mammy’s own boy, and you shall hab chicken for yore supper dis berry night, and a whole poun’ cake to-morrow, yes, you shall!”
And when George Washington returned the gentleman his washing, he, like his namesake, was a hero.
