upon the shore, Andy watched until the last sound of the hoof-beats died
away, then, with a sigh of hope and memory mingled, he retraced his way.

Janie McNeal greeted her son at the door-way. "Andy!" she cried, "our
guest is gone!" She quite forgot that Andy, presumably, knew nothing of
the guest. "He desired a lad to row him across the river. I was going to
neighbor Jones's at early dawn to summon James. I should have gone last
night, but I was sore tired. When I arose this morning, the stranger was
gone. God forgive me!

"The poor gentleman must have thought me a heedless body. I trust he
will not think me in league with the Britishers; there is much of that
sort of thing going on." Janie shook her head dolefully, not heeding
Andy's smile.

"How do we know," she went on, "but that the gentleman was on the great
Washington's business? He was an overgrand body himself, and had
excellent manners."

"Mother!" the old hesitating tone crept back unconsciously into Andy's
voice as he faced his mother; "mother, I rowed the stranger across the
river, he is--safely landed. It--was--it--was--Washington himself!"

"Andy!" Janie flung up her hands, and nearly fell from the step; "think,
lad, of your words. You look and talk clean daft."

"It--was--Washington!" The boy drew the words out with a delicious
memory.

"And--you--rowed--him--across! You--my--poor--lame lad! God have mercy