ght often."

"That's true, G. W., but my duty calls _me_ beyond; _your_ duty bids you
stay this side of the hill--that's the difference, G. W."

"Yes, sah! but how is I goin' ter take care ob you, wid you trapesing
off de Lawd knows whar?"

Colonel Austin smiled. "You must try to be willing to trust me out of
your sight, my boy," he said, "just as I have to trust you when you stay
behind."

"But, Colonel, jes' 'spose war should attack you, wid me fur off? How
does yo' 'spec I 'se goin' ter report to de Boy an' his Mother?"

Colonel Austin saw trouble ahead unless he got G. W. into shape.

"Look here, old fellow," he replied, taking the young body-guard between
his knees. "War isn't going to catch us napping. We'll know at what
minute to point our guns at the enemy. We shall know and we shall obey
our orders. And you'll know, and _you_ must obey _your_ orders, comrade.
You must stay in your turret chamber, like the brave boy of old. You
mustn't follow me past that point. If you do, G. W.,"--Colonel Austin
had never threatened the boy before,--"unless you promise me, G. W.,
I'll tie the flaps of the tent upon you every time I leave it."

The childish lips quivered in an un-soldier-like way. "I'll promise,
Colonel!"

"All right, then, and give us your hand. Comrade, you've taken a load
from my mind."

The days following grew to be hard days for the boy, so long petted by
the regiment. Food was scarce, and when there was plenty it was often of
a kind that he turned from. The evenings in the tent were very long and
lonely before he fell asleep. No stories now. His Colonel's absences
grew more frequent and more prolonged. G. W.'s only solace was to gaze
at the picture of the Boy and his Mother.

The half-mile hill became more and more every day a dread landmark. From
that hated point of view he had to watch the Colonel's tall figure
disappear only too often, while he stayed behind to return ingloriously
to the tent. Where was the "chance" that was going to make him a hero if
he must always stay behind in the place of safety? Did the Colonel think
heroes were made on hill-tops a half mile from camp? G. W. grew
sarcastic. He kept his buttons bright and his uniform brushed and trim;
not because he loved it as when he expected to soon wear it as a hero,
but because the Colonel kept himself in order--his faithful G. W. could
at least follow him in that.

But at last came a thing that roused him from this mood. Fever b