ially
enjoined the villain not to say a word."

"Thank God he did, brother!" said poor Harry. "Thank God he did!"

"What will Mr. Washington and those gentlemen think of my servant
telling my mother at home that I was going to fight a duel?" asks Mr.
George, still in wrath.

"You have shown your proofs before, George," says Harry, respectfully.
"And, thank Heaven, you are not going to fight our old friend,--our
grandfather's old friend. For it was a mistake and there is no quarrel
now, dear, is there? You were unkind to him under a wrong impression."

"I certainly acted under a wrong impression," owns George, "but----"

"George! George Washington!" Harry here cries out, springing over
the cabbage-garden towards the bowling-green, where the Colonel was
stalking, and though we cannot hear him, we see him, with both his hands
out, and with the eagerness of youth, and with a hundred blunders, and
with love and affection thrilling in his honest voice we imagine the lad
telling his tale to his friend.

There was a custom in those days which has disappeared from our manners
now, but which then lingered. When Harry had finished his artless story,
his friend the Colonel took him fairly to his arms, and held him to
his heart: and his voice faltered as he said, "Thank God, thank God for
this!"

"Oh, George," said Harry, who felt now how he loved his friend with all
his heart, "how I wish I was going with you on the campaign!" The other
pressed both the boy's hands, in a grasp of friendship, which each knew
never would slacken.

Then the Colonel advanced, gravely holding out his hand to Harry's elder
brother. Perhaps Harry wondered that the two did not embrace as he and
the Colonel had just done. But, though hands were joined, the salutation
was only formal and stern on both sides.

"I find I have done you a wrong, Colonel Washington," George said, "and
must apologise, not for the error, but for much of my late behaviour
which has resulted from it."

"The error was mine! It was I who found that paper in your room, and
showed it to George, and was jealous of you, Colonel. All women are
jealous," cried Mrs. Mountain.

"'Tis a pity you could not have kept your eyes off my paper, madam,"
said Mr. Washington. "You will permit me to say so. A great deal of
mischief has come because I chose to keep a secret which concerned only
myself and another person. For a long time George Warrington's heart has
been black with anger aga