"Ain't got no farver."
"Well then, run along to your mother."
He kissed the child and set him down just as a young woman came down the sadly neglected shell walk from Caleb Brent's little white house. Donald opened the gate and advanced to meet her.
"I'm sure you must be Nan," he said, "although I can't be certain. I haven't seen Nan in six years."
She extended her hand
"Yes; I'm Nan," she replied, "and you're Donald McKaye. You're a man now, but somehow you haven't changed greatly."
"It's fine to meet you again, Nan." He shook her hand enthusiastically.
She smiled a little sadly.
"I saw you at colors last night, Donald. When your flag came down and the gun was fired, I knew you'd remembered."
"Were you glad?" he demanded, and immediately wondered why he had asked such a childish question.