It is now my duty to pay you for these services; hitherto you have
postponed receiving your reward, and the debt has become a heavy
one. I wish not to undervalue your dangers; here are a hundred
doubloons;[134] you will remember the poverty of our country, and
attribute to it the smallness of your pay."

[Footnote 134: a former Spanish coin, worth about $8.]

The peddler raised his eyes to the countenance of the speaker; but, as
the other held forth the money, he moved back, as if refusing the bag.

"It is not much for your services and risks, I acknowledge," continued
the general, "but it is all that I have to offer; at the end of the
campaign it may be in my power to increase it."

"Does your excellency think that I have exposed my life and blasted my
character for money?"

"If not for money, what then?"

"What has brought your excellency into the field? For what do you
daily and hourly expose your precious life to battle and the halter?
What is there about me to mourn, when such men as you risk their all
for our country? No, no, no--not a dollar of your gold will I touch;
poor America has need of it all."

The bag dropped from the hand of the officer, and fell at the feet of
the peddler, where it lay neglected during the remainder of the
interview. The officer looked steadily at the face of his companion,
and continued:

"You will soon be old; the prime of your days is already past; what
have you to subsist on?"

"These!" said the peddler, stretching forth his hands, that already
were embrowned with toil.

"But those may fail you; take enough to secure a support to your age.
Remember your risks and care. I have told you that the characters of
men who are much esteemed in life depend on your secrecy; what pledge
can I give them of your fidelity?"

"Tell them," said Birch, advancing and unconsciously resting one foot
on the bag--"tell them that I would not take the gold!"

The composed features of the officer relaxed into a smile of
benevolence, and he grasped the hand of the peddler firmly.

"Now, indeed, I know you; and although the same reasons which have
hitherto compelled me to expose your valuable life will still exist,
and may prevent my openly asserting your character, in private I can
always be your friend. Fail not to apply to me when in want or
suffering, and so long as God giveth to me, so long will I freely
share with a man who feels so nobly and acts so well. If sickness or
want shou