"Orders to march, I reckon," he said to his companion. George acknowledged the salute they gave him, and the old darky removed his hat and bowed.
"Wus dat Gineral Washington?" he asked, in an awed whisper, looking at the burly figure of the first speaker, who had a great lump of cheese in his hand, which he was endeavoring to slip into the pocket of his coat.
"No, Cato," said George; "that was a sergeant of artillery."
He was scribbling a few lines, addressed to his sister, on a bit of rough paper. He thrust it into Cato's hands. "Good-by, old friend," he said, and placed his arm about the faithful darky's shoulder and gave him a squeeze, as he had often done in the good old days.
"I's not goin' back," said Cato, shaking his head. "I's goin' wid you as yo' body-sarvant."
"You can't," said George. "Prithee do you think that a Lieutenant is allowed a servant?"
"I don't know," said the old darky. "I spec you'll be a gineral 'fore very long."
"No, no, Cato, you must go back," said his young master. "Good-by—good-by."
He turned quickly and ran off toward the guard-house. Where could the gold have come from? It was puzzling.
Cato looked after him, and placing the note in the crown of his big hat, walked slowly away.