"Cato, you're telling me a lie," said George, once more laying his hand on the colored man's shoulder. "I don't need the money, and you know that it is yours. I am rich now, Cato." He jingled the gold coins in his own pocket.
The old darky had not replied, but a huge tear rolled down his face.
"T'ank God for dat, honey," he said. "Old Cato didn't know." Then, as if to change the subject, he went on more cheerfully. "Cunel Hewes's cousin is runnin' de big works, sah. Dey is moulding a big chain over dere—biggest you ever seed. Dey done goin' to tro it 'cross de Hudson Ribber to keep dem Redcoat boats from goin' up. He's makin' cannon-balls. I reckon he'd like to use yo' foundry."
"Well, what's to prevent him?" said George.
"'Deed ol' miss' won't let 'im," responded Cato, seriously. "She'd fight 'em toof and nail."
George smiled. "Have you heard her speak of me?" he asked.
"No, Mas'r George," said the old negro, shaking his head. "I heered her tell Mistis Grace dat—dat—"
"Well?" said George.
"Dat you wus dead to her, you 'n' massa."
A drum rolled down the street, and some ragged soldiers were seen leading some thin, unkempt horses from the stable across the way. Two non-commissioned officers came out of the little house before which Cato and his young master had been standing. One was buckling on his heavy leather belt.