“You have more than paid it, sir; and if I had known that I was indebted to you for my position, I should hardly have dared to speak to you in behalf of Major de Banyan.”
“Don’t be modest, Captain Somers. I have no scruples whatever in asking favors for such officers as yourself and your friend. I invariably refuse to say a word for any military man, unless I know that he is thoroughly meritorious. But, captain, you do not ask for my daughter.”
“I heard she was married, and lived in Philadelphia,” replied Somers, with some confusion.
“That is the case; she often speaks of you, and when you pass through Philadelphia you must see her.”
“I will certainly do so, sir,” replied the captain, as he took his leave.
Three days after he received a note from the senator, with De Banyan’s commission as a major in the regular army. He hastened to communicate the news to his friend. The gratitude of the major knew no bounds, and he declared that Somers had been more to him than all the rest of the world. A furlough of thirty days had been granted them, and they started, the one for Pinchbrook, and the other for Tennessee, in search of his son, who had returned to Nashville when the army moved from Chattanooga.
On the way home Somers called upon the senator’s daughter, and found her as pleasing, as pretty, and as grateful as ever; but his heart was farther north, and he hastened to the waiting arms of his loving friends. Lilian wept with joy when she saw him, and grandmother Ashford insisted upon telling about the defence of Boston during the “last war.”
“Lilian, I have lost my socks,” said Somers, when Mrs. Ashford had safely returned to their homes the firemen who went out to cut away the bridges in case of an invasion. “I had to put them on my friend De Banyan’s feet, when he had nearly perished from cold and exhaustion.”
“I am so glad you did!”
“I suffered myself, in Andersonville and Columbia, rather than wear them out, but I could not resist the appeal of my suffering friend.”