“I give you this sword. It is all I have to give, but it is much, for the sword means honor, and you must keep your honor virgin, and without rust or decay, like this sword. And it means courage. You must fear no one but God. And truth is a sword, and so you must live and act and speak truthfully. When years have passed and this sword comes into your possession, your mother and father will tell you what I have said. May you never forget it.”
The baby grasped the sword firmly with his tiny hand, and his great dark eyes were fixed gravely, as if he understood every word, upon the brave old eyes of the Colonel.
Then the sword was again hung upon the wall, and they all went out of the room, leaving the Colonel to rest, with Uncle Cesar to watch him. For in those last hours, the humble serving-man was close to his “ole Marse.” Down in the hall, Fortescue was saying to Betty, her hand in his:
“I have a Christmas gift for you that I haven’t yet given you. I see the little dent in the locket around your neck and the place where the chain is mended. I wouldn’t tell you until I had tested it, but I have had perfect sight now for several days.”
For answer, Betty threw herself in his arms.
“Now,” she cried, “you can once more be a soldier!”
Upstairs, the Colonel was talking feebly with Uncle Cesar, his mind sounding the deeps and shallows of memory.
“Boy,” he was saying, “did you ever see a more beautiful little fellow than my Betty’s son? He looks like Betty’s father, the son I gave my country. But it is all over now, eh, boy? No more fighting and marching and starving and freezing in the trenches of life. Everything pleasant and Christmas weather for the rest of the march.”
“Yes, suh,” answered Uncle Cesar. “We kin be jes’ as comfortable at Rosehill as ever we was, suh.”