trimble!"

III.

THE LITTLE GAUNTLET AND SWORD.

The sunlight beat down upon Tampa until every man in camp shed his coat in despair, but not one button did G. W. unfasten!

He strutted and sweltered, and complained not. He gave daily exhibitions of his sharp-shooting—which, by the way, was an accomplishment truly remarkable. For the first time in his life he was absolutely and perfectly happy.

While all "the boys" felt a personal interest in the child, it was a well-understood fact that he belonged to Colonel Austin. To that officer alone did G. W. report, and from him alone did he accept orders as to his outgoings and incomings.

As the long languid weeks dragged on, G. W. became the life of the camp. His "break-downs," danced with wondrous grace and skill, set many a lazy foot shuffling in sympathy. He sang songs to a banjo accompaniment which made the listeners forget their pipes and cards, and set them to thinking of home—and other things. He appeared to be singularly innocent and child-like for such an uncared-for waif. He seemed to have gathered only good nature and a love for the brave and noble from his starved, cruel years. As Colonel Austin watched him from day to day he became more interested in him, and began to wonder what he should do with the odd little chap when the business with Spain was settled, and life assumed its ordinary aspect once more.

Perhaps the Colonel's hunger for the Boy up North made him glad of the companionship; perhaps it was only his noble heart always yearning over the needy. Be that as it may, the little black boy and the handsome young Colonel became daily closer comrades.

There was one regulation which Colonel Austin had insisted upon from the first. G. W., who was to sleep upon a mattress in his tent, was to go to bed early, as a child should. The men might bribe or coax him for a dance or a song during the day; but the little soldier had his orders to "turn in" at eight-thirty, and although G. W. often longed for an hour more, he obeyed like the hero he meant some day to be. Love and a strong sense of duty governed the heart beating faithfully under the hot, trimly-buttoned uniform. He might wish to stay where the fun was, but he never varied his obedience by an extra five minutes.

When it was possible the Colonel took a few moments from duty or pleasure at the twilight hour, and followed G. W. into the tent. When the flap fell to after the pair, not a soldier but knew that the Colonel was not to be disturbed except upon the most urgent business. When the Colonel came out of the tent the look in his eyes made more than one man remember it.

Old General Wallace was once known to have taken off his hat as he came face to face with G. W.'s Colonel at the tent door, after one of those mysterious twilight talks. When the older man realized what he had done he jammed his hat down over his eyes, and, with an impatient laugh, said, "What in thunder is the matter with you, Austin? You look like a Methodist camp-meeting!"

G. W.'s Colonel saluted and passed on.

One night when he went into the tent after G. W., he found the boy divested of his splendid regimentals, kneeling in a very scant and child-like costume before the table—which, by the way, was composed of two soap-boxes covered with a flag—and scanning the faces of "the Boy and his Mother." A strange yearning in G. W.'s eyes caused the officer to speak very gently.

"What is it, old fellow? Surely you are not envying the Boy up North? You, a full-fledged soldier of Uncle Sam!"

Envy! why G. W.'s heart just then was filled with pity for that boy nearly as old as he, who was obliged to wear humiliating garments. Actually there was lace on his collar. And the boy wore curls! not long ones, but curls nevertheless. G. W. had by this time acquired tact sufficient to forbid mention of these pitiful details, but he said slowly, "I'se right sorry fur de Boy, Colonel, kase he's 'bliged to stay away frum being wid you!"

G. W. was too sincere to be laughed at, and the Boy's father replied gently:

"Well, you see, comrade, it is this way: the Boy is serving his country as well as you. He'd like to be here first-rate,—a drum-call sets him prancing like a war horse,—but there's the Mother, you know. It would never do to leave her quite alone—he's taking my place by her side until the country needs me no longer and I may go home. There are a good many ways of serving, old man.

"G. W., once I was walking through a gallery of an ancient castle, and I noticed among the armor and weapons which lined the walls a little gauntlet and sword. So very small were they that I questioned the guide, and he told me this story:

'In the dark days of long ago, when a man's castle had to be defended from his foes, and every one was on guard against an attack, there was a knight who had four sons and one fair daughter. Three of the sons were great stalwart fellows, but the fourth was a crippled lad who lay upon his bed in the turret chamber week after week, dreaming his dreams and looking out across the wide parks over which he was never to ride to wage war against a cruel foe. The pretty sister sat much with him and wove wondrous stories from her busy brain to help while away the weary hours; and she got the father to have the slender gauntlet and sword made, so that the patient soldier upon the bed might the better believe himself like the strong, brave heroes of her tales.

'Now it came to pass that a very wicked lord of an adjoining country wished to marry the pretty sister, and take her to his gloomy castle. To that the father and brothers said, "No!" They vowed that they would fight to the end rather than that the wicked lord should have his way. And soon they saw that they must indeed fight if they would keep her, for rumor reached them that the lord had raised a mighty company and was nearing their castle. Then every man prepared himself for battle, and in the turret room the small warrior lay upon his bed with the gauntlet upon his hand, and the keen sword ready in case the foe should enter. Day by day the fair sister, white and full of fear, knelt beside him, and tried to be brave for his dear sake.

'At length the day of conflict came. The two in the high room saw the banners of the wicked lord advancing, and the little brother said valiantly, "I will defend you!"

'The struggle came on. Long and nobly did the knight and his men strive to keep back the terrible lord, and many fell in court-yard and hall. But at last the wicked lord and his followers triumphed, and with shouts of victory strode to the turret-room.

'There knelt the maid, her golden head bowed beside her brother. His left hand pressed her fair curls, but his right hand was ready for its task. The lord bent to grasp the prize for which he had fought, little heeding the crippled boy; but as his fingers were about to close upon the girl's arm the keen slender sword was raised in a hand made strong for the deed, and a desperate blow fell upon the wrist of the lord, and his hand was nearly severed from the arm. An awed silence followed the doughty deed. Then out spoke the lord: "Let no man touch the pair. Of all warriors this cripple is the greatest, because in his weakness he has dared all things for love!"'

"So you see, G. W., the poor young stay-at-home was a soldier, too!" said the Colonel. "I have always loved to remember the story. And now I often think of the Boy up North defending his mother from loneliness and foreboding—he is doing his share, G. W."

G. W.'s soft, big, brown eyes were fixed upon his Colonel's face. The great hero-tales of legend and history were new to his empty childhood, and this one thrilled him to his heart's core.

"Dat's a mighty fine story!" he mused. "When you was telling me dat story, Colonel, it done seem as if nothing was mean in all de world; it seems like every one was brave!"

"Never