Jefferson took his meaning instantly, and wrung his hand.
“You are right,” said he heartily. “But why not the navy? You are a born sailor.”
“I have witnessed too much of the delays of that branch of the service,” said Ethan. “Constant waiting ashore for a ship while my country needed my strength would be more than I could stand.”
“Then the army it shall be,” cried Mr. Jefferson. “You shall have a commission within the week.”
The Virginian was as good as his word. The commission was in Ethan’s hands in a week’s time; and in a fortnight he was serving as a lieutenant in a regiment of horse in the army under Washington.
As the years of the conflict unrolled he rose in rank and in the esteem of his commanders. Was there a hard-fought field, where only desperate courage and shrewd blows carried the patriots to victory? Then there you would be sure to find Ethan Carlyle, in the press of it, and at his side the grim old war dog, Longsword.
And when peace spread her glittering wings above a new-born nation, the gallant boy, now grown a young man, and with the epaulets of a major upon his broad shoulders, laid down his bright sword with a sigh of mingled regret and satisfaction.
“The war is done,” said Longsword.
“Yes,” replied Ethan, soberly. “The war is done; and now comes the longer struggle to give the nation permanent life.”
THE END