The sad look had departed from Dorothy's face as she now stood watching the great man whom she might never have the opportunity of beholding again; and while so engaged, it happened that one of the buttons of his coat came directly opposite her small nose.
At first she looked at it without any interest,—almost mechanically. Then she was overcome by a sudden intense desire to possess it as a souvenir, to be treasured for all time to come.
The feeling grew stronger each moment, and there is no saying to what lengths her childish impulsiveness might have spurred her, had it not been for the keen looks bent upon her by the officers at the other side of the room.
Washington seemed to be conscious of this, for his eyes took a curious expression as he said, looking down into the girl's earnest face, "I am tempted to ask, little one, what great subject makes your eyes so solemn."
He spoke more than half jestingly, and it was apparent that he judged her to be much younger than her actual years, because of her diminutive stature and childish appearance.
"I was wishing, sir, that you would give me something to remember you by," was her frank answer; "that is,"—hesitating a little—"I was wishing I could have something to keep all my life."
She stopped, scarcely knowing how to express herself, while Mary stared at her with manifest disapproval.
"I understand, my child," Washington said, now looking at her more gravely.
He paused, and seemed to be considering the matter. Then he laid his hand lightly upon the girl's shoulder, much in the way a father would have done.
"I shall take pleasure, little one, in giving you something by which to remember me."