She disappeared, but came back immediately. Again was the young soldier almost frightened. He never owned a coat like that, and surely never possessed such a fine pair of buckskin breeches; but there they were.
"Some mistake," said George, looking at the yellow facings, the large brass buttons, and the Lieutenant's shoulder-knots. "I won't take them until I know where they came from," said he, decidedly.
Now may the Recording Angel forgive the good washer-woman, for he must have put down against her name that day a fib of the straightest, whitest kind.
"I made thim fer ye," she said, unblushingly. "If all the army was dressed as foine as that the Ridcoats would take off their hats to ye."
The fact was Mrs. Mack may have referred to the lace trimmings when she said that she had made them, for that was all that she had contributed.
Aunt Clarissa must have relented! At last it dawned on the young soldier. Why had he not written to her? He resolved to do so at once. If he could find some way of sending her the letter.
In a few days Carter was able to move, and Colonel Hewes—who had been ordered to New Jersey to help his cousin mould cannon-balls—took him with him out to the estate. Mrs. Mack had acknowledged the fact that the wounded lad had been her guest before, under certain mysterious circumstances. But she could not or would not explain the method or means of his previous arrival, insisting that he was brought to her by two "dark men" whose language she could not understand.
Two days after Carter's departure George was leaning against the side of a little brick guard-house—he was officer of the guard—his thoughts far away, busy with the good old times, when he saw down the street some one crossing from a path that led along the common. His heart beat quickly. He would know that shuffling gait, that was yet so strong, amongst a thousand. In half a minute his long young legs were striding in the direction of the retreating figure, and in another he had grasped the man by both shoulders and swung him sharply against a tall board fence.
"Cato, you old rascal!" he exclaimed, shaking his shoulders back and forth roughly, though the tears of joy had gathered in his eyes.
"Why, Mas'r George," came the answer with a jerky emphasis. "How y-y-youse growed, and I done guess you pritty strong too, but you needn't try for to p-prove it no more."