It was not until this that George remembered that he must have changed somewhat, and that he did not know really how strong he had become, for it only seemed yesterday that the old man had been able to lay him across his knee, or carry him by the slack of his little homespun coat.
"Cato," he said, "how are you all at home?"
"Dat's what I's come to tell you, young mas'r," said the old darky. "Dere's a peck of trubble over yander, and I's got a letter fer you from Mistis Grace."
George took the crumpled paper and read it hastily. How she must have changed—his little sister—to write and think such thoughts as these! For the letter told how she prayed every night that he would come back safe and sound, and that the great General Washington would whip the British and drive them from the country. "Aunt Clarissa would not let me write to you," concluded the letter, "and does not know that Cato has gone to look for you. Good-by, dear, dear George.
"From your little Rebel Sister,
"Grace."
"God bless her sweet heart!" said Lieutenant Frothingham, and he paused for a minute. Oh, it seemed so long ago, and William, his dear brother, was in England, and could not understand.
"Cato," he said, suddenly, breaking away from his train of thought, for the old darky had not spoken, "did you bring any money for me some time ago and leave it with Mrs. Mack?"
"No, sah, 'fo' de Lawd, I didn', Mas'r George, but I's got some now," he said, hurriedly, diving into the capacious pockets of his flapping waistcoat. He brought out a worn leather wallet. It contained two gold pieces and a half-handful of silver. "It's yours, sah," he said.
George looked at him earnestly. "Did Mistress Frothingham send it to me?" he asked.
The old darky shifted uneasily. "Yes, sah," he said, faintly.