In these
weeks of constant companionship George had talked so much of his hopes
and plans, that a faint spark of that same ambition had begun to
smoulder slowly in the boy's ignorant little heart. Six months ago he
could have had no understanding of such a grief as now made George's
voice to tremble; but love had opened his eyes to many things, and made
his sympathies keen. He drew nearer, saying almost in a whisper: "But
Uncle Billy says you fought a good fight while you was gettin' ready to
help us cul'ud folks, an' if you got so knocked up you can't do nothin'
moah, maybe 'twon't be expected as you should have yo' hands full when
you go through the gates. You've got yo' scars to show for what you've
done."
George lifted up his head. There was an eager light in his eyes, not so
much because of the comfort that had come from such an unexpected
quarter, as because of a new hope that the words suggested. He lifted
the boy's chin with a trembling hand, and looked wistfully into his
eyes.
"You could do it, couldn't you?" he asked.
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