Kissing him! G. W. glanced about wildly.

The lady's eyes filled up with bright tears anew. "No, I will not kiss you, G. W. Of course not. You see I do not know very well just what it is safe to do with such small-sized heroes as you and Jack!"

She turned to the Boy, who had stood motionless, looking on. "Jack," she said, "it _is_ our G. W., Daddy's body-guard."

Jack came forward. There was a suggestion of lace and curls about him perhaps, but his face gave G. W. a feeling of firm ground under his feet at last.

"h.e.l.lo!" said Jack, and held out a plump white hand.

"h.e.l.lo!" G. W. replied, and laid his thin brown fingers slowly in the other's grasp.

The moment while Jack stood by the little soldier's bed was long enough for the two boys to eye each other well.

Jack spoke first. "You saved my father, G. W.,--you are a brick!

Whatever I've got, you can have half of it."

"Did you see dat hoss by de do'?" said G. W., after a moment. "Dat hoss is mine! You--can--take--de fust ride! An' dis is my tent, my Colonel give it to me, an' dis an' all dat I'se got b'longs ter you half!"

Then they smiled broadly into each other's faces, forgetting the onlookers.

"We're going to be just like brothers," whispered Jack Austin. That was the thought that floated through the dusky little bodyguard's dreams that night as he slept in the little tent beside the Colonel's.

And the Mother's words to the Colonel mingled with Jack's: "The boys'll have a good time!"

And the tall light-house on the Point blazed out its message to the sailors upon the sea, "All's well! All's well!" And to the brave soldier-boys sleeping within its shadow it sent down soft rays of light that breathed, "All's well! All's well!"

On his cot poor weak little G. W., waking in the moonlight, smiled and sighed with content, then smiled again.

XII.

A HISTORY-EVENING AT OAKWOOD.

"G. W., stand up in front of me, and answer!"

G. W. took position and looked unflinchingly into the eyes of his Colonel.

The rapturous life at Montauk was a thing of the past--the little body-guard never could think of it without his heart aching with happiness.

It was the most glorious experience a boy ever had. The Colonel wondered how G. W. had escaped being utterly ruined, for people had lost their heads over him, and even stern army men had shown a soft side toward the dusky little fellow. However, G. W. was a real hero, and such you simply cannot ruin.

Now the scene was changed. The Colonel and G. W. were in the library of the home "up North;" they wore citizen's clothes and looked well and hearty.

"G. W., do you remember what you once told me a hero was?"

"Yes, sah."

"Well, you proved yourself one, on a certain occasion, and I reckon you and I will never forget it."

"No, sah!"

"But, G. W., there are many kinds of heroes, as I have often told you. A fellow that can be a hero under _all_ circ.u.mstances is a chap worth knowing."

"Yes, sah!" All this sounded ominous, and G. W. pulled himself together.

"Well, my boy, you've got to go into a conflict again, another sort of a conflict, and I wish to heaven I could prepare you; but you'll have to battle it out, according to what is in you, as you did before, on the hill-top in Cuba. I'm going to send you to school, my boy, with Jack.

It's a military school and the head master knows all about you, and _wants_ you there. The others don't know."

"Yes, sah!" The low voice had a tone that always unnerved the Colonel--a tone of complete obedience, of complete understanding, and complete resignation.

"You see, G. W., I want to fit you for life," the Colonel went on. "I'm going to give you your chance. It's going to be a hard pull. The odds will be against you. It isn't just that it should be so, but it is so.

Your color, comrade, often will go against you, though your heart is the pure heart of a brave, honest child."

"Yes, sah."

"Of course," the deep voice went on, "I could buy favor for you at the school, by telling the story of your bravery--a sort of honor for you; but, G. W., I want you to win your own position there, just as you always have, so far. It will be a tussle, but I think you'd like to make the try?"

"Yes, sah."

"Because you'll have to tussle and try through life, you know, comrade."

"Yes, sah!"

The firm white hand took the little brown one in a warm hold. "And I shan't bind you with any promises this time, G. W.," the Colonel said.

A warm color stole over G. W.'s dusky cheeks. He looked up and spoke unexpectedly to the Colonel. "Dere was two promises, Colonel. I kep' de promise to de Boy and his Mother, sah. I kep' de promise to take care ob you, sah."

The poor little body-guard, so long sick and torn with shame over his disobedience and tarnished honor, had thought the whole matter out to the comfort of his soul. He looked up fearlessly into his Colonel's eyes.

"So you did, G. W.," said the officer, humbly, but with a lighted face.

"And G.o.d bless you, comrade!"

The whole matter was clear to them both forever.

A week later the two boys went with Colonel Austin to enter the famous school where little G. W., as a private citizen of the Republic he had served according to his strength, was to begin to hew out his fortunes, with the odds, as his Colonel had said, against him.

The head master greeted him cordially, and the other teachers followed the example. At the very outset the pupils were divided among themselves and withheld their verdict. The open comradeship of Colonel Austin's son was the thing that counted in the matter for the time being.

The outcome of this school-life--not for their own boy, but for G.

W.--was a grave matter with the Colonel and the Colonel's wife for those first weeks.

"No one can hold out against his merry sweetness," said Mrs. Austin again and again.

The question with the Colonel was whether the little fellow had the sort of heroism to endure what he could not help.