"Look at me!"

The Colonel turned. There, his face and hands in a tremble, but all
exultant, stood G. W. in the uniform of the Ninth. The coat was buttoned
crooked, the cap, which G. W. had discovered at the bottom of the box,
was hind part before--but what of that? In all the army of the great
Republic was no manlier soldier than the little fellow who now faced his
Colonel with a look of rapture on his round, dusky face.

"Comrade, give us your hand!" There was a mistiness in the Colonel's
eyes, a queer chokiness in his voice. "You'll never disgrace the
uniform, my boy,--it isn't in you to do it!"

G. W. saluted, and then gravely placed his hand in Colonel Austin's.

"Dese clo'es," he said, "are jes' goin' to help make me a hero for sho!
An', Colonel, I'se goin' ter take care ob you jis' like de Boy an' his
Mother tole me. I is sho! Nothin' ain't goin' to happen 'long o' you
while George Washington McKinley Jones knows what hisself am about! I'se
goin' ter put dis letter in my breas'-pocket, an' it's goin' ter stay
right plumb ober my heart, till I take yer back to dem two all right!
Now, sah, let me show de boys. Lawd! I clar if my mammy"--the proud
smile quivered--"should see me, I jes' reckon de visions she'd have
would make her 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